Little Talks - A Draco Malfoy Love Story

8

He came fifteen minutes earlier than the time they had agreed on, he was too excited to wait any longer and his anxiety was making time pass very sluggishly. They were only hanging out, and here he was checking his breath every other minute as if he was going to snog her.

    Then he'd check his hair, then he'd check his breath, again.

    Do we greet her with a handshake . . . Or a hug? Nah, a hug would be like the type of thing you do on a first date.  When they lean over the table and hug awkwardly, or they'll do it standing up keeping a good amount of space between their hips down. But a handshake is too formal; you don't want to come off as one of those guys-

    The problem was she had already sat down before he could do either. He hardly even noticed she had come in until she snapped her finger before his eyes.

    "Hi," he quickly said, he couldn't help the dorky smile that he gave her.

    "Hello," she smiled, "so, what are we doing?"

    He hadn't thought that far ahead, realistically at least. In his mind, they'd be making out by now and getting kicked out of the library for their inappropriate behavior.

    He shrugged, glancing out the dusty window to see the sun shining, "We could go out for a walk while the weather is still nice."

    "Sure," she grinned at his suggestion, standing back up, her denim skirt sneaking up her thighs as she did. Subtly, he looked her up and down, hoping she wouldn't notice how his eyes lingered on her thighs.

    She did notice. She smirked. What else could she expect from a teenage boy?

    It was a Sunday, Draco stuck to wearing his usual black suit, Faris's outfit was simple, a denim skirt and a long-sleeved shirt. But it drove Draco crazy.

    "So, are you rich or something?" Faris asked, interrupting his fantasy.

    It took him a minute to remember what he was doing and who he was with, "Yeah, my parents are. What makes you ask that?" He said clearing his throat, butterflies leaving his stomach, his mind clearing the fog.

    "Oh, I just kinda thought you would be. The suit says a lot."

    He hesitated, " . . . Do you not like the suit?"

    "No, no I like it, sorry this conversation isn't turning out how I thought it would," she mumbled, her face flushing red, "I just meant that you always look put together."

    "Oh, well, thank you."

    It was decently warm outside, students were gathered outside, spread around the field to soak up the sun. In the free expanse of land ahead of them, they decided to walk through the forest near Hogsmeade, maybe even stop in a store or two.

    He thought about stopping at a tea shop or maybe buying her something she liked in a store, which would probably persuade her to like him more. Maybe the idea that he had money intrigued her.

    "Are you rich?" He asked, clasping his hands behind his back. He cringed at his words, he didn't mean to be so blunt.

    "My parents do well with business," she murmured, her voice quiet, she felt odd talking about it, she felt like she was bragging. She was proud of her parents' success, of course, she didn't see the need to shove their wealth into other's faces though. "They've never really struggled with money."

    "What do your parents do for work?"

    "My dad works in the French Ministry of Magic and my mum has a wedding dress line. I work with her sometimes, actually."