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Harry Potter:
The only known survivor of the killing curse.
Youngest seeker in a century.
Killed a basilisk.
Able to cast a corporeal Patronus by thirteen years old.
Won the Triwizard tournament.
Clandestinely taught defence against the dark arts when he was fifteen.
Oh, and never forget, multiple runs with Voldemort, aka Tom Marvolo Riddle, aka the Dark Lord, aka You-Know-Who, aka He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, aka Voldy, the noseless git.
Yes, by seventeen, Potter had accomplished more than most wizards were able to during their lifetimes. Draco would not deny it.
And yes, not having to run around and fight against dark lords and actively be the poster child against blood supremacy had given him the stability to grow into himself. And oh, what a fine specimen he became (he has eyes, ok?).
But still, were there no other bachelors more suitable to be the Golden Date bachelor in their auction?
Year after year, since St. Mungus started this nonsense to raise funds, Potter had been their ultimate prize.
Was Draco slightly annoyed that no one ever thought of asking him to at least participate in the auction? Yes.
Was his ego soothed when, every year, he received an invite to host the event, highlighting his excellent diction, flawless manners, and all-around impeccable style? Also yes.
(And if, in a crevice of his mind, he wanted to be part of the event as one of the auctioned dates so that he could reason with himself that he was finally fully accepted, that his past mistakes were indeed in the past, he wouldn’t tell a soul. In the same way, he never mentioned to anyone how his annoyance with Potter and his status was less about any type of special treatment given to him, and more about the fear that once again, their society was using the Chosen One as a prop, something they could take and break apart to the greater good.)
What annoyed him the most about the entire event was that Potter would, year after year, stand there on the makeshift stage and answer every one of Draco’s answers with this infuriating smirk on his face while saying completely inane things!
At first, Draco’s questions were logical and sensible:
“Where would you take your date?”
“I heard you enjoy that new, small bistro in Hogsmeade.”
“What’s the perfect date in your opinion?”
“I am not sure. What’s your perfect date?”
“Friday the thirteenth,” Draco blurted out.
Considering that Potter was clearly making fun of him, Draco upped his game:
“Would you wed your date?”
“Only if it was you.”
“Will you make your date dye their hair red like she-weasel”
“I like your blond locks. Also, there is probably a bat-bogey hex incoming”
There was.
In the last few years, Draco had just given up:
“Do you think there is life after death?”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Potter, tell all your fans, did you and Krum ever do the deed?”
“Is this a fantasy of yours?”
Now, this year, Draco has decided to skip the question parts altogether. Everyone knew what would happen: Potter would give some idiotic answers, and then Madam Poppy Pomfrey would bid the highest.
Draco was pretty sure that it was all a deal between her and Harry: she would use his money, and then he would spend a day gallivanting around Hogwarts and spending time with the healer without, for once, being a patient in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.
Clever, very clever of them.
So, when they finally reached Potter’s time, Draco said:
“You all know who our last bachelor is. Known for having a rat’s nest instead of hair, his subpar sense of humour, and the worst paparazzi photos known to man, your one and only, Harry Potter.”
Not surprisingly, everyone clapped as Potter stepped onto the stage.
“Now, it is our tenth edition, and I think we can all agree that there’s nothing more to know about Potter. I propose we skip the questions’ part, as well as the auctioning in itself, and let Madame Pomfrey give the usual 1000 galleons for Potter's hand.”
As everyone prepared to agree with Draco, Potter moved closer to where he was standing. Turning in the direction of the audience, but close enough that he could almost touch him, Potter then suggested:
“Since we are changing the rules, I would like to propose the following: I will pay twice what Madame Pomfrey was going to pay, but I want to go on a date with someone else”.
Everyone gasped and looked in the direction of the known healer, who was smirking, eyes shining with meschiouveness.
“All the other bachelors were already auctioned, Potter,” Draco warns. Is this moron trying to create chaos? he asks himself. Is he never satisfied with a dull, boring life?
“Oh, I see a free, single, interesting bachelor right in front of me.”
More gasps from the audience as Draco looks around, trying to figure out who Potter was mentioning.
Now, Draco is a clever man. Please, don’t think poorly of him. But he has also made some pretty bad choices, atoned for them, but has not quite learnt how to forgive himself.
Potter moves closer, quickly puts on a muffiliato charm, as says quietly:
“I don’t want to pressure you into going out with me if you don’t want to. But it has been said to me that, despite my best efforts when answering your questions, it’s better if I come clean and clearly state I am interested in you.”
Draco stares at him for a few seconds, and then blurts:
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough. I am aware that every year you accept hosting this event despite still receiving threats weekly. I know that you also suggest that they ask other people to be the Golden Bachelor.”
“That’s because I don’t think you deserve it,” Draco fires quickly.
“To be used again?” There’s a genuine smile on Potter’s face. “You know that you kinda ramble when you’re drunk, and we do have friends in common. I may not know you as well as I want, but I want to rectify that. You see me as a human, and I like that.”
“You could have aske-” Potter interrupts him.
“I could but, for once, I wanted to have an audience. A quick and clear way to ensure you that this is not a secret or a joke. I truly do want to get to know you better. Will you accept my offer?”
And Draco, who has spent the last few years staying away from everything he thought was out of reach, who will always be a bit suspicious, always testing the limits, softly replies:
“Only if you pay thrice the usual value”.
Potter is not part of the next auction.