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Flobberworm

Summary:

Harry Potter's made it his life ambition to ruin all of Draco Malfoy's dates after the war. It started in their eighth year and carried forward into their Auror training. Draco's had enough of it now. He just wants to have dinner with the hot guy Pansy's set him up with and roll under his sheets until late in the morning. He's not going to tolerate anymore of Harry's tomfoolery. Are you listening or not, Potter?

Notes:

To
My dear puff,
I just wanted to say I adore you, your account and works. I'll admit I didn't start writing this with the intention of gifting it but as the story progressed, I could think of no one else who I'd rather give it to.
So here's a part of my heart that I hope stays with you long after you've finished reading the story.
Much love,
The Libran.

This work is only for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters nor do I make money from this work. Harry Potter and Co. belong to JK Rowling and WB.

Chapter 1: Flobberworm- The Beginning

Chapter Text

Actually, there’s no reason for Draco Malfoy to be nervous. God! It’s not like it’s his first date or anything!

It’s his twenty seventh date to be precise. In as many weeks. Discounting the three he went on during his eighth year.

He knew there were many who supposed he was an adonis. He knew of the others who argued he was a Veela too. While he wouldn’t go overboard and explicitly confirm either of those compliments, he agrees with them.

Modesty or humility have nothing to do with that, however. Draco refuses to comment on those statements because in spite of all his attempts and endeavours, he is yet to land at least one of his almost equally gorgeous dates in his bed.

Or go with them to theirs.

But to be honest, that isn’t the cause of his anxiety either. That isn’t why he is currently sitting blushing in front of a dark haired, bronze skinned and absolutely ravishing Greek god who is dripping sex from all his pores, twiddling his thumbs, raking his hands through his hair and changing his posture every five minutes.

It’s been fifteen months since the war ended and two since Draco got into Auror training alongside his self appointed best friend but in reality his best frenemy, Harry Potter.

The Saviour of the wizarding world is his frenemy not because he testified and helped acquit his stint in the war, but because one month into their eighth year, he had declared his allegiance to Draco and then went on to hang off of him every minute of every day, taking full advantage of the fact that they were roommates. Draco had wanted to befriend him at 11, true, but after everything, he didn’t know where he stood. Things were slowly settling into a precarious balance and not wanting to upset that fragile equilibrium, Draco accepted Harry as an inexplicable and unwanted accessory.

Which is exactly the problem now.

Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Saviour, the green eyed git keeps interrupting Draco’s dates even though Draco lost his patience regarding this matter after the very second time he invited himself to Draco’s date night, as though Draco had no right or reason to enjoy a happy, romantic and a possibly copulatory evening.

And Draco keeps fiddling with the cutlery as they wait for their waitress to bring their order, training one eye on the door for possible Pottersome butt-ins, fidgeting like a virgin on his wedding night, never mind that he was one. Virgin, that is.

Draco internally groans at the picture he has succeeded in presenting to the man opposite him so far. He’s sure he came across as a nervous wreck because he now recognises that the conversation that managed to get past his nerves into his ears, is forcibly taking a turn into lighter and humorous topics.

Once Draco realises that the food has arrived but not Potter, he relaxes a notch. Potter has a disgusting habit of intervening right before the food, often making complete use of the pretext of joining them for dinner and then chatting up Draco’s date so much that the guy probably didn’t realise he went home early and alone until he reached his flat.

When his mobile doesn’t buzz even ten minutes later, Draco feels his spirits lifting. Because that is another one of Potter’s irritating tactics. If he can’t, for some reason, be present in person, he makes twenty calls in the space of twenty minutes, asking for some report or file or evidence, till Draco or his date or both of them lose their interest.

Draco is ravenous after the long, tiresome and ineffectual stakeout Robards had them on that morning and quickly gulps everything down on his plate. He looks up to find an amused look on his date’s face. Draco thinks Tom is his name.

He elegantly arches a seductive brow in question at that look, hiding all the sudden confusion at his change in behaviour deep within his heart, far away from his face.

Tom laughs. ‘Nothing, I was just thinking of the one eighty you made after eating. Almost as if all that food fuelled your dwindling confidence.’

Draco is offended by the words and their implication and he’s silently fuming on the inside because Potter managed to upset his night, even without being physically present.

Since he’s not a Malfoy for nothing however, he immediately decides to put the man in his place. Deliberately adopting a wounded expression, he says, ‘And yet here you are.’

That throws the other man off far more than expected to Draco’s immense delight so he ploughs on. ‘Do you like showing off to those whom you deem inferior to you?’

There’s a minute of charged silence between them and Draco starts wondering if he’s pushed too far when the man laughs. As in opens his mouth, bangs his fist on the table, clutches his abdomen with the other hand and laughs. It’s loud and boisterous and also genuine and carefree. Draco’s completely mesmerised and a slow smile spreads across his own face.

Just when he’s about to ask if that was some kind of a personality test, because Tom said he was a Psychologist, Tom speaks. ‘Defensive. And yet, assertive. You sure are interesting.’ There’s a fond smile in his eyes and affection lacing his tone.

Tom leans back and picks up his wine glass for a sip. ‘You seemed extremely edgy since we stepped in here and I failed every time I tried to ease you. At last however, insulting you looked like the only way to get a rise out of you and make you comfortable. Almost like you are used to it, like it's one of your quirks.’

Draco lifted his own glass in a mock salute for Tom’s skills before tasting his drink. ‘Ten points to Dr.Tom?’

Tom laughs again, shaking his head. ‘It’s Dr.Tim, actually. I’m Timothy.’

Draco goes from casual to beet red in record time, choking and spluttering. Tim hands him over the stack of tissues placed on the table and as he dabs at his lips and shirt, says, ‘I’m intrigued, Draco. You reacted to the insult as though you’ve grown up dealing with them and, might I valiantly add, flinging some yourself.’ He gives Draco a once-over and continues. ‘But you clearly are well educated and have good breeding. I’m not implying that those who lack education or manners are inherently bad. It’s just that when it comes to you, things don’t quite make sense.’

Draco rests his hand on the table and tilts his head. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Tim takes a deep breath. ‘This isn’t your first date, but you are tense for some reason. You are the farthest thing from insecure, so it’s not that. You are not worried about your manners failing you because you’ve been a gentleman all throughout. You know you are witty and can hold your own in a convo. You can’t be thinking about your looks or charm because I’ve been wanting to jump your bones since I laid my eyes on you. So why?’

Draco finds himself in awe of Tim. It had taken him under forty minutes to fully and correctly analyse him. Tim was not just the nerd kind of brainy. Tim had innate intelligence that Draco considers his aphrodisiac. He is also going in too deep for a one night stand to be comfortable so Draco once again switches gears.

‘I’m your date and a potential bed partner, Tim. Don’t turn me into a case study.’

Tim laughs that open hearty laugh again and Draco swoons just a bit. ‘Let’s go to mine then.’

 

‘PANSY!’

Draco is bristling with righteous anger, his smoldering eyes conveying everything else his shaking, heaving frame is falling short of communicating.

When a bleary eyed Pansy answers her floo five minutes later, he bulldozes in, picks up the glass vase on her mantle and throws it on the ground.

Pansy yawns, flicks a Reparo at the pieces and when they don’t coalesce, shrugs, vanishes them, bringing a new vase to replace the latest object that sacrificed itself to one Draco Malfoy’s burning rage.

‘What is it this time?’ she asks, dropping into her armchair. Her tone is bored and her hair is in disarray.

Draco thinks Pansy should thank her stars there’s no guy or girl in her bedroom. He’s positive he would have hexed their bits into dysfunction had there been a hint of sex in the flat.

‘Did Harry spoil your date again?’

And just like that the fight hops out of Draco’s body. He sighs and collapses to the ground where he’s standing, dragging his hands over his face and through his hair. And then he spills everything.

‘It was going fine. I even went to the bloke’s house and we groped for a while. He brought out some whiskey, got me drunk and made me fess up on my crush on Harry. Just as I was seething at my slip up and the brat’s impertinence, Harry knocked on the door.’

Pansy yawns again and curls up deeper into her chair.

‘Say something!’

Pansy remains silent.

‘Honestly, Pansy!’ Draco shouts, suddenly angry again. ‘It’s like Potter has a bloody tracking charm on me. Last week, he popped into my flat just as I was about to undress the guy. And the time before that, he was already in my flat in his pajamas, topless and with a glass of whiskey. He’s everywhere I go from Hogsmeade to Kingston!’

There is a slight sniffle at the end of his rant and Draco guesses that’s what finally prompts Pansy into opening her mouth.

‘You do know that tracking charms can’t be used surreptitiously.’

‘Yes,’ Draco snorts. ‘Tracking charms are borderline illegal and he is Harry Potter.’

‘True.’ Pansy nods.

‘Did you ever talk to him about this?’ she asks again after a while.

Draco raises his head to hers. ‘I did, right when he inserted himself beside me on my first date.’

Pansy folds her arms across her chest. ‘And?’

‘He delivered an unasked for lecture about first times and why they are important.’

Pansy facepalms. ‘He’s inherited the eloquence of a flobberworm and you, it’s brains.’

She shakes her head in exasperation and they are quiet for longer, this time around, though Draco is burning with curiosity at her statement.

Honestly, Potter’s a menace. His presence, absence, even his mere thought has the potential to change the outcome of Draco’s evening and Draco’s sick of it.

He didn’t endure an insane megalomaniac, his mad followers and an unapologetically intrusive and controlling father just so he could get interrupted after he finally got his freedom.

It’s in desolate, desperate times like these that he wishes he had been a rebel and broken his father’s rules. Draco lost count of how many times Blaise offered steamy sex. And he lost count of how many Hogwarts students left Blaise’s bed in the mornings, blissfully and thoroughly fucked.

He lost count of how many times he had wanked over the emanating noises, imagining himself and a certain..boy he was mad about.

But eighth year had shown him in no sweet terms how he and his crush were worlds apart and why he ought to get over his infatuation.

Which was why he started going out on all his fruitless dates.

That reminds him.

‘Harry took an off on the day of my date last week.’

Pansy focuses her stare on him and frowns.

‘Harry was with Teddy last week,’ Draco repeats. ‘How did he know I planned to go out?’

It’s his turn to narrow his brows and he looks questioningly at her. Come to think of it, illegal or not, Harry wouldn’t use a tracer on him. And Pansy always sets him up on his dates. Nobody knew of them. Draco didn’t trust anyone else.

Pansy snaps after less than a minute of their stare-game. ‘Oh yes, Draco. I let Potter loose on you fully knowing that you are trying to get over him and bring all these,’ she motions between herself and him, ‘unwanted and possibly hazardous interruptions to my own sex life. Of course, that’s exactly what I did.’

Now Draco feels stupid, just plain stupid. Pansy wouldn’t do that to him.

Since riled up Pansy is unstoppable, she continues, ‘Yes, I called Potter one day during our eighth year and told him to rescue you from the fuck fest you intended to indulge in to drown out your trauma and he being the saviour decided to give you a chance and fuck you himself instead. That’s what this is all about. Makes total sense.’

Draco descends into feeling ridiculous. Potter might help others out of his nature, but Pansy wouldn’t sit him down and have a discussion about saving Draco’s life. She’s taken to avoiding Potter like the plague for her thoughtless stunt during the war.

That’s when an idea blooms in Draco’s head.

‘Set him up.’

‘What?’

‘Set him up on a blind date, like you do with me. Maybe he’ll get off my back if he has his own sexy evenings to look forward to. The man’s a bloody workaholic. I suspect he still didn’t shrug off the adrenaline of the war. We hardly see him out of the office, he doesn’t even eat properly. Did you see the bags on his face? They are..’ Draco trails off at the scowl overtaking Pansy’s features.

‘Why would I do that?’ she hisses.

Draco gets off the floor, dusts his pants and says, ‘So that you can enjoy twelve hours of sex without me barging into your house to lament about my poor, unchanging fate.’

Pansy’s scowl darkens and Draco gives her a toothy grin.