the one | h. potter

24. walburga

I had a date. A date with Harry Potter.

That's the thought that was coursing through my head all day Friday. And it was a great day too.

I arrived at work that morning to find a to-go cup of my favorite type of tea on my desk. On the cardboard sleeve, I found a message that said -H in Harry's untidy scrawl. I caught Harry's wink from across the room and Katie's pointed glances from the desk beside mine.

We worked on some particularly interesting case files all morning, and after lunch, we had more dueling practice (in which I kicked Harry's ass again) and acting classes. The acting classes were helpful for when we were undercover, and today, the coach had us pair up and work on scenes together.

From Romeo and Juliet, of course.

So Harry and I spent an hour of our Friday afternoon reciting lines of poetry about how obsessed we were with each other to one another.

But I'd gotten home from work about an hour and a half ago, and now it was time to floo to Grimmauld Place for dinner. I walked the corridors of Malfoy Manor, wishing that my room was much closer to the floo, and (physically) bumped into Draco.

"Where are you going?" he asks, once he sees my getup. I'm dressed in a long sleeve, semi-low cut, knee-length black dress dotted with white outlines of flowers. My white winter coat and merlin crest necklace set it off nicely, as do my doc martens.

"Out, dad," I reply.

"You look nice."

I swallow hard. "Thank you," I say, putting on a forced smile. "I'll be going then."

As I walk away, I can feel Draco's eyes on my back but I ignore them.

I reach the floo and step towards the fire, calling out, "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place," as I step through.

Malfoy Manor is cold, empty. I know that I want to leave one day, but for now, it's the best option I've got. Harry's house, in contrast, is warm and bright. Although he lives alone, the house isn't clean to the point it doesn't look lived in at all. From the entrance floo, I can see jumpers hung on coat hooks, knickknacks strewn about, and beautiful portraits on the walls.

I scrunch my face in thought. There's something that should be missing, shouldn't there? Back when this place was the Order's headquarters, I remember there being a particularly unruly painting...

I don't see Harry, but instead of calling his name, I search the walls. Portraits of long-dead family members are hung on the walls, but the largest piece of wall decor is a pair of red curtains. My curiosity gets the better of me and I pull apart the blind-

"FILTH! UNWORTHY BLOOD TRAITOR! THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK-"

The woman in the painting stops yelling and gets a good look at me. She visibly blanches and starts yelling apologies.

"Oh Merlin, I'm deeply sorry," she says, bowing over in the painting. "I'm honored to have a descendant of Merlin in my own house! Are you Eric and Lily's daughter then?" I nod slowly. "What brings you to my old house then? My apologies, it's currently being defiled by unworthy scum."

"Unworthy scum?"

"Yes, yes. The house is no longer in the Black family's hands. My son, filthy blood traitor he is, passed it on to his godson. Absolute menace. The house hasn't been in worse shape! And he's gotten rid of the house-elf... He could use a house-elf, this one..."

I stifle a laugh and close the curtains before the portrait lady can talk my ear off. I walk aimlessly near the stairs before shouting out.

"Harry!"

"Coming!" His reply comes from up the stairs.

I hear stomping footsteps coming down the stairs and Harry comes down.

He stifles a laugh. "So you've met Walburga."

Once the woman in the painting, Walburga, sees him, she starts screeching again.

"DISGUSTING HALF BLOOD! A DISGRACE TO THIS HOUSEHOLD! PEOPLE TURNING OVER IN THEIR GRAVES-"

Harry silences Walburga by waving his wand, and the curtains close.

"It's hard to get her to shut up," he says, "but I've been able to make those curtains soundproof with lots and lots of silencing spells."

"Impressive."

Harry gives me a once over. "Y-you look great," he smiles.

"You don't look so bad yourself," I smirk. And it's true. Harry looks... hot. He's wearing a cashmere sweater and dark jeans, black boots, and has managed to tame his rat's nest of hair into some type of order.

"Great! You dressed perfect, we're going to 'O ver."

"O- what now?"

"Muggle restaurant at Saint James market."

"We're going muggle?"

"Unless you want a picture of the two of us having dinner tomorrow on the front page of the prophet," Harry says, raising his eyebrows.

"Right."

Harry holds out his arm. "We've got reservations for right now, side-along with me?"

I smile at him, grab his arm, and he apparates us away.