There were proper ways to go about wooing someone.
From watching other people attempt to woo Draco for the past 6 years of their auror partnership (5 of which where they’d been friends), Harry knew that this was true. And he’d actively spent the past year trying to understand what Draco saw as adequate wooing. He’d observed their techniques and tried to determine what things worked and which things didn’t.
He’d seen people write him poetry, dedicate art to him, compose songs in his honor, and bring him all sorts of hand-crafted things (soaps, and coffee, and chocolate, and wine, and honestly, Harry could go on all day about the things that he’d seen Draco receive from potential suitors). He’d watched the suitors take him on all sorts of trips and all sorts of dates.
But what he couldn’t understand was what he was actually meant to do in order to win over Draco’s heart. Because the truth of the matter was that Draco never seemed to be won over, he never let his heart be taken, never let himself be thoroughly wooed.
So, his observations all came to nought and Harry decided that he couldn’t wait any longer, because the thought of Draco actually getting wooed by someone else, of him actually giving his heart away, was more than Harry could bear. He thought that he might die if the other man found that his heart belonged to someone else.
Draco was chattering away about their latest case, verbally processing all of the details to be sure that he wasn’t missing any connection, even though they were technically supposed to be done for the day, when Harry decided to broach the topic.
“Hey, Draco,” he said, heart leaping to his throat and making his voice crack slightly.
The other man paused and turned to look at Harry, an eyebrow quirked as he waited for Harry to continue.
“Do you have any plans tonight?”
Draco shrugged on his jacket, “What did you have in mind?”
“Wouldyouliketogotodinnerwithme?” he blurted, too fast and too inarticulate. And Harry had watched enough people bumble the opening line to know that that was something Draco detested.
“Sorry?” he asked.
He took a deep breath, determined not to waste the second chance he’d just been granted. “Would you maybe like to go and have dinner with me tonight?” he repeated, skin heating and palms sweating.
“Oh,” he said, “It’s not Tuesday,” he added, because they always went out for drinks on Tuesday together; they’d been doing that since their third month on the force, even before they’d become friends.
“Right, no,” said Harry, licking his lips, “I just,” he shrugged. “I thought maybe you’d like to go and have some food together. Like maybe-” he broke off and scuffed his foot.
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe like a date?” he offered a tad meekly, then he continued before Draco could shut him down completely. “I know you have a thousand options, that people are literally always taking you to fancy places and bringing you fancy things. And I know that you have plenty of options, but I really like you.”
“I-”
“I know I’m maybe not the best candidate; I’m not cultured, I don’t know how to pick a good bottle of wine from a bad one, I haven’t ever been to Paris and I wouldn’t pick the right soap or chocolate if I tried. But I really like you. And I’ll be good to you,” he promised earnestly, unable to stop now that he’d started. “I will treat you with such kindness and tenderness, the way you deserve. I-”
Draco stepped into his space and grabbed Harry’s cheeks in his hands, “Breathe,” he whispered.
Nodding, Harry took as deep of a breath as the heart rattling around in his ribcage would allow.
“Yes,” Draco said simply.
He blinked, “Yes?”
The other man smiled at him, “Yes.”
“Oh,” he whispered.
Draco leaned closer and pressed a soft, short kiss to Harry’s lips; a kiss that Harry felt in the tips of his fingers and toes, tingling in his scalp and setting his heart a flutter once more. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me for two years,” he said with a little smile.
He laughed, too loud and too bright for how close together they were. “What was wrong with all the other blokes?”
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At some point during a peak of Harry’s game (maybe in 6th year, maybe post war, maybe when he’s an adult who knows) his round glasses become really popular.
Everyone wants to wear the same type of glasses as The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, Harry freaking Potter. It’s the look™️ of the year.
Meanwhile Harry’s like “I hate these damn glasses they’re just what the Dursley’s gave me!! Why is everyone bloody wearing them?!”
I just wish Harry had been able to have some semblance of a normal, more regular relationship with Sirius and Lupin if he couldn’t have his parents.
Just imagine him coming to them for girl help. Think about how awkward he was when he asked about his dad, how they knew exactly what he was worried about and how to reassure him. And add to how painfully awkward he was on his first date with Cho- he literally has to work himself up to grab her hand (and misses). He would have needed so. much. help. when it came to girls and you know they would have loved to help but also died laughing because just like James, Harry’s got no game whatsoever.
It would have just been such amazing, soft! content and I’m here for it.
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