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Harry doesn't know what comes over him. One moment he's staring at the flyers in his hand listlessly and the next he's turning to flag down the closest person he can find. He's pretty sure his intent is to ask the man he stops if he's seen Rufus. He means to ask. He tries. He is trying. Harry is going to ask this tall, shirtless, handsome, toned, sweaty, sexy, gorgeous, blond man if he has seen Rufus.
"Are you alright?" the man asks before Harry can manage to speak.
"Er." Harry's sweating now but he has no reason to be. He's not running. The man he just stopped is running—was running. He was running. Now he's standing still and looking at Harry expectantly. "Have you-" He clears his throat because his voice sounds wrong. "Have you seen Rufus?"
The man's eyebrows jump. "Who is Rufus?" he asks, amused and irritated. Or maybe just irritated. Maybe Harry is just hopeful that the man is amused because all Harry can manage is drooling over his exposed chest. "Are you deaf?" the man snaps and nope definitely not amused.
"Yeah, sorry. I mean!" Harry feels his face catch fire. "I'm not deaf. Rufus is my dog. Sorry. Have you seen him?" He holds out the flyer he printed down the street for the other man to examine.
Eyeing Harry suspiciously, the man takes the paper and seems to truly think about it. "I don't believe I have," he answers regretfully. "He's a very handsome boy, though. I hope you find him." With that, the man passes the paper back and jogs off.
Harry is left gaping at his retreating figure for at least a whole minute. It makes him angry the longer he stands there and stares.
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"Mione," Harry rants into the phone, "I'm telling you! I don't know what the fuck was wrong with him! Who just walks off like that? I'm—I can't believe it! I actually can't fucking believe it."
"What's wrong?" Harry hears Ron ask in the background.
Hermione sighs and there's some shuffling on the other end of the phone. "He was in the middle of his run, Harry. What do you want him to do? Search all of Godric's Hollow with you?"
"Yeah actually," he answers frankly. "It was so rude. He could have at least—I don't know! Offered to… something!"
"Is this about the guy in the park?" Ron asks again and he sounds closer now.
Harry groans. "Why are you saying it like that?"
"Because you're being stupid about it, mate," he states bluntly. Harry wants to hit him. "You don't even know the guy. It would be different if it were me or George or Theo or Dean or literally any other bloke you know. That man was a total stranger. You're flipping for nothing."
"Fuck you," Harry seethes and hangs up. Instantly he regrets it and feels like an arsehole but at this point he's committing. He groans and chucks his phone at the sofa. "Fuck him," he repeats quitely and frowns at Stacy, his cat currently stretched out along the windowsill. He bets she ran Rufus off.
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The next day Harry makes to return to the park and finds Rufus sitting politely in front of his door. He very nearly kills the damn thing. Instead of screaming and causing a scene, Harry grits his teeth and ushers Rufus inside. After checking to make sure he didn't pick up any injuries (or bugs), he gives him a wash and tops his kibble with bacon grease from the fry-up he made that morning. Once the dog is full and cuddling up close, Harry grumbles, "You're lucky I love you so damn much."
The moment Rufus falls asleep, Harry begins plotting.
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The plot is simple: take Rufus for a walk in the park every day until he runs into that same incredibly rude, sexy, handsome, tall, toned, blond man.
Rufus gets bored after the first day. He doesn't particularly like going on walks. In fact, if he could have it his way, the dog would never leave Harry's backyard. Convincing him to go the second day is farily easy, the third day is a bit trickier, and by the fourth day Rufus is hiding under the bed.
"Come on!" Harry demands and thinks about stomping his foot. "You're the one who got me in this mess in the first place." Rufus grunts before finally coming out. With a sigh, Harry replies, "Well, at least you know."
By the time they reach the park, Rufus has cheered up a bit and his tail is even wagging. Harry assumes he must have smellt something because the last three days he did not look this excited. He hopes it's a good omen.
"Oh!" a familiar voice exclaims from behind. Harry whirls around to find the rude, shirtless, sweaty, glistening, panting, sexy blond man looking at Rufus. "You found him," he declares and he does sound rather happy.
Harry purses his lips. "Yes," he grouses out. "No thanks to you."
The other man startles and frowns. "What was I supposed to do?" he asks curiously like he doesn't know.
"Help me look for him?"
"You weren't looking?"
"Yes, I was!" insists Harry angrily.
The man shakes his head. "You were not. You were hanging up signs. I was on my run—like I am now, mind you. What should I have done?"
"Help me!" Harry insists again and he's scowling now. Rufus nudges his leg with his snout.
"Why would I do that?" He sounds curious again.
Harry huffs and puffs and realises he can't think of a single good reason why the man should have helped him. Dread fills him quickly and suddenly he can picture how this must look to everyone that's not him. He looks insane. "Oh." He hopes a hole might open up under him.
The man eyes him for a moment before he holding out his hand expectantly. When Harry stares at it blankly, he urges, "Your phone. Now."
On autopilot, Harry fishes it out of his pocket and passes it over. He watches in a daze as the sexy, handsome, sweaty, panting, irresistable, gorgeous, sexy, handsome blond man does something to it before handing it back. Harry blinks down at his iPhone once he's holding it again. "Thank you?"
The other man scoffs. "You're welcome," he replies decisively. "Tonight at seven. Don't be late."
Harry is left to stare after the man completely confused. When he finally gets around to checking what happened, he finds the man's name is Draco Malfoy and they're going on a date at Rosemary's Room tonight at seven. Harry isn't late.