Call Me a Romantic -- Chapter 2!
Chapter 2 of Call Me a Romantic is here!
Here’s a sneak peek.Â
<3
A week passed before Draco did anything outside of sitting on the front porch, staring out wistfully over the grounds as if he might be able to see London from where he sat.
“Hello,” a voice interrupted Draco’s thoughts.
Draco squinted up at the messy haired silhouette in the sun. “Potter, yes?”
“You can call me Harry,” he offered with a bright smile. Harry held out his hand and Draco sniffed. “Care to go for a walk?”
Draco stood on his own, brushing Harry’s hand out of the way. “No, thank you. I have some matters to take care of.”
Draco began to walk away, but Harry’s voice caught him in the doorway. “What matters? Surely I can assist you.”
Draco turned. “I don't think you can.”
Frankly, Draco had no interest in spending time with Harry Potter the stable hand. For one, he was the stable hand. What interest was there in that? Draco had never learned to ride horses. His family, and him, were more carriage people. Or fancy car people. Horses were meant for showing and racing, not riding. Many of the people Draco’s father was friends with liked to ride horses. They called it an “aristocratic pleasure.” Draco’s father always laughed condescendingly when people said that, and Draco got behind this. There’s nothing very attractive about horses except for the money they bring in for the Malfoys when they win races.
But he’s rambling. Draco is a rich man’s son, and Harry is a nobody. Not to say that nobodies aren’t important, but Draco would rather not spend time with one. They probably don't have anything in common anyway.
Harry came closer, his smile undeterred. A whiff of something earthy and sweet washed over Draco as Harry rocked his weight from his heels to his toes (an unseemly habit). Draco sighed and looked over Harry’s shoulder to the open chirping air of the estate.
Draco looked back at Harry. There really was nothing else to do here, so a short conversation couldn’t hurt. “Does this estate have a name?”
“What?” The smile finally dropped a little in surprise. Draco’s eyes zeroed in on it smugly.
“Does the estate have a name?” Draco repeated. “Something to distinguish it?”
“Why?” Harry smirked. “You have lots of estates to distinguish?”
Draco stared. “Yes, actually. Were you not aware?”
Harry shook his head at the ground. Draco could tell the smile had returned. No one should smile that much, it wasn’t healthy. Draco hoped it wasn’t contagious.
“You could name it after yourself,” Harry offered.
Draco snorted and shook his head. “I will not.”
“Why not?”
Draco’s hand clasped his chest. Perhaps his reaction was dramatic, but drama was necessary when it came to Draco. “How rude for you to even suggest. That would be extremely inappropriate.”
Harry smiled and gestured for Draco to follow him off the porch. Without knowing exactly why, Draco followed, his thoughts of plebian commonfolk mostly forgotten.
“How so?” Harry asked. “You seem the type.”
“The type to what?” Draco was supremely offended.
“To name a property after yourself,” Harry laughed.
Draco was not sure if Harry was teasing or had never been in the presence of a boss before. Usually, an employee is respectful to the people they work for. Although, Harry technically worked for Lucius Malfoy, not Draco. Even so, there is everything to be gained by good manners in a world of policy and publicity. Perhaps this was Harry’s first job.
“How long have you been working here?” Draco asked. It might have come out a little accusatory based on the way Harry began looking at him, but Draco did not care. Questions demanded answers.
“About five years,” Harry said. Thankfully for Draco’s peace of mind, Harry neither shrugged nor smiled.
“And how old are you?” Draco asked.
“Twenty four, I reckon,” Harry said. The smile was back. Draco was sure he hated it, but the sun was coming down in a nice way in this little path that Harry had led him on, and Draco was finding it hard to muster up the annoyance necessary.
Small trees dappled the path, but didn’t reach over it. Birds chirped indistinctly and the sounds of faint waves lapping up the shore of a lake whistled through the trees distantly.
“You reckon?” Draco asked. “Don't you know when your own birthday is?”
“I do so,” Harry insisted indignantly. “July 31!”
“Congratulations,” said Draco. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“Well, I’m almost 24,” Harry said. His hands reached out absently to pluck a strand of high rising grass from the side of the path. Draco had the strong urge to tell Harry that he was robbing Draco on his own property, but somehow he restrained himself.
“I am twenty four,” Draco said haughtily.
“Really!” Harry said, and he said it much too excitedly for Draco’s taste. “I don't think I’ve ever met anyone my age before!”
Draco stopped in the middle of the path. Harry walked several steps farther before realizing that Draco was behind him, and swiveled according. “You must be joking.”
“Not at all,” Harry said seriously. He waved impatiently at Draco until they’d started walking again. “My mum and dad live in the town over, and only old retired people live there and the occasional middle aged rich family. I was homeschooled my whole life, and then ended up getting a job here thanks to Daisy. She’s a friend of my mum’s.”
“Interesting,” Draco said.
“I’ve been working here since,” Harry said, somewhat proudly.
Despite the practices of his upbringing, Draco found himself asking, “Why are you still working here?”
“Why wouldn’t I be working here?” Harry looked hesitantly to Draco and then slowly pushed his hands into his pockets.
“You’re twenty four and you’re wasting your time working on someone else’s property? Why aren’t you at uni and going after some ridiculous dream?”
“You’re snappy,” Harry said, looking straight forward on the path. Draco chose to ignore the beauty of the property in favor of staring Harry down.
“Yes, and slightly intrusive. Why?” Draco fired back. Draco was loathe to admit it, but he was sort of enjoying this. The banter was easy, and mostly friendly.
Draco pinched himself under the edge of his sleeve. What in the heavens was he doing? He shouldn’t be enjoying his time with an employee, and especially not walking down a garden path with him for pleasure. It was too late now though, Draco supposed. At this point it would just be rude to abandon Harry here. Potter, he corrected himself. It would be rude to abandon Potter here.
Draco also wasn’t sure if he remembered his way back to the villa. It was more polite to simply stick out the rest of this conversation and then retreat back into his bedroom for the rest of the day. Or the rest of the summer.
“Never wanted to, really,” Harry responded. “I like being close enough to my parents to go home for holidays, and I love working here. It’s beautiful here, in case you haven’t noticed. Like living in a dream.”
“Yes, well, it’s not your dream.” Draco’s gait tightened. His thoughts spiraled down his usual track of family duty, responsibility, his fragile identity, the perception of his place in the world. He shouldn’t be here. Harry Potter was a stable hand. A stable hand who should be working right now, not walking with Draco. And Draco? Well he shouldn’t be doing this. He didn’t know in this moment what he was supposed to be doing, but it wasn’t this.
“Right, it’s yours.” Harry kept looking ahead down the path. The easy banter had vanished, and when Harry turned right into a loop around back to the house instead of the path that extended on to the lake, it was of no surprise to Draco.
