A/N: A clichéd bookstore oneshot thing, although I'm not opposed to writing more... I didn't want to do my English paper, so instead I decided to write this. This is the revised version. No major changes- just some spelling/typos. A big thank you to my new beta, Lily!
As Harry walked along the brick sidewalks of Winchester, he came upon a small bookstore. Tableaus of children's fairy tales, news of author interviews and book signings, and reviews of the different best sellers lined the store's windows. He paused, gazing at the display in the second window, when a book caught his eye. It was that book Ginny had been after, by some reclusive American author. King was it? He wasn't too sure. Harry couldn't understand how Ginny had come to enjoy horror novels, but then again, he couldn't understand how he himself had become a closet Harlequin Romance fan.
On a whim, Harry decided to enter the store, and purchase the book for Ginny… and maybe something for himself, as well.
The store's appearance was deceiving. It was much larger than he thought it would be, although it still maintained a cozy, intimate feeling. But then again, it could have been because he was the only one in the store, with the exception of a middle-aged woman with short, graying hair and colorful reading glasses behind the counter. She was buried in a book, and glanced up from her reading to look at Harry, but went back to it, ignoring him.
Harry wandered around the store aimlessly, while keeping an eye out for Ginny's book. He ended up in the back section of the store, where the romance books were kept. Harry looked over his shoulder before plucking one from the shelf. He opened the book and began to read the first page.
"Sister Peters in Amsterdam, Potter? I never would have guessed."
Damn. He thought he was safe, but no, someone he knew just had to find him in the Romance section of a Muggle bookstore. Slowly turning around to face the intruder, Harry froze.
"M-Malfoy? Is that you?" Great, now his voice was cracking too.
"No, its Neville Longbottom," Draco paused for a beat, "Of course its me, you lack-wit."
Harry cleared his throat, and made an attempt to reply coolly. "How… why… what are you doing here?" It turned out that Harry Potter was incapable of sang-froid. This conversation was definitely not going well.
"Where is 'here'? Winchester? This bookshop? You really need to be more specific." Draco smirked, and Harry thought that Draco was being more of an arse than necessary.
"Er… well, both, I suppose. Don't you live in Wiltshire?"
"The manor is in Wiltshire. That doesn't mean that I am in Wiltshire. As to why I'm here, I'm picking something up for Blaise, and this is the only shop in Hampshire that has it." Harry nodded, and shifted his feet. Draco continued, "And since you asked me, I get to ask you the same question: what are you doing here?"
"I live here. Rather, I just moved here. Got sick of London."
"And?"
"'And' what?" Malfoy was starting to confuse Harry.
"Why are you in the romance section of a Muggle bookstore?"
"I, err, I'm picking a book for Ginny," Harry answered lamely.
"The Weaslette doesn't like romance novels, Potter."
"You don't know what she likes…and, wait! How do you know about Sister Peters in Amsterdam?"
"My mother had an affinity for romance novels. She'd leave them around the manor. And in case you've forgotten, I worked with Ginny. She liked to read horror stories during her break." Draco nodded his head to the Stephen King book that Harry was holding. "Now spill it. Who's the book really for?"
Harry grumbled inaudibly.
"Sorry, I don't speak Neanderthal."
"Myself. I like romance novels. Do you have a problem with that?"
"Not at all, Potter. I've nothing against them. I myself like Annie Proulx." Draco casually leaned against a bookshelf.
"Who?" He really didn't want to be getting into a book discussion with Draco Malfoy, of all people, but Harry had some time to kill.
"Brokeback Mountain, Potter. I'm sure that you've seen the film. It started out as a short story."
"Oh." Harry nodded slowly. So Malfoy liked… gay things? Was he bent? This could work out well.
Harry's eyes drifted towards Draco, and noticed the small hoop earring in the cartilage of his left ear, the worn leather cuff on his wrist, and the tight fitting muggle clothing that clung to his lithe figure.
Clung to his lithe figure? Harry really needed to stop reading romance novels.
"Mmm. I've only read the story though. You've got one of those Muggle televisions, right?" Harry nodded again. It seemed like that was the only thing he could do, given his state of confusion.
Draco took a step forward, closing the distance between them and put his lips dangerously close to Harry's ear. "Maybe we should watch it then?"
Draco's arm snaked around his waist, encircling him, bringing their hips together. The touch sent shivers up Harry's spine. He swallowed, and answered hoarsely, "Sure."
Leaning in as if to kiss him, Draco's lips ghosted across Harry's as he whispered against his lips, "Eight o'clock. Tomorrow night. Your place. I'll bring… dessert." With that, he grabbed Harry's arse, and walked away, leaving Harry staring dumbly at Draco's retreating form.
As Harry stepped up to the register to pay, the woman behind the counter put on her reading glasses, and looked at the book. "Romance novels, eh? For your girlfriend?"
"No," Harry said, unconsciously placing a hand on the place where Draco's had been, "for me."