#scheming harry was the best
Robin does tropes: stuck in a lift together, 900 words
The thing about old lifts is, they require maintenance charms. The thing about maintenance charms is, they need to be regular. And the thing about Harry was, he hasn’t been almost-sorted into Slytherin for nothing. He had a good head for scheme-hatching, and eyes operative enough for his knees to go weak whenever Malfoy was around. Toned, hot Malfoy, funny, sharp Malfoy, fucking ridiculously brilliant Malfoy. Resulting in this: a dire need for the perfect scheme.
It was really the Ministry to blame for making it too easy. All Harry had to do was bribe Doris, the Unspeakable secretary, for Malfoy’s shift schedule; intimidate the planning committee for the building’s blueprints; and befriend the custodial staff. Which meant that three and a half weeks later, having finally acquired the creme eggs for Doris, the plan was in motion. Now all it needed was Malfoy. And some luck.
Harry waited in the Atrium, pretending to read the Prophet, seemingly casual—when in fact he was in full action mode. He’s already tried everything; the direct approach was too head-on for Malfoy, and subtlety was never Harry’s strength. This was the answer, then—scheming as a middle ground. And it absolutely had to work.
In three minutes Malfoy would be here, and Harry was ready. Has been ready for so long, daydreaming about grey eyes, and the way Malfoy throws his head back and his hair goes—
Erm. Anyway. He was ready.
Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on not spiraling. It’s going to work, it’s going to work, it… bloody hell, there he was, all neat and Malfoy and perfect. Harry gulped four consecutive breaths. Now’s the time.
The Ministry’s lifts were at least a couple of centuries old, meaning they required constant charmwork to operate. The thing about charms is, they can be tweaked.
Which was how Harry ended up alone in the lift with Malfoy, who suspected nothing, busy with his paperwork—at least until they stopped. The cage rocked a bit, not enough to make them move, but enough to draw Malfoy’s eyes up.
“What…” he looked straight at Harry. “What happened?”
“Some kind of malfunction?” He gave his best doe-eyed blink, mentally going over all the complicated spells he cast to create this exact moment. “We should probably hang tight. Someone’ll sense the disturbance to the charms soon enough.”
“That, or we hurl into our deaths at ten metres per second,” Malfoy murmured. His swallow was loud, loud enough for Harry to notice in spiteof the way Malfoy’s throat bobbed.
“I, er, I wouldn’t worry. There’s loads of safety charms on these things.”
Malfoy didn’t seem cheered. “Charms which weren’t updated since the 1800’s.” His eyes jumped from one corner to the other, wild. Harry started feeling somewhat anxious. This wasn’t the plan.
“It’s okay, it’s not dangerous.”
“How would you know?” Malfoy spat. So close—but he seemed uneasy, and Harry hated it. He didn’t want this, he just wanted was a chance. But this was all wrong, the way Malfoy’s breathing stuttered—
“Hey. Look at me. We’re going to be fine, I promise.” When the only response he got was a whimper, Harry took a step closer. “Listen, I actually—”
“I don’t like tight spaces,” Malfoy whispered.
Shit, this was a disaster. Harry lurched forward to grab a shaky shoulder, and he didn’t even notice he was touching Malfoy, because the only thing in the world was to comfort him. “You’re all right. This was me, I’m so sorry. I made a horrible—”
How did he end up at the wall, with Malfoy pressing him back? Also, when did Malfoy’s distraught face grow into a smile?
“You think I don’t know that?” he drawled, and Harry was so confused he nearly cried.
“You—what—what?”
“Come on. You didn’t seriously think you can go around bribing Doriswithout me noticing. Scheming is a dangerous thing, Potter. What if I really was claustrophobic?”
“You…” Harry took a breath. Then fifteen more. “So you’re not, really?”
One of Malfoy’s hands was on the wall next to Harry’s head, but the second was touching his cheek, a soft stroke. “Lucky for you, no.”
“And you… you knew about this.”
“Of course I did.”
“And still came into the lift with me?” Malfoy’s cheeks turned pink.
“Apparently so.”
Harry wasn’t going to get this, not in a hundred years, he didn’t think. “But you never… you didn’t see all the—you haven’t showed—anything.”
“Well, maybe I decided to change tactics,” Malfoy purred. “Maybe I decided to spare you.”
“Spare me,” Harry repeated. He was probably dreaming, because Malfoy’s face came so close.
“Precisely. Spare you. If you asked nicely.”
Harry couldn’t breathe. “Please,” he blinked at the grey eyes, “please, plea—”
Malfoy seemed less intent on the begging, more on the kissing. Fine by him. Harry forgot about breathing, about anything else; just Malfoy, his mouth and his hands and his warmth. Harry was floating, on cloud nine, too happy to pay attention to gravity—
But the thing about maintenance charms is, they’re quite frequent. He barely even unbuttoned a thing when the lift was already moving. Harry leaned his head against Malfoy’s shoulder, laughing, ecstatic.
No matter what Malfoy says, Harry did it; the perfect scheme. Almost an unmitigated disaster—but they left the Ministry together, panting and smiling. Success, in his book.
