Too Cool For School (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter Two

   But Harry wasn't very good at leaving well alone. He had a mission now, and he was damned well going to succeed.

How though? He needed something that warmed Draco's soul (if he even had one) but he was such a miserable bastard it was hard to know where to start looking. When it came to Harry's friends he had so much experience to fall back on, but with Draco all he had was animosity. He needed some insight, he needed...

Harry sighed loudly to himself. He knew exactly what he needed to do.

A few days later, he found himself standing outside the address Jones was able to dig up for him, staring dubiously at the front door. He was back in London, up north in Tottenham Hale in front of a dilapidated terraced house wondering if Mackleby had made a mistake. But suddenly the intercom under his fingers crackled to life, and he lost his chance to back out.

"Hello?" a voice demanded.

"Um Pansy?" Harry asked. He wasn't sure he'd even had a civil conversation with the woman...or any conversation for that matter.

"Yes?" she said, her voice not losing it's hard edge. "Who's this?"

Harry swallowed and rubbed his nose for something to stall with. "It's uh, it's Potter actually. Can I talk to you for a minute?"

There was a pause, and Harry was certain he was going to get told to fuck off. But after another beat the speaker static flared up again. "Come in," she said simply, and the door clicked open.

Harry stared at it a minute, before hastily making his way through in case she changed her mind.

Once inside, it was clear the few flats contained within the house were all magical. Harry hadn't really expected Pansy Parkinson to live in a genuinely Muggle area, and it was somewhat comforting to see the Sneak-A-Scope and moving mirrors in the hallway. Taking the steps two at a time, he bounded up to the top floor and knocked on the door with the number five emblazoned on it.

"It's open," Pansy's voice floated through the wood.

So Harry made his way inside, and discovered a small but extremely artfully decorated one bed flat, whose owner was perched on the living room window sill, a mug of coffee in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. "Hello Potter," she said civilly. "It's been a while."

Harry cleared his throat. "It has," he said neutrally and closed the door behind him. Pansy took a drag of the cigarette and blew it out the window into the afternoon spring air.

"Is there an reason for this honour," she said, arching a black, pencilled eyebrow. "Or have you just come to gloat?"

Harry frowned. "Gloat?"

She smirked. "No, you're right," she said, sweeping her arms out to encompass her small home. "What could you possibly want to lord over me?"

There was this thing with Slytherins, Harry had come to appreciate over the years, where they thought he was rich and privileged. Harry toyed with the idea of setting them straight sometimes, like now – of telling them how he grew up in a bloody broom closet, but the truth was he already had one troublesome Slytherin on his hands and he really couldn't be bothered with a second.

"Your flat is lovely," he said, side-stepping the issue, but Pansy scoffed.

"Until I've proved I'm not a liability and get access to my trust-fund again," she informed him matter-of-factly. "It's the best I can do. But you didn't come here to talk about my living arrangements, did you?"

"No." She narrowed her eyes at him, so he went on. "I'm here for some help actually," he said.

"From me?" Pansy asked sceptically. "Whatever could I possibly help you with?"

"Draco Malfoy."