“What ever happened to the Potter I knew from Hogwarts? Get a life.” “Like you can talk,” Harry mutters. “You’re literally a vampire. You can’t even be out during the day.” “That’s precisely why I’m annoyed. You have the ability to have a normal, regular, possibly grand life and you’re squandering it.” Malfoy scoffs. “You’re the fucking Chosen One.” “I was,” Harry corrects. “What?” “I was the Chosen One. Now I’m just Harry,” he says, unable to help the tinge of bitterness of his voice—he resists the urge to tack on, ‘and my life sucks,’ because he thinks that would probably hurt his case rather than help it. “Well, ‘just Harry,’ you’re either very bad at describing your life or you—” Malfoy throws his hands up in indignation. “I just cannot believe it. Do you ever do anything fun?” Harry is growing increasingly alarmed by this line of questioning. He’s even more alarmed at the way his heart had started to race when Malfoy said his name. “I go to dinner at Ron and Hermione’s all the time—” “No, no,” Malfoy says. “Like fun. Hobbies? Flying? Do you still play Quidditch?” Honestly, Harry hasn’t owned a broom since he lost his Firebolt during the war. He can’t remember the last time he flew. His face must say as much, because Malfoy’s expression only grows more bewildered. “No, but why does it matter?” Malfoy again ignores him. “No regular events? Charity balls? Grand fundraisers? Come on, Potter, you could get a VIP invitation to any Wizarding event you wanted!” “I hate those,” Harry says, scowling. This is starting to feel like it does sometimes with Ron and Hermione, where they try to get him to go out and do things. He’s fine on his own, thank you very much.
Hell Tastes Like Honey by @alpha-exodus and @creeeee
