Love Bites (Harry Potter: Official Dragon Tamer, Part One)

The Best-Laid Schemes Often Go Awry

You need to be with someone who understands your station.

Who understands that, while times are changing, there are definite differences between the haves and the have-nots.

I mean, sure, you can be friends with them and even fuck them.

But you don't fucking marry them.

Or even get too involved with them, as I've clearly caused you to do with fucking Harry.

And now, here you are, smitten like a fool, having spent Samhain at the Weasleys.

The Weasleys.

Fuck, Draco, but sometimes you're a cliché of every poor, self-pitying rich boy when he's feeling bad about his wealth and going off and slumming it.

First fucking Ben.

Then Potter, who, I know, isn't slumming, but he might as well be.

And then the Weasleys.

Did you really stay at their place for an entire weekend?

This isn't supposed to be what you do on vacation.

I have that all figured out, too.

We'll spend Christmas at the Manor with your mom - mum — and summer on the Vineyard with my parents.

But most of our time being blissfully happy and away from our silly parents' prying eyes and asinine comments, snuggled together in our London flat.

But we're not, of course.

And it's all my fault because I wasn't careful enough when I cast the app into your phone.

I shake my head now and stare at my face in the bathroom mirror.

The glamor I have to use at work.

The one I had so carefully constructed when I received the promotion and moved to London.

The one that was supposed to remind you of Ben and pique your interest once we were working in the same department.

The one I was now forced to use because, despite all my best efforts to look your type, you continued to ignore me.

Worse.

I shudder, remembering examining the crime scene at Ethel Hodge's.

The realization, when you'd allowed your perfect work mask to drop, and I had seen your eyes flick over me in that sort of regal disdain you do so well.

And then there's work.

The past two days have been torture.

You're too smart for your own good, Draco.

You're putting too much together and too quickly.

"Well, fill us in, what did you boys discover Friday night?" Davies had asked as soon as we all sat down Monday morning.

Of course, you , in your typical, no-bullshit fashion, launched right into a discussion of how the app worked and your theory of how the caster only needed their intended to look at them for the love charm to work.

It was fucking genius, really, I still had to admit to myself.

A mix of Amortentia , the Confundus charm, and Imperio, all working to make the intended see that the caster was their one true love .

First, the Confundus charm made one confused and impressionable.

Then, a modified Amortentia , allowing the person to become infatuated, and thus, fall in love with the caster, becoming particularly infatuated with the way the caster smelled... a fucking GENIUS twist on the actual potion, if I do say so myself.

Finally, a modified Imperio caused the intended person to all but become the absolute perfect partner for the caster, according to their exact fantasies and wishes.

Because let's be real.

We'd all avoid those little niggles and troublesome differences in a relationship if we could, right?

What really bugged me, though, was how you described me.

Well, not me, but... the person behind the Erised App.

Which was me, I know, but... you didn't know that.

You weren't even vaguely impressed .

Just as you had on Friday night, you kept shaking your head, looking as though you wanted to retch and kept calling me "a fucking nutter."

Well.

If I'm a "fucking nutter," it's entirely your fault.

I've given you your chance.

So many chances.

So many different glamors and you ignore each and every one.

And now, inadvertently, you've managed to dodge my brilliant app.

Although, I should have guessed you would prove such a difficult prize to capture.

Escaping the fate of most of your family and rising up like a goddamn phoenix out of the ash to become a respected name in England once more.

You, Draco...

You... my angel.

My sweetheart.

My honey pie.

You.

You are proving much more difficult to tame than the average dragon.

I'm going to have to step up my game.

Fuck this app.

I'm going to have to come for you directly.

I smirk in the mirror as the glamor falls away, blond hair and dark blue eyes both fading to brown.

I'm hot, Draco.

And it's not just my ego talking.

I don't blame you for not recognizing me; I've grown up and filled out quite a bit since I was a scrawny nineteen-year-old, stammering at you in awe in Boston.

You're a damn lucky son-of-a-bitch.

I'm gorgeous — nearly as beautiful as you are (and no, you asshole, that's not just ego talking, that's every stupid bloke I've managed to pick up in the past couple of years, thank you very much) — and we'll look perfect together, once I get you caught up to speed.

It's time for a new plan.

One that leaves no room for error.

And, to start, we have to loosen you from that annoying Harry Potter's grasp.

And what better way than to reintroduce you to your darling Ben?

Obviously, I've kept tabs on him since your horrific split three years ago.

It's time to pay him a visit.