Blue Lips

"I don't know what kind of fairytale you're living in, Potter, but this is the real world, this is adulthood. It's drinking a lot and marrying for reasons besides love and losing faith and being broke and looking for a job and doing things you hate and fucking up. I've accepted that, now do the same."

Warnings: Slash relationship, strong profanity (excessive use of the f-bomb), drug use (alcohol), infidelity, religious discussion, sexual content, present tense and so much angst, so much angst, so much angst.

He stumbled into faith and thought, God this is all there is

-Regina Spektor

Draco draws his cigarette from his lips and blows out a gauzy cloud of smoke, watching as it unfurls between him and Potter, acting as a sort of flimsy wall that he very much doubts will protect him. He sighs and answers, "I don't believe in a God."

Potter leans back against the bar and frowns. "Really?"

"I don't know why you think that's such a strange idea. Wizards are much less rooted in religion than muggles. Most religion is made up by muggles, anyway."

"It's not made up." He can practically feel Potter's glare burning into the side of his skull, but Draco chooses to ignore it.

"Oh, yeah? Then are you going to tell me some super natural being penned the entire Bible and let it magically fall from the sky to hit some poor, innocent sod in the head?"

"You know about the Bible?"

"I'm an atheist, Potter, not an ignoramus. My father taught me to be well-informed in all sorts of subjects so I could argue about them whenever I wished."

"Clever of him."

"I suppose."

"You're right, though. The Bible was written by men."

Draco raises an eyebrow and takes another drag, perhaps just to annoy Potter. He knows the Gryffindor hates the smell of cigarette smoke, and though Draco doesn't really understand Potter's insistence at speaking with him every time they happen-having no other word for it at the moment-to come meet each other because of this aversion, he makes a show of capitalising on it, just to revel in Potter's discomfort.

"But the Bible isn't, say, the complete and utter cornerstone for Christian religion. I mean, it might be, for some people, but not for me."

"How so?"

"I didn't know much about religion when I was a kid," Potter confesses. "My aunt and uncle were never particularly religious, and neither were most of my friends in Hogwarts. But there was the war. And I guess that's when things changed. I'm not a zealot." Potter looks worried, even though Draco hasn't gotten such an impression from him.

"I believe you."

"But I think it helped. For me to believe in something other than humanity, which seemed so... devastatingly horrible to me during those years. It's better, deciding what you think will happen to all those friends you've lost, deciding that there's some sort of end-point where everything's alright and you've got someone big and powerful to look after you who doesn't have an expiration date. You know?"

Draco pretends to look bored. "No. I have no idea what you're going on about."

"Whatever, Malfoy." Potter turns back to his drink.

' ' '

"You're spending too much time around Potter."

"Fuck off, Blaise."

"I'm being serious. You let Pansy take you shopping yesterday. And you said 'please '. If that's not a sign that he's become a bad influence on you, I don't know what is."

"Drop it."

"No." Blaise walks around Draco's desk and looms over it, his face inches away from the blonde's. His eyes are bright even when they're pretending to be disinterested, and his lips are swollen from being bitten and chewed with thinly disguised worry. And yet, that doesn't stop Draco from being royally pissed off at the wizard. "This is really messed up, Draco. What would you father say?"

"My father is in Azkaban. Where I would be, if not for Potter."

"So this is you making up some sort of debt?" Blaise looks incredulous, and Draco ignores the expression.

"No. I'm just saying that my father isn't the deciding factor for my decisions. My life is bigger than him, now. Is that supposed to be a bad thing?"

"No, but I just thought-"

"Shut up, Blaise." Draco grabs him by the lapels and pulls him forward into a bruising kiss, and Blaise complies with an exasperated sigh.

' ' '

"Mummy, he's got pretty hair."

"Don't point, dear, it's rude."

"But look Mummy, isn't it pretty?"

"Who-"

Gasp.

"Walk away, Elizabeth. Quickly. Don't stare, now."

"But Mummy-"

"He's a bad man, dear. A very bad man. Forget he even exists."

' ' '

"Do you have any fucking idea how hard it is to get a job with this fucking thing on my arm?" Draco throws himself onto the bar stool without preface, waving his hand dejectedly for the bar keep. Potter jumps in his seat, having been focussed completely on his drink the moment before.

"Just about as hard as it is for me to go anywhere without someone taking a photo of me."

"Shut the fuck up," Draco says, though without any real heat. He doesn't know why he just ordered a drink; he's already pissed. Both angry-pissed and drunk-pissed. "Having your name show up in the papers once a week is a lot different from being poor and unemployed."

There's a pause. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Shut up, will you, Potter? You're lowering the IQ of the entire bar."

Another silence. Draco feels a pang in his chest-guilt. God, I fucking hate guilt.

"Aw, come off it, Potter. I'm fucking drunk, give me a fucking break."

"You swear like a fucking sailor when you're pissed, Malfoy."

"Watch your fucking language, prat."

' ' '

"Blaise, did you know she was going to pull this shite?" Draco moves one pawn forward as his friend furrows his brow and purses his lips, though from the game or the question he can't be sure.

"Who?" Blaise sounds as though he hardly listened to the question. "What?"

"My mother. She's making me get married."

"Ha! Ha!" Blaise hoots, moving his own pawn. "You, married?"

"I know. It's going to be a nightmare."

"Who will I have to pityfuck now?"

"You don't pityfuck me!" Draco yells, suddenly enraged. That word, "pity", always seems to do that to him.

"Yes, honey, I do. I spend so much time pityfucking you that I can't even get it up if you aren't in the room anymore. I'm attracted to hopelessness. How fucking pitiful is that."

"Stuff it, Blaise." Draco makes his move and sinks his chin on his palm. The wanker's probably right. Why else would anyone want to touch me? Death Eater scum. Piss-poor scum.

"Stop with the pity party, Draco," Blaise says mildly as he makes his move. "You're just making it harder for me to not jump your pale, sorry ass at the moment."

"I don't want to get married."

"Then don't."

"My mother-"

"Shouldn't be your deciding factor for something like marriage."

"Since when did you become such a romantic?"

Blaise does not reply for a long moment. Then he moves his rook. "Checkmate."

' ' '

"What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?"

"I could ask the same as you, Malfoy. This is a muggle bar, if you haven't noticed."

"I have fucking noticed, and by the way, your whispers are bloody awful. I've been coming to this bar for the past two months enjoying the anonymity and I don't want you fucking it up."

"Get over yourself, Malfoy. The world doesn't revolve around you."

"I came to that conclusion years ago, fuck you very much."

"Then act like it. Honestly, it's like I'm back in fifth year."

"Because you're so fucking grown up-"

"I am. I'm surprised you aren't."

Draco sat down on the stool and crossed his arms, and then grudgingly reached for his drink again. "I've grown up. I'm not seventeen anymore."

"Neither am I."

"Don't talk to me, Potter."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

' ' '

"Potter, I'm getting really tired of seeing you here."

"Malfoy, I thought we got over this months ago. The bar doesn't belong to either of us, so we'll both continue coming."

Draco frowns at the sudden visual he gets from the word "coming" exiting Potter's mouth, but shakes his head and continues to speak anyway. He turns back to the bar, where he's nursing a whiskey. "My mother is making me get married."

"Yeah?"

"And I still don't have a job."

"Did you go back for your N.E.W.T.s?"

"Of course I went back for my bloody N.E.W.T.s, Potter, not all of us are fucking superhuman who can make it into the Auror Programme without finishing their N.E.W.T.s."

"Then I think I can get you a job."

"I don't want a job from your charity."

"It won't be because of me. I mean, you'll get the job because of me, but you won't pass because of me."

"You make no fucking sense."

"I'll put in a good word, but you'll have to do the rest yourself."

"Piss off, Potter."

"I'm offering you something that you've been whinging about to me for the past two months!"

"I'll find my own bloody job."

"Fine."

"Fine."

' ' '

Draco, you fucking idiot, what the hell are you doing here? They're all staring at you. Should have worn a fucking cloak. Stop playing with your damn sleeve, you're only drawing attention to it. Stop staring back at them, they're just going to think you're being rude. Jesus, Draco, did you lose all your social skills in the war? You stupid fuck.

"Draco Malfoy?" Draco looks up. There's a Healer standing in front of him, in a trim little uniform and wearing one of the most fake smiles the blond has ever seen, and that's saying a lot, because he grew up in Slytherin House.

"You want to apply to become a Healer?"

"Yes."

"Fill this out, please. Then come back in two weeks."

"Two weeks? I've been sitting here for two hours waiting for an interview!"

"Two weeks, Mr Malfoy. No exceptions."

No exceptions my arse.

' ' '

"Draco."

The blond doesn't reply, but he knows Blaise already knows he isn't asleep.

"Draco, I really think you should either tell your mother you're not getting married or stop being so sour about it all the time. There's no use complaining about something unless you plan on changing it."

"Sod off, Blaise."

"I'm just trying to help you."

Draco rolls over. "I can think of another way for you to help me." He sits up and pushes Blaise back against the mattress, and Blaise doesn't object. Draco rides Blaise's cock and, for a bit, he doesn't feel empty anymore.

' ' '

"Hermione says I should give up on being an Auror," Potter says, and Draco takes a drag from his cigarette.

"Why?"

"Nearly got killed yesterday."

Draco's brow furrows without his permission. "Fucking idiot."

Potter snorts. "Yeah."

"She's got a point. The Wizarding World would probably collapse without its Saviour."

"You're such a prick, Malfoy."

"You say that like it's news."

Potter laughs to himself. He has a dimple. A fucking dimple. Draco suddenly has the urge to dip his tongue into it. He nearly drops his drink.

' ' '

"Draco, this is Astoria."

Draco leans forward and takes the girl's hand in his, brushing his lips gently across her knuckles. She's tiny-at least a foot shorter than he is-with fine features and narrow, delicate hips that don't bode well for birthing heirs. I suppose once you're branded as a Death Eater for life, the pickings become slimmer. "A pleasure to meet you." He's lying through his teeth.

"You, as well," Astoria says, and her voice is too high pitched, her figure too soft, her hands too dainty, her hair to long, her smell so wrong, so wrong-

"My mother tells me you are an avid reader."

"Quite."

"Would you like to see the library?"

' ' '

"How's the job-hunting?"

"Don't fucking mock me, Potter."

"I wasn't trying to. It was an honest question."

"I showed up for my interview a week ago and they still haven't gotten back to me. I've got perfect marks in Potions and passed the initial tests with flying colours. It's fucking ridiculous."

He expects Potter to make some sort of jab about blood prejudice being fucking ridiculous, but he doesn't. Instead:

"Why do you want to become a Healer, Malfoy?"

Draco is taken aback by the question. "None of your business."

"I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need it."

"Obviously you do, if you can't even get into the Trainee Programme even though you passed all your tests-"

"Astoria came over." Why the fuck am I telling him this?

"Yeah? And how did it go?"

"Don't sound like a fucking Mind Healer, Potter. Fewer people will want to talk to you than before."

"I'm curious."

"She's a perfect wife. Obedient, pretty, soft-spoken, polite…"

A pause. "You don't sound happy."

"I'm not into women."

"Oh."

"Shut up, Potter."

"I'm not-I don't care. I mean-I'm not homophobic."

"I don't need your fucking pity or acceptance."

"Jesus Christ, Malfoy, I'm just trying to be ni-"

"'Thou shall not take the Lord's name in vain.'"

"What the hell?"

"That's the First Commandment."

"What?"

Draco takes a drag from his cigarette. "Merlin, Potter, how can you even call yourself a Christian? I'm a fucking atheist and I know more about God than you."

"Maybe you do."

"I know I do." Draco pauses and runs his finger around the rim of his glass. "Get me into the Trainee Programme. Please."

Potter's smile is sickening, blinding. "Of course."

' ' '

"Fucking hell, Draco."

"I know. And the guy still fucked me. Can you believe it?"

"That isn't healthy."

"I'm a bit beyond caring at this point, Blaise."

Blaise is still staring at Draco's black eye, and the blond scowls. "Can you make that tea a little faster?"

"Don't you have house elves to do that for you?"

"Yeah, but they're also located twenty metres too close to my mother and this way I can annoy you as well as get free beverages."

"Here, take it, you git. But don't expect any sympathy from me."

"I wouldn't dream of it, mate." Draco takes a long sip from the tea and then leans back with a drawn-out sigh, his eyes closed and his tongue burning. "I got a letter from the Trainee Programme at St. Mungo's."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I got in."

"That's a relief."

"I don't get paid for another three months, though. Have to make it through the first stages of the programme first."

"You can leech off me, your mum, and Astoria until then."

"Oh, shit, that reminds me, I have to go and see her in a half an hour."

"With a black eye?"

Draco laughs at the suggestion and shakes his head. "I'm not that much of a masochist."

' ' '

He finds a seedy muggle bar on the outskirts of London and goes in without a thought. It's so much different from the bar he goes to with Potter. The lighting's lower, it smells worse, and it's packed full of men in trench coats. Either one is happy to see him, or he's got a pistol in his pocket. Draco picks the one least likely to punch him and then sidles up to the bar, orders the bloke a drink, and starts talking. If he wanted to, he could get Blaise to shag him, but things are too complicated with Blaise now. The wizard actually wants something from him now, like answers and good behaviour, and Draco doesn't want to deal with that. His target smiles, showing off near-perfect teeth, and Draco lets one hand fall on the bloke's thigh.

Thirty minutes later and he's zipping up his fly in the bar's grimy, graffitied toilets.

' ' '

Draco sees Goyle walking down the road in Diagon Alley and has to do a double take. He swings his head around, trying to look for a route that will help him avoid the hulking wizard, but to no avail.

"Draco," Goyle says when they meet in the middle of the street.

"How are you, Goyle?"

"I'm alright. Engaged. Millicent."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks." There's an uncomfortable silence. "Everything's changed, hasn't it? I can't even walk into a shop anymore. None of us can."

"Yeah. Me neither. It took me months to find a proper job."

Goyle lets out a rough bark of a laugh. "You, working?"

"Yeah, well." Draco shifts uncomfortably. "Good to see you, mate."

"You, too."

They walk away.

' ' '

"Why are you sleeping around?"

Draco scowls into his whiskey. "Honestly? That's what you want to talk about? And you know, by telling me you know I've been sleeping around, you've also admitted to reading all the horrid gossip magazines that actually think that counts as high-quality news."

"It was buzzing around the office."

"Mmhm. Yeah."

"So, why?"

"Why do you even care?"

"I'm just curious. Anything cause it?"

"No."

"Do you particularly enjoy it?"

"It's sex for fuck's sake."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'."

"You do that."

"So that's it? You just do it cos you like sex?"

"What, are you looking for some depressing, emotional answer like 'sex fills a void in my soul'? 'I feel it's necessary because it reminds me of how far I've fallen'? 'I use sex instead of heroin or potions'? Merlin, Potter, what do you think I am?"

"I think you're a fucked-up mess, Malfoy."

"Why, thank you, Potter." Draco knocks back the entirety of his drink in one go.

"No-I mean-"

"Give it a rest, Potter." He flicks his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. "It doesn't matter."

"I just mean…"

"Shut up."

"Look, Malfoy-"

"Potter-"

"-You're going to get married to this bird you've known for a month, tops, and you haven't even slept with her yet-"

"-isn't that supposed to be a good thing in Christianity-"

"-and how are you supposed to know if she's got a gross foot disease or can't fake an orgasm-"

"-Why the hell would she need to fake an orgasm-"

"-and not only do you feel close to nothing for this woman, you're also gay-"

"-Shut up, Potter-"

"-and meanwhile you're fucking everything with a penis-"

"-Shut up-"

"-You're poor, you'll drink and smoke yourself to death-"

"-I'm fucking warning you, Potter-"

"You don't believe in anything, you still take orders from your mother, your father's in pr-"

"Shut the fuck up, Potter!"

There's a heavy silence and it feels like everyone in the bar is staring at Draco. He slams down a few pounds on the counter, not bothering to count if he needs change, and stomps out of the bar.

"Malfoy!"

Ignore him, Draco, ignore him, ignore him…

"Malfoy! Don't you fucking run away from me-"

Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him-

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, MALFOY, GROW UP AND FUCKING ACCEPT YOUR PROBLEMS-"

"I HAVE GROWN UP!" Draco roars, whipping about to face Potter, who has stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of a cold, dark, empty street. "I don't know what kind of fairytale you're living in, Potter, but this is the real world, this is adulthood. It's drinking a lot and marrying for reasons besides love and losing faith and being broke and looking for a job and doing things you hate and fucking up. I've fucking accepted that, now you do the same."

Potter takes a step forward. "There's got to be more to it than that."

"Not for me. I'm branded, Potter. This is as good as it's going to get."

Potter shakes his head and smiles sadly, as though he knows something Draco doesn't, advancing all the while.

"Stop it," Draco commands. "Stop acting like you know everything. You don't know anything, Potter, up there on your pedestal with a family that loves you and people who give a bloody shit about you and your whole life fixed and planned and set-"

Potter grabs either side of his face and kisses him hard on the mouth. Draco can do nothing but stand there for a long, drawn-out moment, and then for some reason, he decides it's a good idea to kiss back. So he does.

Minutes later, and they're in Potter's flat. He lives alone, which doesn't surprise Draco. "Are you going to fuck me, Potter?" He whispers it as Potter's lips latch onto his neck, sucking and licking as he yanks down Draco's zipper. "Shove your cock up my arse?"

"No."

"The fuck-"

"I'm going to make love to you."

"Jesus-cut that fucking crap-"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

And then Potter is kissing him again, and Draco doesn't even try to stop him.

' ' '

"My mother picked the wedding date."

"Yeah?"

"It's in a few weeks."

"Mm."

"In April. A proper spring wedding. With fucking rose bouquets and everything."

"Sounds pleasant enough."

His head is in Potter's lap and the git's fingers are running through his hair absent-mindedly.

"The entirety of Britain's pure-blooded aristocracy is going to be there. And some from France, and some from Bulgaria, one from Italy. From Blaise's family."

"Impressive."

"I suppose."

"Astoria's very lucky."

Draco snorts. "Astoria better start praying for her sanity."

"I have faith in you."

"There's one."

' ' '

"I got this old lady today, and she was one of those senile basket-cases with knitting needles and cats and tea doilies all over the house, and she cut herself while opening a can of cat food and couldn't remember the healing charm. Can you believe it?"

"Actually, I can. Mrs Figg used to do that all the time; those things are bloody sharp."

"I caught her staring at me, at the Mark, rather. I let it slip through my robes. But she saw it, and stared at it for nearly five seconds straight, and I was expecting some sort of old-lady tirade about cowardly young men and offensive upstarts trying to worm their way back into society but-"

"-she didn't do it."

"Now, who's telling the story here?"

"Alright then, go on." Draco doesn't even have to open his eyes to know that Potter's smiling.

"She didn't say one word. Just kept smiling while I patched her up and did tests for any diseases and all the rest of that stuff."

"See, maybe some people aren't so prejudiced after all." Potter's hand curls around his hip as he nibbles the skin beneath Draco's ear.

"Or maybe she was just a senile old bat."

"Your lack of faith will continue to astound me."

"Well that's just plain stupid."

"Sorry."

"You're not, you little shithead."

"Guilty as charged." Potter bites down on Draco's pulse point before licking over it, and all is forgiven.

' ' '

He hates it when Potter makes tea and plays with his fingers and lays his head on his shoulder like Draco is his fucking boyfriend or something. It makes him feel things he isn't allowed to feel. "Get a grip, Potter," he's said to the prick more than once. "This is sex. With occasional post-orgasm cuddling."

"You just said cuddling." Potter looks as though Jesus Christ Himself has descended through the ceiling.

"You're getting distracted. What are you, a fruit-fly?"

"I'm sorry if I got distracted by the fact that you said 'cuddling'. You don't say 'cuddling'. Or any word with soft consonants accompanied by a fuzzy feeling."

"Jesus, Potter."

"Sorry. Continue with your tirade."

"Right. We're fucking. Just fucking. You don't get to hug me or make me things-even tea, you prick-or call me pet names. Clear?"

"Crystal. Drakey-dearest."

"Shut up, you ponce."

"The tea's almost ready."

"Fine. You can make me tea if it makes you so fucking happy, but that's it."

' ' '

"They're writing about you."

"So?"

"So they're all whispering and muttering about the fact that you haven't gotten hitched with the Weasley girl yet."

"Ginny?"

"Yeah, sure."

"She and I haven't… not since before the war." He places his fingers on Draco's jaw and prods until Draco's forced to look him in the eye. "We're not a thing, Draco. Just friends."

"I don't particularly care if you fuck anyone else, Potter. We're not boyfriends, remember?"

"Right. Sorry."

' ' '

"Draco, it has come to my attention that you are in an… inappropriate relationship with Harry Potter."

Draco closes his eyes and falls back against the seat. "How in the world would you know that?"

"Blaise told me."

Draco can't help it. "That bastard!"

"Draco! Language! Anyway, the point of this is that you can't continue and still plan on marrying Astoria. If anyone else were to find out about your… indiscretions, the marriage would be annulled and all our efforts will have been for naught."

"It's okay, Mother. I don't plan on continuing my 'indiscretions' for much longer."

"You promise me?"

"Yes, Mother. I shall go into my marriage with a clean slate."

"Good boy. Now come and have some tea before it gets cold."

It tastes nothing like Potter's.

' ' '

"My mother says I have to get my act together before the wedding."

"What does that entail?"

"You know. Quit swearing and drinking. Find a better occupation than Healer Trainee. Start going to galas again. Stop fucking you."

"Oh, right. That."

"Mm."

"How long until the wedding again?"

"Three weeks."

"So…"

"What."

"When do you want to quit?"

"Who says I'm going to stop?"

A pause. "While I appreciate your rebelling against your mother and being invested enough in me to make this decision, I don't think that's fair for Astoria."

"Astoria is getting a fucking private villa in Italy and whatever bank accounts of mine the Ministry is unfreezing for her. I don't really think she's getting the raw end of the deal here."

"If it gets out, there'll be scandal."

"Potter. I'm a Death Eater. I think I've lost most of my shock value at this point."

"You're not."

"What?"

"You're not a Death Eater."

"Then what the hell do you think this is?" He jabs his finger into the Dark Mark.

"A scar. It's a part of you, Draco, but it doesn't define you."

"Where'd you get that from? A film?"

"It's true. You're not a Death Eater anymore." Potter leans in and presses his lips to the Mark. Draco pulls away as though burned. The brunet is infuriatingly unfazed.

"What the fuck?"

"Just like any other scar."

' ' '

"Blaise, please explain to me why it is so hard for a bloke to just do his job at St Mungo's and then have a nice fuck at the end of the day. Why do I have to do all this other shit like go to galas I don't really care about and marrying some bird I don't really care about."

"You're a Malfoy, Draco, just suck it up. Or, better yet, change it."

"My mother would castrate me."

"For fuck's sake, Draco, you're a grown man."

' ' '

Draco opens the door, more relieved than he will admit that Potter's wards still let him inside. He kicks off his shoes and shucks his dress robes, dropping them to the floor, and trudges his way to Potter's bedroom. The second door on the right. He steps into the room to find Potter asleep, a lumpy, long form hidden under the blankets. Draco approaches, shedding his shirt and trousers on the way, and slides beneath the sheets. After a long moment of hesitation, Draco wraps his arms around the brunet, burying his face in Potter's neck.

"Aren't you supposed to be at a party with you fiancée?"

Draco flinches, startled. "Astoria was feeling unwell. She returned home early."

"A pity." Potter turns around and he's blue, entirely made blue by the cool darkness of the night, except for his eyes-those are still a stunning shade of green.

"Fuck me," Draco murmurs before he can stop it.

And for a second, he thinks Potter isn't going to do it. For an instant, he thinks Potter will just roll around and go back to sleep and forget Draco even crawled into his bed. But then Potter's knotting his fingers in Draco's hair and pulling him in for a hard kiss and his other hand is already on Draco's cock and he can't remember what sex was like before Potter.

' ' '

"You're still doing it," Blaise says as Draco throws himself into the chair across from him.

"Still doing what?"

"Still fucking Potter."

Draco fishes a cigarette from his pocket and lights up. "Your point is?"

"Fucking hell, Draco, it's your wedding day!"

"Ever the observant one."

"You told your mother you were going to stop."

"Shethinks I've stopped, and that's really all that matters."

He pretends he doesn't see Blaise's look of surprise and-maybe-disgust. "You're a sick fuck, you know that?"

"Hand me my suit, Blaise."

' ' '

"Hey, Potter," Draco says, draping himself over the brunet. So maybe he's had a few too many drinks and maybe he came to this bar on purpose, but that doesn't change anything, right? He places his lips right beside Potter's ear, hoping that he doesn't smell too strongly of Firewhiskey. "How's the drink?"

"Fine. How's Mrs Malfoy?"

"Fast asleep." Draco pretends not to know it's supposed to be a jibe, and instead licks the tip of Potter's ear. "I'll be back by morning. It'll be as though I never left."

"No."

"Why not?"

"No, Malfoy."

"Malfoy? What happened to 'Draco'?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him for a while."

Draco pouts and then bites down on Potter's earlobe. "Aw, come on, Potter. This is all I could think about for the past two weeks. I'm so ready for it, Potter." He strokes Potter's cock through his trousers. "Take me back to your flat. I'll make it good for you."

Potter sighs, but stands, slapping down a few pounds on the bar. "This is so fucked up."

"Darling, that's the world."

' ' '

"Congratulations, Aide Malfoy. Welcome to the Third Floor, Potion and Plant Poisoning. You are two years away from becoming a certified Healer." Healer Sykes smiles a tight-lipped smile and shakes his hand, though Draco isn't stupid. He knows Sykes would have preferred not to touch him at al.

' ' '

"So you don't know anything about Christianity."

"Not really. I mean, I know the basics. Jesus, God, a bit of Moses. That stuff. But I don't think I've opened a Bible in my life. I don't even think I've been in a church."

"And yet you still call yourself Christian."

Potter leans back against the bed, hands behind his head and eyes trained on the ceiling. "I like to think that God cares more about being a good person and believing in Him, instead of memorising lines from a book and sitting in a building once a week."

"Most people believe it's more than that. And then there's the whole Eucharist thing, which I think is bloody creepy, but apparently it's a big thing."

Potter shrugs. "I just… don't think it's necessary."

Draco shifts and places a hand on Potter's chest, tracing the indentations, markers of muscle, and the scars that Potter hasn't gotten rid of for some reason or another. "You know what I think?"

"I've never been particularly interested."

"Oh, shut up, Potter. I think that you started believing in God when you realised people were dying and you had no idea where they went. I think you liked the idea of Heaven and decided that if you believed in it, you should believe in God, too. I think it all comes down to you wanting to think that everyone who's ever died goes somewhere nicer than here."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"I think it's delusional."

"How so?" Potter doesn't seem very insulted.

"You have absolutely no proof that Heaven, or any sort of afterlife exists. What if we simply end after we die? What if there's nothing but nonexistence and a rotting corpse?"

"I guess I'll just have to cross my fingers, then."

"Believing in something that you can't see, or believing in something that you can't see its effects doesn't make any sense."

"To you."

"To logic. To rationale. To reasoning. And, not only that, but there are fifty million possibilities as to what happens to us when we die. Therefore, the chances of Heaven actually existing are one out of fifty million. Why bet your money on a chance like that?"

"Because I'll go insane if I don't."

"I'd go insane if I did."

"Well, that's the difference between me and you, isn't it?"

"You're stupid? Naïve? Gullible?"

"You know, Draco, you put too much stock in what's real."

"Because it's real."

"But you're so hung up on reality that you can't see anything else."

"Because it's reality."

"Your reality. There. You're hung up on what you think is real and what you think is reality. You don't make allowances for anything else."

"Well of course I don't, I'm the one living my reality, aren't I?"

Potter shakes his head. "Never mind."

' ' '

He gets fewer glares at St Mungo's now; at least from the other staff. That doesn't mean the patients have gotten any better, though.

"Get away from me!" shrieked one woman when Draco walked into the room.

"This is an insult!" cried another.

"Get him the fuck out of here!"

"You bastard!"

"How dare you?"

"My brother-"

"My uncle-"

"Fuck you-"

"Go to hell-"

"You cowardly little piece of shit-"

Draco's almost numb to them now.

' ' '

"I watched a film like this once," Blaise says.

"A film? You watched a film?"

"Shut up, prat. Anyway, it wasn't between two blokes, but the idea was the same. The self-deprecating anti-hero, the forbidden affair, the smoking and the drinking all the fucking time…"

"And the point of this is…"

"Well, the anti-hero-he ends up falling in love in the end. With his mistress. That's how all the stories go, isn't it?"

"Fuck off, Blaise."

"Do you love him?"

Draco squirms in his seat. The L-word. "We're just fucking. Leave it alone."

' ' '

Part of the whole marriage thing is producing an heir, which Draco forgot about until now. He's sitting in his bedroom while Astoria changes into her nightwear two meters away, and he's trying to get it up. Come on, you fucker, this is important. He stares at his wife as she pulls the lace ties from her dress, watches the fabric tumble down and her pale, smooth, soft skin appear. Her hot, tight cunt is going to be around your cock in a matter of minutes. Aren't you excited, for Christ's sake?

Nothing.

Potter would be laughing right about now. "This is why gay people shouldn't get married to the opposite gender for stupid reasons." Draco can practically hear Potter's voice, see his lips quirk into a smile. "Serves you right."

Draco closes his eyes and his cock twitches. Fuck, this is so messed up. He thinks of Potter when Astoria climbs into bed, thinks of Potter when Astoria kisses him, when he's buried in her to the hilt, when he comes. He thinks of Potter when he rolls over and Astoria curls into him, throwing a delicate arm over his hips. Goddammit.

' ' '

"She's pregnant."

Potter doesn't stir, but there's something in his posture that is too calm to be real. "So Malfoys do have super-sperm."

"Shut up, Potter, that was a joke."

"Well, congratulations. I'm sure you'll be a wonderful father."

"Don't patronise me. I'll be a shit father, and you know it."

"Anything's better than Lucius, I suppose."

"Lucius was not a shit father!"

"I-"

"He was flawed, alright? I'm not stupid enough to think that he wasn't, and I wasn't stupid enough back when I was a teenager. But at least he wasn't queer for God's sake, and had to think of another bloke to get it up."

Potter laughs just like Draco expected him to. "That's fantastic."

"No, Potter, it isn't. Just imagine the little shit-'Dad, how was I born?' 'Well, son, I had to concentrate very hard on a big, thick penis being thrust up my arse, and then I just shot the load, and voilà, you were born.'"

Potter's laughing even harder now, in that stupid way he laughs when he's either drunk or completely and utterly amused out of his mind. He sounds like a dying seal, and he's even clapping to complete the picture. "This is why gay people shouldn't get married to people of the opposite gender," he says, and Draco finds himself smiling despite himself.

"Congratulations, Draco. That must have taken a lot of work."

"Shut up, Potter."

"I'm serious. You're going to have a kid."

"We established that."

A brief silence. "I think Ron and Hermione are going to have a kid soon."

"Oh Jesus."

"Yeah. I think they're planning on it."

"I don't want to hear about the possible spawning of another Weasley. There are too many of them as it is."

Potter hits him hard on the shoulder. "They're my friends."

Draco rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything else.

' ' '

"Draco!"

The blond pinches the bridge of his nose. "What, Mother?"

"Have you seen this?" She shoves a copy of The Prophet in his face.

"What the hell am I looking at?"

"That. Do you see that? Do you know what that is a photo of?"

Draco frowns.

"That there, Draco, is a photo of you walking out of Mr Harry Potter's flat at five thirty in the morning! May I ask, Draco, what were you doing in Mr Harry Potter's flat at five thirty in the morning?"

Draco leans back against the chair. "Getting buggered."

Narcissa rolls up the paper and hits him hard with it.

"Jesus, woman, what are you-"

"You said you stopped! You promised me!"

"Technically, the word 'promise' never came out of my mouth."

She hits him again. "Do you understand what you have just done, Draco?" his mother says, almost in hysterics. "Do you understand what will happen because of this? The Greengrasses will be furious-it'll be all over the papers-our reputation in ruins once again-and with a baby on the way-"

"Why does it matter so much to you, Mother?"

"I'm trying to put this family back together!"

"Why? We're not the china glass that breaks into nice, even little pieces that you can just magic back together. We're a bloody glass vase that bloody shattered, and half the pieces are missing. We're ruined, Mother, it doesn't matter who you marry me off to or what job I take or who you talk to, it doesn't make a fucking difference!"

"You can't blame me for trying, Draco. Just let me try, for Merlin's sake-"

"No, Mother." Draco begins to walk out of the room. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Draco-of course it matters-don't you dare walk away from me, Draco Malfoy. I am your Mother. I risked everything for you. Draco Lucius Malfoy! Draco!"

He ignores her and walks out of that room, out of that house, out of that life. And straight to Potter's.

' ' '

"I'm not a bloody potion or a pill or something."

Draco can't believe it. He thought that Potter, out of all people, wouldn't have cared. Wouldn't have minded. I just wanted to get laid, Goddammit.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not something that you can just take to feel good for a little while, and then drop in the rubbish bin when you have to get back to real life."

"Look, Potter. I just want to get shagged. I want to have a prick up my arse for a few hours because somehow, my body thinks that's a good thing, and I honestly don't see why you're suddenly complaining."

"Why did you come to me, instead of Astoria?"

"Why the fuck would I go to Astoria?"

"She's your wife, isn't she?"

"Only in name!"

"That doesn't matter-you cheated on her!"

"I didn't hear you complaining about it, you tosser."

"But you got caught, and maybe she doesn't deserve fidelity, but she deserves a goddamn explanation, doesn't she? After you knocked her up?"

"That wasn't my choice!"

"What the fuck-you put your prick in her, didn't you?"

"I had to. It was part of the marriage contract."

"You made the choice to marry her. You made the choice to cheat on her. Now you have to make another one."

Draco presses forward against Potter's chest. "I made it."

For a moment, Potter looks like he wants to push Draco against the wall and ravish him blind, but then it turns to disgust, which is more painful than Draco would have ever expected. He pushes the blond away. "Wrong choice."

"Don't you think I get the liberty to figure that out for myself?"

"Not when other people are at stake here. The world doesn't revolve around you, Draco. Grow up, Goddammit! Take responsibility!"

"Didn't we already have this conversation? And didn't it lead to you shagging the living daylights out of me?"

"That was different."

"Different how?"

"You've got a wife! An unborn child!"

"They don't matter to me. I don't want to be with them. I want to be here."

"I don't want you here if you don't plan to-"

"Plan to what, Potter? What exactly do you want? Me to confront Astoria properly and file for divorce? Me to get down on my knees and plead you to let me stay? Me to make you fucking breakfast every morning and kiss you goodbye on your way to work?"

Potter doesn't reply and Draco feels elated and infuriated at the same time. Expressing fury has always come more naturally to him, though.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I can't fucking believe this-we're just shagging!"

"But it's not for me. Just shagging. I don't think it ever really was."

Draco feels as though someone has poured ice water down his back. Potter stands there, staring at him, as though waiting for some sort of massive confession or angry plea. Draco can't even move his lips.

The brunet sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. Draco cannot read the expression on his face. "Get out, Draco."

And suddenly he's unfrozen, thawed by a hot flash of surprise. Potter has never said that to him before. "What? No-"

"Go and find your wife. Explain it to her. Make up some bullshit excuse if you want to. Just get out. And don't come back."

Something in Draco breaks, some foreign part of him that he hadn't even known existed. He reaches out a hand. "Potter-"

Suddenly, the brunet surges forward and before he can react, Draco's being propelled backwards, toward the door he just came through. Potter's face is red and angry and contorted. "For Christ's sake, don't you get it, Draco? I don't want you here anymore. I don't want to see you or listen to you, so just get the fuck out of my flat!"

For once, Draco follows orders.

' ' '

His son is born on a cold, wintry day in February, seven months after the last time Draco saw Harry Potter. His wife, after holding their child for the first time and naming him, falls back against the bed, exhausted. Twenty minutes later, and she's no longer breathing.

Draco sits alone in the lobby after they take the body away, cradling his son in his hands and praying that he doesn't drop him. He tries to wrap his head around the fact that he created this little bundle of fat and bones, that he's responsible for its life for the rest of his, that he has to do it all himself, alone.

Though somehow, despite all his misgivings, he's already decided he would throw himself in front of the Knight Bus for this 4-kilo blob of flesh and drool. How mad is that?

"You're a bit of a shit, aren't you?" Draco murmurs to his son, who is already asleep. "Haven't got much hair, and you're all jelly. And you smell really weird, too, probably from baking in vagina juice or whatever it is for nine months. Babies are so weird.

"Well, Scorpius, you ought to know that it's just us. You haven't got a mummy, but it isn't your fault, I promise. You've only got a Daddy. He's a bit of a shitty Daddy, and you probably won't end up quite right in the head, but I promise I'll pay for the therapist.

"Oh, God, Scorpius." Draco's voice breaks at the end, and he hates it, he hates it. "I have to raise you. God help me, Scorpius, but I'm going to try, alright? I will try. It's harder to be indifferent about you once you're actually in the real world. Ah, reality. Welcome, little buddy. It's-well, it's hell. It's drinking a lot and marrying for the wrong reasons and losing faith and being broke and looking for a job and doing things you hate and fucking it up with someone who could have damn well been… well, everything. But somehow, I think your reality is going to be a lot different from mine. Christ, I hope it is. And I'll try to make allowances."

Someone clears their throat near Draco and the blond looks up, nearly dropping baby Scorpius when he sees who it is. Potter-Potter!-is standing in front of him, inches away, hands behind his back, and he's looking straight into Draco's eyes with those brilliant green ones, a soft, gentle smile on his face. "Congratulations, Draco. You did it. You grew up."

He has to restrain himself from jumping up and kissing the brunet full on the mouth and he hates himself for it, just a little, because he's still a Malfoy. So he simply lets his lips twitch into a half-smile. "Shut up, Potter."

Potter's smile turns into a thousand-watt grin.

Fin

A/N: First go at Draco/Harry so hopefully it wasn't a bust. If you liked this one, please check out lettered's IDK, My BFF Hermione? on AO3. All her stuff is brilliant. I very nearly finished this three paragraphs earlier but decided you all would probably hate me for it. Sorry to my followers, who were probably hoping my 8-month (holy crap has it really been that long) dry spell would end with a happy dramione fic. Obviously not. This is for xPerfectlyImperfect's Music Appreciation challenge at the HPFC forum. Thanks for reading!~