A messy-haired teenager nodded his head as he listened to a dull voice droning on the history of the goblin's war for Merlin-knows-how-long-it-has-been. One might assume that he nodded his head along with the lecture, taking in knowledge like a dehydrated man greedy for water. But no, it was sleepiness like no other that he was fighting off and wished for the class to be over as soon as possible.

Harry was started awake when his head finally touched the desk with a painful thud and rubbed his forehead. A series of snickers sounded from the desk to his right. Harry clenched his eyes shut, knowing who it was laughing at him.

The green-eyed boy looked beside him to see his red-haired friend asleep, already long conceded to the lethargy. 

He then peered over beyond his best friend, where his other best friend was seated, diligently taking notes amongst the half-dead students that had about as much enthusiasm as Snape in a field trip.

Suddenly, Harry felt something poke his finger on the table. He turned to see a paper crane laying between his hands, atop of his unopened notebook that served no purpose in this history class, but doodling.

Ever the curious one, Harry picked it up, eyes squinted at the elegant cursive of 'open me!' scrawled on one of the wings. Oblivious to a couple of friends consisted of one smirking and the other slightly nervous. 

Careful not to rip the paper, he slowly undid the paper crane. Green eyes widened as they took in the words inside — and also a drawing of two stick figures walking together in hand with an excessive amount of hearts hovering over their heads.

Dear Scarhead,

Fancy a date with me to Hogsmeade this weekend? 

Harry spotted two small boxes underneath the sentence with 'yes' and 'no' written respectively beside each of them. Not really convinced that he wasn't imagining things, Harry reread the letter over and over again to the point that he probably remembered the contents better than his own name.

"What!" Harry finally said, whispered really, in a tone of disbelief. "Take me out on a date? ...Malfoy, you have got to be kidding me," he murmured and shook his head as he thought that the Slytherin was taking a joke way too far this time.

 "I'm not," a male voice from beside him spoke, low not to attract attention, "Never was when it comes to you, Potter." A cheeky wink was all it took to discard what possibility for Harry to be inclined to do as the letter — not that the chance was high in the first place.

An 'ooh' sound ensued, probably from Zabini who looked both amused and cringed from his best mate's cliche line. 

Harry scoffed. "Right," he said stiffly.

He looked back to the once folded paper crane and folded it two times before sending it over to the blond's desk with a flick of his finger. He stared at the latter, eyes locked, not noticing how Malfoy had gulped nervously as he expected an answer.

"Yeah sure, when pigs fly. Now shove off," with that Harry returned to look ahead the teaching ghost with a smile. Yet again oblivious to the dumbfounded blond, who immediately — and quite contrarily to the supposed effects of his words — beamed with a challenge.

*****

Deep in the dark dungeons — Snape's private quarters, to be more exact...

"Father?"

"Yes, son? What is so important for you to floo me at this time of night?"

"Well..."

Silence.

"Son?"

"Father, I need as many pigs as possible. Flying ones, if possible. But otherwise, I could probably charm them myself."

A pause.

"Narcissa, dear, our son has gone completely mad."

"Father!"

"Just what do you need those pigs for, Draco? Are you out of your mind! — oh don't bother, you just answered that yourself."

"TO PROVE MY LOVE FOR POTTER!"

Another pause.

"Very well then, son. How many of them do you need again? Though, I believe you have to charm them yourself since the flying ones are quite rare these days—"

*****

A teenage wizard woke up to the warm sun pouring in the Gryffindor's boys dorm room. He sat up in his bed with a slight smile on his sleepy face and stretched out his arms with a yawn.

"Rise and shine..." a voice, coloured with as much happiness as Voldemort wearing a pink tutu dancing over Dumbledore's grave, spoke.

Harry did his morning routine, one that consisted of a quick, warm shower and dressing — no combing or any sort of hair-love activities since even his own hair seemed to be opposed against him — and went down to the Great Hall with his friends.

It was when Harry just reached the fourth floor when he notice an oddity. Or rather, oddities. Through the rather foggy glass of the window, Harry thought he saw a...pig — was it? — in the air.

He needed to investigate. Fuck breakfast. I mean who needed that, right? Investigating — a curious hobby that had landed him into a lot of deadly circumstance and not-so delightful meetings with an insane, old, bald, and noseless man who thought he owned the world and Harry shouldn't be in it — was the most right thing to do at the moment.

"What the fuck!"

Harry staggered when a pig went almost nose to nose right in front of him upon arriving in the courtyard. Which was currently more appropriate to be dubbed as a zoo specialized in pigs that inhabited at least a hundred of them, but that didn't matter. What mattered was if this was some kind of clue that could lead Harry to fight some world dominator wannabe again or not. If so, Harry at least hoped it wouldn't be some eccentric middle-aged man with a Peppa Pig-imprinted bodysuit and an army of—

Wait. Are these pigs his army? Is this a distraction for an ambush? Oh, please give me a damn break, the war had just fin—

"Potter! Looking fine today as always," came the usual flirtatious remark from you-know-who — no, not that one, ugh.

"Malfoy, what the fuck is happening here?" Harry asked, dismissing the compliment completely. Hermione and Ron, who were beside him, were just as eager for some enlightenment of the bizarre situation they woke up to this supposedly peaceful morning.

"Nothing much, just you being extra beautiful today. Did you change your perfume, perhaps Potter? You seem to be fresher and glowing more than—"

"I've never used a perfume in my life, now—" "Wow Potter, really?" "—tell what's going on! Is this...your doing?" Harry dumbly accused. Hermione, who was nodding her head fiercely along his speech had to stop to turn and stared at her friend as if he was the stupidest being she'd ever come across with to accuse Malfoy of something as—

"Why, yes it was me."

"I knew it was you—" that was a lie, "—you slimy git! Is this some new trick of yours to somehow humiliate me?!" Harry jumped the blond ferret, shaking him like a twig in the wind by the shoulders. In which another circumstance he would have the consciousness to feel insulted by the height difference that rendered him feel like a midget upon having to reach his hands up to reach Malfoy's shoulders.

"N-no—!" shake "I did—" shake "t-to prove" shake "a point!" he finally shoved Harry's arms off of him.

"To what?"

"Merlin, Potter, next time listen to what a bloke has to say." Malfoy scowled and adjusted his tie, which was rather unrelated since Harry didn't touch it at all, but Harry figured it must be out of habit.

Malfoy then paused with a slightly agitated look, Zabini placed a hand on his shoulder as if it would turn on a button for him to proceed.

Just what is happening? 

"So, Potter," he started rather nervous, "Now you will go out with me?"

...huh?

"Potter?"

It finally clicked. Thanks to Hogwarts' fast Wi-Fi, it didn't take as long as usual for Harry's standard 6 Mbps brain to come up with an answer.

Ron tugged at his forearm impatiently, hinting at the direction to the Great Hall, though Harry remained stoned in place. "Let's just go eat, Harry, Malfoy is just wasting our—"

"Shut up, Weasley, can you see we're talking? Probably not with that level of intelligence of a— Oh hi, Patricia." A pig flew, honking at them.

"No, idiot. That one is Regina, Patricia is the one chewing on Longbottom's sachel," Zabini chirped in. Parkinson wheezed as she looked over to see Neville engaging in an intense tug of war with a flying pig. Which in itself was a sight to behold.

"Finish that I dare you, Malfoy!" Ron barked angrily.

Malfoy was about to open his mouth to retort before a small, "Yes."

Then silence fell upon the two groups of friends, including the crowd — predominantly consisting of Slytherins for the reason Hermione had the idea of.

The silence didn't last long as the entirety of the Slytherin body erupted into tears of joy after Ron's disbelieving, "Mate, what!" breaking the ice, and almost every one of them shouted something along the lines of, "Motherfucker finally got accepted! I'm tired listening to his shite!" and then came cries of, "Me either!"

Malfoy, however, seemed to have turned deaf — and slightly mad from the way he was grinning — to the uproar and focused only on the blushing brunet in front of him.

"Well then, you better look forward to our date, Potter. Because it's going to be the best one you'd ever have," Malfoy said with an air of arrogance and confidence that only served to deepen the redness of Harry's cheeks.

Father is going to hear about this.

*****

"Ah-choo!"

"Lucius, dear, are you sick?"

"Don't be silly, Cissa, it was only a sneeze."

Yet for some reason, Lucius felt there was a terrible storm coming his way and he wasn't sure why but he didn't like it. Not one bit. Though, for the moment, he would like nothing more but enjoy a nice cup of tea with his wife and disregard his worries for later on.

— The End —

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