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#Malfoid #HarryPotter #Fanfiction Year 4 --- The compartment door slid open with the particular force Lyra Malfoy reserved for an audience. Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass stood at her shoulders, already wearing the thin, anticipatory smiles of girls who expected the usual sport. Lyra herself looked precisely as she always did at the start of term: pale, immaculate, and prepared to be unpleasant. Her eyes lit up as she saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and a cruel smirk grew on her face. “Well,” she said, eyes moving from Harry to Ron to Hermione and back again. “If it isn’t the famous trio. Scarhead, the weasel, and the mudblood. I had hoped the summer might have improved at least one of you. Evidently not.” Harry stared back. His anger rose… But the memory of the advice he had received helped quell his irritation. A letter from Sirius on how to deal with Malfoy, once and for all! The words burned clear and bright in his mind: "Harry, the best way to deal with Malfoy is simple: Whenever she's mad, tell her she's beautiful. When she bullies you, act like she's flirting with you. Give her chocolates. Give her flowers. Ask what she wants to name your first child and if you two want to live in the house in Godric's Hollow. What wallpaper for the baby's nursery. Kiss her hand. She will go barmy. It'll be hilarious and it'll get her off your back-Trust me Harry." He reached into his robe, set a small box of Honeydukes chocolates on his knee, and regarded Lyra with mild interest. “You're beautiful when you’re angry,” he said. The compartment went very quiet. Ron’s hand rose at once to cover his mouth. His shoulders began to shake. Hermione made a small, strangled sound and turned a deep, immediate red, her eyes fixed on Harry as though he had begun speaking in Parseltongue. Behind Lyra, Pansy’s smile collapsed. Daphne’s lips parted and stayed that way. Lyra blinked. Color touched the high points of her cheeks. “W-What did you just say?” “That you’re beautiful when you’re angry.” Harry stood up and walked up to stand just in front of Lyra-The summer had given him a head of height over her easily, and she shied back just a bit as he kept talking. “Though… Honestly? You’re always beautiful.” “Wha-You-I-!” “Honestly,” Harry allowed himself a little grin, “At this point in our relationship, we should start thinking of names.” “Names,” Lyra repeated. The pink had climbed toward her ears. “For the first child. James, if it’s a boy. Lily if it’s a girl, though you’d have a say, of course.” “S-S-Say?!” Lyra managed faintly. Harry nodded. “Yeah. As for living arrangements, well… My parents left me a house in Godrid’s Hollow. It needs repairing, but the nursery faces east. We’d need to choose wallpaper. Nothing green, unless you insist on it. I like blue sky with white clouds, myself.” Ron made a violent noise into his palm as he tried not to die laughing. Hermione had pressed both hands to her face; the visible portion of her forehead was scarlet. Pansy stared at the chocolate as if it might explode. Daphne had gone nearly as red as Lyra and seemed unable to decide where to look. Lyra’s mouth opened, closed, and opened again. The color had reached her throat now, stark against the white of her collar. “You cannot—Potter, that is not—I came here to—!” “To flirt,” Harry said, evenly. “I assumed that was the point of the visit. If I’ve misread you, say so.” He stood, took the hand she had braced against the doorframe, and bent just far enough to brush his mouth across her knuckles. Her skin was cool. She went perfectly still, her face as red as an apple. “If you want to talk more, we can do it at the welcome Feast. Then start planning out a date.” “D-D-Date…?!” Lyra squeaked. He slid the chocolates into her hand. She held them, dazed, her mouth opening and closing. Her entourage stepped away, eyeing Lyra like she was a bomb about to burst. He smiled and winked. “See you there.” Harry released her, stepped back, and slid the compartment door shut in her face. For a moment the train compartment was silent. Then Harry sat, and allowed himself a small smile. Ron lowered his hand at last. His ears were red, his eyes wet with mirth as he finished his snickers. “Harry,” he said, reverent. “Mate. You’re my flipping hero!” “Hah,” Harry laughed, “Did you see her face? She’ll never bother us again! Thank you, Sirius!" Hermione made another incoherent sound and refused to uncover her face. “Hermione?” Ron prompted. “Come on… You have to admit, that was brill! Come on!” “... You two are idiots,” she sighed. “What?” Harry laughed. “We’ve seen the last of Malfoy! At least for some time!” --- At the welcoming feast, Harry was very surprised when a certain blonde slid onto the bench next to him at the Gryffindor table. Her face was bright red, but she was determined. “Malfoy?” He managed. “S-So… Um…” She looked at him without quite looking at him, “About… That date…?” “... Yeah?” Harry coughed. “... Well… Um… Aren’t we going to… Plan it out?” She ventured. Ron dropped his food as he stared at them. Hermione rolled her eyes as the rest of the table gaped in silence. “Like I said… Idiots.” And somewhere warm and tropical, Sirius Black was laughing his arse off.