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Draco had survived through a war, a cold trial, a voracious fire, and the folly of sleeping under the same roof as a bloodthirsty madman, yet it was today that he found himself facing the worst ordeal of his short, miserable life.
A muggle fair.
Merlin save his soul.
None of it was by his own volition; let that be put down on the record. He certainly would never have elected to take (ugh) Muggle Studies. Had it not been for the Wizengamot's threats at his trial, he'd have gone his entire life blissfully unaware of all this...weirdness. However, in their own words, "He had to do better," and it was going to start by changing his worldview. A pathetic sentiment, but then Draco did prefer the view from outside Azkaban, so he'd oblige it, he supposed.
"Gather around, everyone. Gather 'round." Professor Nollrick, Hogwarts' newly employed teacher for muggle studies joyfully called them over, and the group of students quieted as they formed a semicircle around him. Draco had disliked the man instantly. Everything about him was too round and...joyous... The worst part, though, were those so-called 'ties' he always wore; their designs were an affront to Draco's sense of style. Today, the professor had elected to wear an electric blue tie dotted with bright yellow pieces of cheese—enough said.
"Good, good. Excellent. Are we ready to start?" He clapped his hands. "Now. A lot of you must feel nervous to jump into this new experience. I want you to forget the fear and embrace the excitement! A muggle fair, young people, is an age-old tradition that has been transmitted since well into the Middle Ages..."
Standing at the very back behind everybody else, Draco rolled his eyes—something he found himself doing quite often in this class. He stopped paying attention altogether; he'd never have use for any of this as a potion master, so what was the point? The school year couldn't end fast enough.
He let his gaze travel over the odd twenty or so students, most of them seventh years. Circumstances had forced him, and many others, to retake their last year again. The handful of returnees in Muggle Studies were people just like himself—those who were forced to take this class as a punishment. Frankly, he hardly believed anyone at all would be here by choice. Glancing at the loud contraptions speeding and spinning just a few meters away only served to comfort him in that belief.
By Merlin, were they torturing those muggles for them to be screaming so damn loud?
Keeping his eyes pinned on the professor, Draco bent a little to whisper in Nott's ear. "Is it too late for Azkaban, do you think?"
Nott snorted, but that was all the answer he gave.
Theodor Nott, Blaise, Pansy and himself were amongst the few Slytherin students who had been freed on parole under a plethora of conditions—which encompassed going to the bloody fair, apparently.
The professor claimed. "I trust that you will complete your assignment without incident!"
Wait. What assignment?
"I hate to be a stickler for rules," Professor Nollrick said, "but I must remind you that NO MAGIC will be allowed today, under any circumstances. We wouldn't want the Aurors to crash our party." He winked.
Surrounded by Muggles.
Without magic.
Draco paled. He glanced again at the screaming muggles riding a boat that swung suspended in mid-air. This was a recipe for disaster—he should know; he was uniquely gifted for it.
"Well!" Nollrick clapped his hands together again. "Enough of that boring stuff. Find your partner and start on the assignment. And most importantly: enjoy yourself."
Draco pulled a face. Enjoy yourself?? What utter bullshit.
He looked around, befuddled, as his classmates started to mingle and form pairs, and then walked away into the fray. If he wasn't quick enough, Draco would end up paired with a Hufflepuff. He shuddered at the thought.
He spun on his heels and went to find his Slytherin roommate. "Blaise. Shall we?"
Blaise Zabini gave him an apologetic smile—so fake that it made people want to punch it. "Sorry," he lied, " but pairs are pre-designated. My hands are tied." He waved a (muggle!) sheet of paper in front of Draco's face.
There were two names written on that paper, as well as a set of instructions—a sheet of paper that was very much absent from Draco's own hands, by the way.
Damn it. Who was he paired with? Blaise left him standing there, bereft, as he and another student went on to complete their own assignments. Draco figured if he stood there, arms crossed, someone was bound to come fetch him, eventually.
"Malfoy." A painfully familiar voice called from behind his back, and every muscle in Draco's body stiffened.
Surely this day couldn't get any worse? Surely...
Today could, in fact, get much, much worse. Draco swore that the sizzling burn of sectumsempra hissed over his old scars as he turned around. Potter stood there, blasted paper in hand and Draco didn't wish to know if his name was on the sodding thing. It wouldn't be. Not at all.
They stared each other down in silence for a ridiculous amount of time, so much so that Draco couldn't stand it anymore.
"Potter," He replied in a mildly antagonistic voice, only to falter on the next word.
Truth be told, he didn't know where they stood. Potter had saved him from that fire, then proceeded to put in a good word at his trial. After that, they kept to their own business: Draco stopped calling out barbs in the corridors, and for his part Potter might as well have forgotten Draco was at Hogwarts altogether; he certainly gave that impression.
Potter nodded, clearly uncomfortable. "So... we're supposed to do this thing together."
Draco's thin eyebrows rose. "Obviously."
He did glance down at the paper then. There it was—his name and Potter's side by side, and who knew what manner of inane trial.
"Right," Potter exhaled, already turning around. "Let's get this over with."
Arms crossed, Draco watched the other's retreating back. "I'm not doing any of that rubbish." He called out. Potter ignored him. Draco stomped his feet. "DO YOU HEAR ME, POTTER? COUNT ME OUT."
The insufferable Gryffindor only waved the paper over his shoulder in a dismissive manner as he walked away. This discarding gesture infuriated Draco. How dare he treat him like a nuisance? So Potter wanted to pretend Draco didn't exist? Ah! Well, he could try, Draco smirked nastily.
It only took a few strides for the Slytherin to catch up with him. His mood was slightly better for it, loving the reminder that—in height, at least—he'd forever best the Wizarding World's darling.
Draco opened his mouth to comment on this, but Potter beat him to it.
"Don't dog me, Malfoy. We'll just lie to the professor that we did this stuff together. I don't want to be here any more than you do."
"I very much doubt you hate it more than I do. After all, I'm actually part of this horrid class, unlike you," he spat, "Let me guess: the famous Harry Potter, here to play ambassador for these poor muggles."
"Not that it's any of your business, but I was asked as a favor."
"You're such a suck-up, Potter."
"And you're a prat. Now bugger off."
"Don't order me around." Draco warned.
"I'm sorry, did you want to walk around the fair with me?"
The corners of Draco's mouth pulled down at the mere suggestion.
Potter exclaimed, "See! Can't you—I don't know—walk in the other direction, I guess?" He waved towards some kind of candy stand in the distance.
Draco planted his feet. He grabbed onto Potter's arm, forcing him to a grinding halt.
"I'm not your dog, Potter. Besides, you have the instructions, and I'm not failing this stupid muggle class."
The mighty Savior shoved the paper into Draco's chest, "Then take it. I really don't care." Draco caught it before it fell to the filthy ground.
Disgruntled, he watched as Potter left.
Rooted to the spot, torn three-ways between his desire to bug Potter some more, stay away from him, and, shamefully, his fear of the foreign and terrifying world around him, Draco found himself at a loss.
He glanced down at the paper, and resolved; to hell with Potter! He'd manage on his own. He'd suffer through whatever terrible task and cast this day as just one more in an ever growing collection of nightmares. With any luck, it wouldn't even be as awful as that day Voldemort let his snake eat breakfast with them over their dining table.
The sheet of paper had the date, place, and both their names penned on top. There was just one line below that:
Choose two activities in the fair and describe your experience of them on this paper, give as many details as possible.
His eyes jumped across the paper back and forth, reading the sentence over and over again.
As he watched a group of muggles trapped above a high tower, free-fall into the void, screaming like banshees, he felt his pride twist squarely into fear. Some might have called it cowardice, but there was nothing like fear to keep a man alive. Wasn't Draco proof of that? It wasn't cowardice at all, in fact. Draco preferred to call it a clever recalculation of his best interest.
He'd been sorely wrong about his chances: he'd never manage this assignment on his own. He'd probably die trying.
He frantically searched for Potter—surely someone so short couldn't be so quick? He went in the direction he had last seen the idiot walk towards, avoiding muggles like they might explode on contact. Merlin, but there were so many!
There! Potter stood by a stall.
He forced himself to exhale slowly, observing as he approached how the git was exchanging muggle money for something the clerk handed over to him. Potter nodded at what the man said and then received little colorful...dots?
"What are you doing?" The question came out more accusing than he had meant it.
To his delight, Potter jumped in surprise and some of the bright dots—tiny beads of colors—fell from his hand. The savior put the rest in a bowl as he argued back. "Malfoy?! I thought we agreed to leave each other alone."
"When did I agree to that?" Draco drawled.
"One minute ago." Potter walked around him, heading to some spot further down the stand.
Draco rolled his eyes, mentally chiding Potter to just get on with it. Clearly he'd already started on this blasted assignment. Let him suffer the experience; then Draco only had to write down whatever he saw, and voilà!—just like that, he'd have a passing mark. Azkaban could suck on that genius plan.
The clerk interrupted his musing by handing a long object to Potter across the counter. Draco recognized it as a kind of weapon they had previously studied in muggle class. He shuddered at the realization he remembered anything about muggles at all.
"You better be careful with that." Draco warned, taking a step back.
The Gryffindor smirked as he broke open the shotgun and inserted the beads inside of it. That smirk—combined with the weapon—nearly had Draco fidgeting with nerves. Nearly.
"Relax." Potter said, "I used to watch my cousin play this game all the time."
Potter braced the gun against his shoulder, closed one eye, and took aim. He pulled the trigger. The gunshot had Draco's heart jump in frigh—in surprise.
"Are you quite sure this thing is harmless?" Draco's tone dripped with distrust.
Potter tilted his head sideways to observe the wall he'd shot at. The balloons there remained intact.
"Huh. This is harder than it looks."
"What's the purpose of this?" Draco hissed, getting annoyed now.
Another shot, and the Gryffindor answered, "Win the prize."
Draco looked around, taking notice of the weird items hanging by the ceiling.
"Are you that intent on winning—" Draco read one of the labels at random, "My Little Pony - Summer edition?" He raised one perfectly arched brow at the peculiar muggle artifact.
He must have fallen in the upside-down world, or maybe he was dreaming it: Potter was chuckling. At something he'd said, no less. He didn't know whether to feel annoyed at being laughed at or smug that even the almighty Saint Potter couldn't resist his snark. No—definitely annoyed, after all.
"Yep. That's exactly the one I wanted." Potter shot another bullet. "Bollocks, missed again." He re-positioned himself to shoot, but then, for whatever reason, froze up.
Draco crossed his arms. "Problem, Potter?"
"...No. Well,..." Potter licked his lips.
Draco glared harder.
The Golden Boy straightened again. Some evil possessed him to face Draco, and say, "Here. You give it a try." He offered the gun, aimed downwards.
Draco's heart—which he'd finally managed to wrestle back under his control—started to beat like a war drum all over again.
"You want me to what ??"
Potter, the bastard, nonchalantly said, "Shoot it."
"Not even in your dreams, Potter." Draco couldn't keep an edge of hysteria out of his voice, but then Potter was shoving the wand-thingy in his hands—again with shoving stuff at him! If Potter did it one more time, Draco was going to—
Draco was forced to either grab the gun, or let it fall, and now it was in his hands. Bloody hell.
Potter pointed at the wall. "Just aim at those, then pull the trigger. Easy, right?"
Draco ground his teeth, thinking. It did sound easy. Potter, that absolute failure, had managed without injuring himself; how hard could it be, really? At last, he relented, attempting to mimic Potter's earlier posture.
"No, not like that." The other fussed, adjusting the gun against Draco's shoulder. "You're supposed to close one eye and align the notch with the thing you're aiming at."
Draco did as he was told, yet nothing happened. "I'm doing that already!" He complained.
Potter huffed; Draco heard more than saw it. He was too busy aiming, so he was caught off guard by the feeling of Potter's (disgustingly!) warm hand grabbing his own on the barrel of the gun, to bully it over some metallic part that was closer to the handle. Once the adjustment made, Potter instantly let go.
"Here. You feel that? That's the trigger. If you push it—"
The sound of the bang cut him short.
"Wow. You actually hit it." Potter muttered, caught between disbelief and sounding a little put out.
Draco shrugged. Maybe these muggle games had their moments, after all. He could still feel his hand tingling as he reassumed the position, much more assuredly this time. "Brace yourself for the beating of the ages." He shot again. And smirked, Bullseye.
"Ten shots each. Most hits gets the prize," Potter declared solemnly.
They played, and to Potter's dismay, Draco won 7 to 5. Oh, how sweet was the taste of victory! Draco had beaten the Gryffindor on his own turf, how brilliant was that? Wait until Pansy heard.
"That was objectively pathetic, Potter." Draco gloated as he gave the gun back to the clerk.
The man said, "You can choose a prize. For 12 points...from here to here." The clerk pointed at a row of items.
"That one." Draco decided, and the clerk unhooked it for him.
Potter blinked. "You're not serious?"
The Slytherin pushed the prize into Potter's hands. Ah! Now who was shoving items at who? Potter had no choice but to receive it. 'My Little Pony,' the hot pink label said.
"Very funny, Malfoy."
"Didn't you like that one the most? You have abhorrent tastes, as usual." He leered, and maybe it was a bit less nasty of a smile than he was going for. He had lacked the practice lately.
Potter shook his head, but instead of throwing the horrid thing into the nearest bin, like Draco would've, he tore the packaging open. The toy fit in the palm of his hand, and he shoved it in his jeans' pocket.
"This has been, uh,... interesting?" The Golden boy squinted, "I'll see you around, Malfoy." He turned and left.
"Not so fast, Potter. We're not done yet." Draco hurried after him. The success of his assignment depended on it.
"You're joking, right?" Potter frowned, displeased and confused.
Draco ignored him, not about to say that he had need of Potter yet—just this one time. He'd eat his robes before he ever admitted to that.
They walked side by side in uncomfortable silence, until Potter stopped across a large carousel. Around and around it went, playing the most awful music Draco had ever heard in his entire life. Children sat on minimized horses or inside weird muggle ornate boxes—some sort of prisons on wheels.
Potter turned his head to throw him a look; Draco's jaw ticked with tension. "No. Absolutely not."
"Scared?" He wriggled his brows.
"I will not—!"
But Potter yanked him by the arm, and they were stepping over the moving platform.
"Stop, you dunce. Potter, stop that immediately!" He fought to free himself.
But it was too late; they were already spinning. Draco nearly lost his balance; he managed to grab onto a vertical bar that held up one of those horses and then froze, both hands tightly wrapped around it. For the second time—which were two times too many—Potter laughed at him.
"I'm going to murder you. The moment I get off this thing, you had better start running."
His threats only served to make the other giggle again. What a disgrace, Draco thought. The metal bar he had chosen as his safe haven was going up and down, mimicking the horse's gallop, which made it hard to keep his balance. At this rate, he'd only embarrass himself further by getting sick.
By contrast, Potter leaned against a prop as though he'd done it a million times—and perhaps it was so. Draco had heard of Potter's muggle relatives; they must have brought him around often, since, by all accounts, muggle children thrived in this hell.
Reconciling the idea of a younger Potter and the one standing before him was nigh impossible. Draco only knew the spiteful wizard who gave back as much venom as he got, the arrogant savior of the wizarding world—not the man who stood at ease in a muggle fair. Why did Potter have to be so different? How did he make himself effortlessly belong anywhere he went, like he had any right to? He wasn't any better than Draco: a fact he had proven time and again whenever they fought each other. Potter's 'high and mighty' attitude never failed to graze its nails on the blackboard of Draco's tolerance.
It took two minutes before the beastly thing stopped moving. When finally it was over, Draco steadied himself and stumbled away from it.
"I'm never doing that again."
Potter nonchalantly stepped down to join him. "Feeling alright, Malfoy? You're looking a little green." He said with levity.
Oh, but Draco had enough of that. His hand reached for his wand, hidden inside his pocket.
Potter's eyes widened. "Wait, Malfoy! No magic, remember?"
Draco's hand stilled, but the tension in his body coiled, so Potter added, "Come on, seriously. I don't want to sit in on another trial. Do you?"
That was...a good point. The Aurors would take him in, and then what would Draco say? That Potter forced him on the merry-go-round? Draco jutted his lower lip out and forced himself to let it go. But he'd have his vengeance. And soon.
"That was all the tasks, I take it?" Draco pulled himself to his full height, yanking on the collar of his appalling muggle vest to shake off the creases. "This blasted day cannot end soon enough."
"Well..." Potter edged.
Draco cut him with a sharp glare. "What?"
"Sorry to disappoint, but you're going to have to take another look at that paper."
Draco took the folded thing out of his pocket and read it again.
"No, the other side," Potter said.
He turned it, and it read:
Additionally, every group will be assigned one specific ride. They will explain it thoroughly during the following class.
Draco's stomach plummeted. With an ashen tongue, he asked, "Potter, what in Merlin's name is a Ferris wheel?"
The boy-who-lived nodded towards something behind them, and Draco's gaze followed. It turned out, a Ferris wheel was nothing short of the tallest circle of hell mankind's twisted mind had ever birthed. And it spun.
Draco's throat bobbed. "We're going to die. My father—" he stopped, realizing what he was about to say. At least Potter had the grace to let it slip. He could easily have made it hurt; Draco kept forgetting that his father was in Azkaban now.
"Right." Potter passed his hands through his hair, bulling it into further disarray. "You really don't have to come with me on this one. Honestly, Malfoy."
If Draco didn't know any better, he'd swear the Golden Boy was begging. Which was ridiculous.
"You don't even take the class, Potter. Some of us can't afford to risk our freedom on a wheel." Draco took a steadying breath. "I'll go. You stay." Even as he said it, Draco hoped Potter would argue back. The infernal wheel was the most daunting of the three tasks; he wasn't sure he could survive it. Nevertheless, with the resolve of a man who was about to face a dragon, Draco forced his feet down the road.
Potter lagged behind, hands in his pockets. "You're really gonna ride it by yourself?"
"You sound so surprised." Draco walked a little slower. Come on, Potter. Where's that arrogant savior complex?
After a long hesitation, Potter caught up with him. "...Mind if I tag along?"
Draco kept a perfectly straight face. "If you must."
They made their way through the crowd.
Much too soon, they were at the feet of the Ferris wheel. People standing in a line entered their cabin by groups of two or three, and then the wheel would turn, trapping the muggles mid-air in a tin can they had no hope of escaping.
The wait was a torture in and of itself; watching couples willingly disappear in the belly of the beast each time it deigned to stop was simply nerve-frying. Slowly, ever so slowly, the number of people standing before them dwindled...three groups, two. Only one now.
Potter shuffled his feet. "Changed your mind yet, Dr—Malfoy?"
"No," Draco ground out, clenching his jaw. He couldn't back out now; it would please Potter too much.
Wait, had he almost called Draco by his given name? What was up with that? Some kind of muggle curse, he mused, Draco wouldn't put it past them to—
"Malfoy, get on. Quickly!"
No, wait a minute, he couldn't do it, after all. He couldn't—
But Potter tugged on his sleeve, and Draco was compelled inside the small round cabin.
Tumbling in after the Gryffindor, he was greeted by the sight of two seats on each side of the compartment. Potter took one just as the door closed behind them, and promptly after, the devilish thing started its ascent. Draco nearly lost balance and half-sat, half-fell into the opposite seat.
Worrying over the reality that they were well and truly trapped now, the Slytherin rearranged his posture with as much dignity as he was able. It didn't escape his notice that Potter was biting back a smile. Because he'd at least would like to be mentally prepared for it when whatever awful event happened, Draco demanded, "What happens next?"
Potter seemed confused. "Next? Uh...Nothing."
"What do you mean, nothing? What are we supposed to do in here?"
Potter stammered, "There is nothing to do. This is it. Just...enjoy the view, or something." He waved his hands at the plastic window panel.
Draco exhaled, loudly, and for a long time.
Just as he was watching the ground slowly recede below them, the Ferris wheel stopped moving.
"Potter, what's happening?"
The wanker actually snorted. "It's fine."
"Fine?? We're stuck up here!" Draco jumped to his feet, a decision he regretted immediately; the whole thing swung with his momentum.
"Merlin's sodding hat!" He cursed through his teeth, scrambling to get seated again.
Potter pushed his glasses back in place. "Would you just give it a second?"
Draco raised an accusatory finger at him, his other hand clamped at the edge of his seat. His mouth fell open, ready with a retort just as the Ferris wheel started moving up again.
"See?" Potter stated. "Perfectly normal."
Draco's head fell between his fingers. "I'm never getting out of here alive."
They sat in silence as the wheel climbed higher still. Then Potter proved once again that there was a bed with his name on it waiting for him at St. Mungo's.
"Thanks, by the way," he blurted.
Draco raised his head, stunned. "What?"
Potter visibly forced himself to go on. "You know. For lying. At the manor. And changing sides at the end."
Draco's frown deepened. Receiving thanks was the last thing he'd have expected. It caught him off guard, so much so that he had no idea how to answer for the longest time. "You've gone mental, Potter. Completely barmy."
Potter's brows raised, "Oh, no doubt about that. It comes with the package."
"The Hero Complex package?" Draco teased. No—not teased. Insulted. It was an insult.
"Afraid so." Potter bantered.
They looked at each other. Draco tugged on his left sleeve. "You..." He stopped. Tried again. "I should be the one saying—that. I mean, you did save my life, I suppose."
"Well, it's like you always tell me. I probably couldn't help myself." Potter shrugged, an edge to his voice. At least Draco wasn't the only one uncomfortable with this conversation.
He owned Potter a life debt. Or perhaps, Potter had repaid his own from that time at the manor, and they were even now. Whatever the case, Potter had better not have wanted to call it in when he brought it up.
Reaching for the most neutral answer, Draco said, "Right. There's that."
"—but, you know," Potter powered on, "I'm glad you made it." He seemed to want to add more, but the words failed him.
Draco had to wonder if Potter truly meant it. He felt weird sitting here, alone with Potter, talking like normal people did. They didn't do this. This wasn't done.
The Slytherin gulped, his gaze jumping nervously between the windows and Potter's eyes. "Are we done yet?" He asked, though he could clearly see for himself that they were only just reaching the Ferris wheel highest point.
Graciously, Potter played along, "Not yet."
The wheel stopped again, Draco tried to hide how much this made him fidget.
The Gryffindor snickered.
"Oh, shut your mouth, Potter."
"I don't get it; you're fine on a broom. This isn't that much higher."
"It's completely different."
"Is it?"
"Are you daft, Potter? Actually, nevermind."
The other threw him a nasty glare.
Draco ground his teeth together and silently counted up to ten. Nothing happened. He gave it five more seconds. "This wicked wheel isn't moving anymore."
"I told you; it's—"
"No, you imbecile! Something is obviously wrong with it."
"Are you the Ferris wheel expert in the room, Malfoy?" Potter retorted, full of sarcasm.
"Well, clearly I must be. Only an idiot would've dragged me up here in the first place."
"Dragged you? I specifically said you shouldn't come!"
"You're insufferable, Potter," Draco hissed. "That door had better unlock." He motioned at the door with his chin.
"Why? Planning to jump off?" Potter suggested.
"Planning to push you out, actually." Draco retorted airily.
And then Potter, the moron, stood up in his seat, sending the whole capsule careening.
"Fuck's sake, Potter! Sit down before you kill us both!"
But this seemed to only egg him on. Draco blanched as Potter not only stayed up, but even jumped once. Draco's grip around the edge of his seat severed the blood flow in his fingers, and they whitened with the pressure. He screwed his eyes shut as another wave shook the cabin at Potter's antics.
"POTTER," he scolded.
"What, don't feel like opening that door anymore? Look, I'm ready to jump." He demonstrated by jumping on the spot a third time.
"I'm going to die," Draco dismayed. After surviving all of this. After the war, after Voldemort... this was how it ended?
Potter relented, at last sitting back in his chair with a huff. He crossed his arms over his torso.
Two minutes went by in cold silence before an announcement blasted from a megaphone.
"Dear customers, the Ferris wheel has entered security mode, which is why it is now stuck. Our mechanic is doing everything in his power to bring it back online. We apologize for this issue. Please wait calmly until the problem is resolved."
"What is the muggle bloody saying? Own-line? "
"Just sit and let them repair it."
"This would've never happened with magic." Draco fumed.
"Well, we can't use that, so get over it."
Draco could feel Potter's eyes on him even as he was slowly building himself into a rage, thinking up all the ways he was going to bring the damn wheel to the ground.
Potter cleared his throat. "So, um."
Draco's gaze snapped to his, eyes sharp.
"What do you plan to say about the fair in your next class, then?"
Draco snarled. "Is that supposed to be a joke? What do you think?" He unlocked one hand from around the edge of his seat, just long enough to gesture wildly around them. "Muggle fairs are bullshit. This is bullshit. Frankly, I'm starting to believe this class wants us to hate muggles."
"One Ferris wheel isn't the paragon of muggle's value, Malfoy. You can't hate them based on something stupid like that."
"Watch me."
"What are you actually going to say, thought?"
Draco scoffed, "What's with you and Ferris wheels, anyway? We're stuck up here, you realize?"
"It's something to talk about," Potter shrugged, "Besides, I do like them. Always wanted to try one," he admitted.
"Well, since you love them so much, you talk about them."
The Gryffindor straightened in his seat. "Me?"
"Who else, you idiot? Or I suppose, you could just admit you're completely clueless." He taunted.
Potter glared. "I'm not! Just—Well—Ah," he dithered. "Oh, what the hell." He surrendered. What secret could a stupid Ferris wheels hold that Potter had to agonize over it so? Draco waited in rapt silence.
Potter's fingers played with a hole in his worn-out pair of jeans as he began, "Ferris wheels, well, muggles usually ride them with someone."
"I'd say that's rather evident, given the number of seats." Malfoy smartly pointed out.
"Ah—right. Well, friends can ride them together, but usually people come with, uh, their lover?" Potter combed his hand through his hair.
Draco was struck silent. "Their lover," he repeated flatly. "Who'd bring their lover to such an abhorrent place?" His nose scrunched up in disgust.
"They do, though. Mainly because of the myths."
"Ferris wheels have myths?" Draco's eyes widened. This was rich. Also, he could use that on his next class. Unless Potter was taking the piss, which Draco was half convinced he must have been. Taking your lover on a cursed Ferris wheel? Potter's moves were simply dreadful. No wonder there wasn't even a hint of romantic rumor flying about him these days.
Potter was saying, "Yeah, there's all sorts of stories in muggle books about it, I've heard." His eyes latched onto anything that wasn't Draco. "They come up here to, well, confess."
Draco was horrified by what he was hearing. "You're joking."
Potter shook his head, his embarrassment shifting to amusement as he took in Draco's expression of absolute disbelief and horror.
"They think it's romantic." He explained further.
Draco took in again the discolored seatings, the smell of age-old plastic, and the nerve-wracking situation they were stuck in, and wondered aloud, "Here? There's no way." The more he learned, the clearer it was: muggles were complete basket cases. Not that he ever doubted.
For a few seconds, Potter observed him in silence. Then he turned his face away, and Draco half hoped, half rued that this conversation about Ferris wheels was over. He'd actually begun to... enjoy himself.
Potter suggested, "Take a look outside."
Distrustful, but curious, Draco obliged.
He was struck by the view.
They had arrived at the fair late in the afternoon, and now the evening was slowly bleeding the sky into golden blues. Some of the city lights flickered in the distance. Like this, with all those tiny windows glowing in the distance, Draco realized just how far-reaching muggle cities really were: London stretched beyond the horizon. At this altitude, he had a perfect view of the open sky and it reminded him of being on his broom, free—so much so that, unwittingly, his fingers lost the chokehold they had on his seat; his mind wandered.
Everything looked so tiny, so insignificant and far. Moments like these, when Draco felt the weight of his choices lift off his shoulders, were few and far between.
It was then that the cabin rocked, and Draco's eyes snapped back to Potter, that fool, who was standing up again.
"What are you doing?" Draco accused.
"Answering your question about Ferris wheels," he took a step forward—the only step he could take, really. It was a cramped space in here. He had that expression that every Gryffindors got when they had mischief on their mind.
"Potter, stop fooling around. If we fall to our death, I'm going to—"
"Kill me?" Potter smiled. A teasing smile—nothing like the fake ones he sometimes—rarely—inflicted on Draco. There could only be one explanation.
Potter was under a curse.
The Ferris wheel had cursed them. All the muggles in the world had ridden one at some point, and came out lacking all common sense! And now, so was Potter, and soon enough—
Potter braced his hands against the seat on either side of Draco's face and leaned in.
Draco leaned away. "Potter, listen to me. You're being manipulated by muggle magic."
"You know, I think you might actually be right," he admitted.
Draco almost felt relief that Potter had seen reason. Until the Golden Boy put a knee on his seat. And Draco gulped. Potter was close. They had never been this close, he didn't think. Merlin, where was he supposed to look?
"Draco." Potter said, like he didn't just sucker punch Draco's guts with it.
But then it was enough. It was all the blasted curse's fault—it had to be; Draco made the mistake of meeting Potter's eyes, and then he couldn't look away. Thus far, Potter had acted as if under a spell: deeply amused, confident and cheeky. Yet now, surprise bled into his expression, hesitation. Something like fear, if it were possible. It was all that, rather than the poise from earlier, that Draco blamed for his own lapse in judgment. He stopped his attempt to push himself away and raised his chin. Such a small gesture, and his breath stuttered as Potter's gaze fell to his lips.
All at once, the moment tore itself away from him, leaving only a gust of cold wind in its place.
Potter stumbled away, chest heaving, standing straight up in the middle of the cabin—or as straight as a man could get in a rocking metal can.
Draco froze with his heart beating in his ears, and Potter's round eyes pinning him to his seat. There wasn't a shred of self-confidence nor amusement left in those green eyes.
The Slytherin recovered first, slowly pushing himself upwards into a proper sitting position. He must have slid down in his chair sometime when he'd tried to evade Potter's antics.
Now, what about that?
"Potter," He called, and the Gryffindor's eyes snapped up to meet his. Where the hell was Potter looking?
Draco uselessly cleared his throat. "Alright?"
Potter shook his head. Then nodded. No. Yes...? Which one was it?
Forget about losing his bravado, Draco realized; Potter was flat-out shaken. The Wizarding World's hero wasn't caught looking this frazzled, not ever. Not even when he'd faced a bloody dragon. And especially not where Draco was concerned.
The evening' shadows were playing tricks on him; how could Potter possibly be blushing?
Draco's breath picked up despite his desperate attempts to get it under control. There was a thrill that hadn't been there before, and Draco was drunk on a single taste. It was mortifying, really, how desperately he wanted to bring back that moment in which, finally, they were meeting on even ground. This was about retribution, nothing more.
Draco found himself standing up.
Face-to-face with Harry Potter, trapped in a tin box, suspended somewhere in muggle London. In this place devoid of magic; yet somehow Draco had never felt his veins strum with it more than in that moment.
The compartment gave a lurch, and Draco felt it as they started descending again. The muggles had fixed their metallic altar.
Trepidation and impatience raged within, as neither he nor Potter moved. Whatever Draco's plans were, whatever this elusive thing he was chasing; it would have to happen while the curse still had its clutches sunk into Potter.
"What are you thinking?" Draco pressed.
"I—You were very—"
"Yes?"
Potter gulped. "Close. Sorry, I didn't mean to—" Potter yelped as Draco put himself closer. Not so close as to touch skin. Not so trapped as to prevent him from fleeing. Just close enough to wonder, and for Potter to lose his voice again, and by Merlin, Draco loved doing that.
"You know," Draco clumsily attempted to hide his own nerves, "they fixed the Ferris wheel."
Potter considered him, stunned. "...right?"
"So," Draco continued, since apparently he had to spell it all out, "there's very little time left."
Draco had never known himself a brave man, it was therefore right to assume he'd just lost his bloody mind.
It took a few seconds, but understanding bloomed in Potter's eyes. Draco had placed it there in a moment of delirium, and dreadfully, it was too late to take it back. For Merlin's sake, what am I doing?
"...Are you...?" Potter frowned at him.
The silence that followed stretched unbearably between them.
Draco could hardly hear anything over the sound of his own beating heart. The longer it went, the sicker he felt. Just let him misunderstand. He wrestled his expression into safe indifference. I need to leave—
His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by the barest touch fluttering over his hand, and he glanced down to see Harry's fingers finished the question his voice hadn't.
Draco was undone. His hands—which had once gripped the edge of his seat as though at any moment he'd topple off a cliff—now reached out to welcome the maddest of falls.
They crashed together, not having known how, and discovered that it was easy.
Draco's fingers trembled with fear, and the madness running through his mind, drunk as he was on the power he'd been somehow entrusted with. He could hardly believe Harry Potter—once the bane of his existence—was letting any of this happen. That he himself was, for that matter. The tug at his collar kept him there, and Draco stopped fighting it. He didn't think he'd ever fallen so completely into anyone.
But this wasn't anyone, and he wouldn't let himself forget it. I'm kissing Harry Potter—this thought ignited with each drag of their lips, surprising him every single time.
What had they wasted so much time for? With every second, they were coming closer to the ground, and all Draco could think was that he wished the Ferris wheel broke again so that he could indulge himself in this euphoria for just a second longer…
Then the Ferris wheel did stop, and Draco smiled against the kiss.
Someone knocked.
Draco and Harry jolted away from each other as an employee outside unlatched the door.
"Enjoying the ride, eh?" He commented with humor.
Draco dared a glance back at Potter and found the same mortified shade of red he knew must be coating his own cheeks. He gathered his wits about him before he spoke.
"An accurate observation," Draco drawled. They couldn't hear his heart beating a thunder from this distance, could they? He looked past the Ferris employee and found Blaise and Pansy watching him with round eyes and mouths agape.
He walked past all of them, like nothing world-shattering had occurred in that cabin. All perfectly usual affairs. A few seconds later, he felt, without having to look, as Potter caught up with him.
The Gryffindor groaned, "They saw that."
"Saw what?"
Harry punched his arm, and true to himself, Draco overplayed it. "Ouch! Is that any way to treat your Ferris wheel date?"
Potter spluttered. "Date?!"
"Isn't that how Ferris wheels work? Who am I to fight against ancient myths and rituals," Draco sniffed, "if you dislike it, you can blame the muggle curse."
Potter shook his head, fighting a smile. He huffed, "You have issues, Draco."
"I really do, don't I?" Honestly, he was half convinced it had all been a nightmare.
Oh, who was he kidding?
Then Potter damned them both by saying, "Want me to tell you about another muggle curse?"
Draco dragged his hands over his face."I can't believe I actually love muggle fairs."