The Hog's Head - for the School of Prompts Challenge at HPFC. 1/2 of the story must take place here.
60. Nemesis - write about Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy felt the cool solidity of the door at his fingertips, pausing for a second mid-step. His heart was pounding and his breath came rapidly under the drawn hood of his cloak. There was a hint of frost in the air, a biting inhospitality that made the decision to enter for him, tipping the scales so that walking back out into the freezing wind was not an option.
He'd never been to the Hog's Head before, and as he pushed open the door and was assaulted by the sight of the small, dirty room on the other side, he thought he might just take his chances with frostbite before exposing himself to the rot and filth indoors. In the weak light that streamed in through the open door, particles of dust danced.
Holding his breath, he let the door fall shut behind him. The time for pride was over.
The tables that filled the already-cramped space were void of patrons, and the bar was littered with candles that tossed the light of flickering flames onto the scratched wooden surface.
"Potter," he said, breaking the silence with his rough voice.
The only other person sitting in the Hog's Head looked over his shoulder with eyes that were set deep in dark circles.
"Malfoy," Potter said, nodding in greeting. "Thank you for coming."
Draco licked his lips, trying to regain his composure. Panic was racing through him, threatening to rip him to pieces. He hadn't seen Potter since the hearing before the Wizengamot - since he had been given a rather lenient parole thanks to the Saviour's testimony.
"It's not like I had much choice."
There was a gust of wind that came in through one broken window that caused Draco to flinch toward it, eyes moving like lightning and already shifting his weight to run. He'd been skittish since being released from Ministry holding, and hadn't properly left the Manor since. Except for Potter.
"Would you like to sit? Aberforth might bring us something to drink."
Draco took one look at the ancient chairs that were stained, some burnt, and all looking like they might fall apart if he put his weight on them.
With a stiffness in his muscles, Draco sat.
"What would you like?" Potter was acting friendly, even cracking a small smile, but Draco had spent too much time around liars not to see through the facade. Behind the peace offering, Potter was nervous.
His fingers were laced together, one thumb picking at the hangnail of the other. There was a weariness that permeated his movements, his words, and his body too obviously for Draco not to notice they had at least one thing in common - neither was left alone by nightmares.
"A firewhiskey."
"I'll take a double, please." Potter raised his voice slightly, and Draco caught the nod of an older man, the owner, who had been standing, hidden, behind some empty shelves. He gathered his robes and turned into another room, leaving Draco and Potter well and truly alone. Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter's choice, but didn't say anything.
"Malfoy," Potter said, "I'd like to return your wand."
Draco's heart, which hadn't managed to stop itself completely from hoping that might be the reason Potter had summoned him, suddenly picked up its pace.
"You waited long enough." he said firmly, though his voice wavered. More than half a year, if it meant anything.
"I've been busy." Potter evaded Draco's stare, obviously ashamed. Awkward silence fell over them for a moment, until Draco felt compelled to speak.
"Meanwhile, I've had to use my father's."
His father hadn't been spared from a sentence to Azkaban, not as lucky as his wife or his son.
"I'm sorry."
They fell silent once again with only the haunting creak of old buildings bending in the wind to fill the space between them. Draco thought he'd never heard Potter say that to him, at least never so sincerely. It was hard to understand, but there was a comfort to hearing the words after so much time. Potter hadn't made Draco's life easy.
Then again, Draco hadn't helped Potter, either.
The owner of the hole-in-the-wall placed a shot of firewhiskey - full to the brim - in front of Draco, and Potter's double shot in front of him. They both nodded their thanks, and he ambled away to do something else. Draco closed his eyes for a moment.
It had been something close to torture to be reminded of his father's status as Death Eater, using the elder Malfoy's wand every day. Draco yearned for the moment that he'd have his own firmly back in his grasp.
"Er... I'd also like to thank you in person for your mother's help. She's the only reason I'm alive today." Potter said the last bit in a rush, tripping over his words. Draco noticed the sincerity behind the words.
Still not opening his eyes, Draco murmured, "You cleared our names - that's thanks enough. More than that, she's read your missives, Potter."
"She's never responded."
"That's not for lack of trying. My mother has answered every one of your letters."
People had been openly hostile to the free Malfoys, sending threatening mail and even killing their owls for months. Draco wondered when they'd tire of it, but it seemed they never would.
"I had to make sure you knew-"
"We know." Draco swallowed hard. "Listen, Potter. I came to get my wand, but since the opportunity has presented itself... you've not responded to my letters either. I wanted to tell you th-that I'm sorry."
A funny look settled over Potter's features. His fingers twined around the glass in front of him, drawing circles on the bar with tiny movements of his wrist. He betrayed his nerves like that, Draco wanted to tell him. He stayed silent.
"Why are you sorry?"
There were too many reasons. Draco shook his head. "I'm sorry that I set Rita Skeeter on you, so many years ago. I swear on Merlin's jagged teeth that if I see another reporter asking stupid questions - of me or you - I might just kill them."
The apology earned Draco a snort from Potter, a fact that made warmth blossom in his chest for a moment.
"Fat load of good my testimony did for you, I see, if you're so willing to throw away your freedom. Don't let them affect you - they'll get bored eventually."
Draco didn't think before speaking. "I also wanted to thank you."
Speechless, Potter turned brilliant green eyes on Draco. After a moment, he said, "What?"
"You saved my life. I never had a chance to thank you properly."
Potter's cheeks were noticeably flushed, even in the dim light. He looked uncomfortable. "No problem, Malfoy. It's kind of what I do."
Draco wouldn't allow himself to be shaken off so easily, not when he was already shivering with the thought that he was finally saying what he'd needed to say for half a year.
"Really, Potter." The urgent tone in his voice was audible to his own ears. "We lost a lot in the fighting, on both sides, and I owe my life to you."
"You warm my heart, Malfoy, but that's quite enough. You'll give my hero complex reason to grow if you keep going like that."
Draco eyed his firewhiskey shot with sudden interest. "Perhaps a drink is in order for our... truce?"
He left the question hanging, hoping.
Potter's hand stilled, and then he slowly lifted his glass. They locked eyes, and for a moment, Draco couldn't breathe.
"Truce." Potter whispered. They lifted their glasses to their lips, swallowing in tandem. Draco knew they were physically connected, in that moment, by the burning and the dizzying heat they both felt. It was a good burn, one that did not threaten to consume like the fiendfyre had. Instead, it made Draco wish he'd been prudent and ordered two shots. His throat was dry, thirsty for more.
Thankfully, it seemed Potter had a similar idea. "Another round, then?"
Draco nodded. "Maybe two."
"Malfoy, d'you think you'd join me for a game of quidditch? S'been ages since 've had good competition."
Draco answered with a smile unconsciously brightening his features.
"How about right now?" He yawned. "H-h-hogwarts isn't far."
They were falling over each other as they hobbled out of the Hog's Head. The fantastic idea from moments earlier suddenly seemed far less appealing as the cold nipped at Draco's skin.
"Po-tter, it's cold 'n' dark." There was a petulant swing to his words, though neither Draco nor Harry took much notice.
"We're wizards, aren't we?"
Then Harry was pulling out his wand and whispering a spell. Draco saw him stop shivering, then he stopped and frowned.
"You've not given me my wand!" Draco said, shocked that he'd overlooked the fact.
A sheepish expression crossed Potter's face, and he reached into his cloak again to return with Draco's wand in hand.
"Oh, Merlin," Draco whispered, brain clear of alcohol-induced fog for just a second. There was a pang in his chest. Recognition. "I've missed it."
The spark of magic that shot through him when he grabbed the wand from Potter's grip might have been a figment of his imagination, or it might have been caused by the brush of his fingers against Potter's.
He cast a warming spell. Shocked that it was functional and knowing it would hardly last a few minutes, Draco found himself losing his balance slightly and falling forwards. Potter was warm and strong against him, rather bigger than Draco had expected.
And then, something far more predictable: Potter pushed him back.
Draco, through eyelashes that had snowflakes tangled in them, looked up at Potter with a glare from his position on the cold ground.
"You'll regret that, you will." Draco promised rather unimpressively, then hiccuped once and burst into laughter. Potter, absurdly, followed suit, finding something funny in the situation.
Potter extended a hand to Draco, whose eyes widened at the offering. "Come on, then. S'not a far walk."
Field of vision blurry, and not because of the alcohol, Draco took Potter's outstretched hand and allowed himself to be pulled upright. His stomach lurched, and he knew sweet relief would come from upending its contents onto the curb, but he controlled his breathing and matched Potter's pace instead.
The Gryffindor was practically glowing with an unburdened happiness and Draco grudgingly found himself pulled into the charm. Laughing, pushing each other, and making jokes took them all the way up to the Hogwarts grounds in almost complete darkness.
Draco looked up at the sky, standing right in the middle of the quidditch pitch. The alcohol made his vision blurry when he moved his eyes to follow the soft white flakes that fell from the sky. Potter, beside him, stuck out a tongue to catch some there.
"We playing or not, Potter?" Draco asked.
Potter conjured a broom, just a basic model, and Draco found himself bursting with the magical energy to do the same. Having his own wand was a heady comfort that Draco knew he was addicted to after the withdrawal of several months. He refreshed his warmth charm and hesitantly tucked his wand back into a pocket in his cloak once a broom was in his hands.
"I'll race you around the stands three times. We'll go in opposite directions."
Draco nodded, regretting the motion immediately. There was just enough light, by the dim reflection of the sun's rays from the moon, to follow Potter to the stands, which had some lights floating at the top. The visibility was slightly better there than in the middle of the pitch, good enough that Draco could see the green of Potter's bright eyes.
"Three, two, one!"
They kicked off together, Potter heading one way, Draco the other. Wind whipped around him, thankfully warmed by the charm, and Draco gritted his teeth with concentration to maintain the grip he had on his broom. There was something entirely foreign about riding and feeling simultaneously in control and horrifyingly not.
The first time he met Potter, Draco knew that they were going at approximately the same speed. They whipped past one another, robes billowing. Draco felt his heart skip a beat when he realized that he had to make a sharp turn and that he was rather late for it. Heart in his throat, he pulled up and over in a flip. His stomach turned as well and his mind went blank.
But he didn't hit the stands.
The tips of his fingers were getting cold as he and Potter met roughly where they had started. Two laps to go.
Ice ran through Draco's veins as his charm slowly wore off, but he couldn't bear to relinquish the possibility of beating Potter. Draco leaned closer to his broom, urging it to fly ever faster, and felt the skin on his face prickling with the impact of snowflakes as he flew through the onslaught.
By the time they had one lap left, Draco's teeth were chattering and his fuzzy mind couldn't recall the sensation of warmth. He slowed considerably. Finding it difficult to tighten his grip and after nearly slipping off an icy broom, Draco had to tone down the speed again before he felt any kind of comfort.
The ground below him was strangely mesmerizing, with shadows that lengthened and changed as he flew over them. The darkness was layered, deep in some parts and just ignorable in others, and the view completely trapped Draco's mind.
He heard Potter's shout and tore his eyes from the grass that must have been several metres below him. His hands released his broom to shield his face as Harry Potter flew directly into him. Draco felt his balance thrown, let out a strangled shout of his own, and then they were falling through the cold air.
Limbs flailed, something caught Draco right across the cheek, and his foot came into contact with something soft. In all the confusion, he couldn't take a breath, and any remaining air in his lungs was violently knocked out when he smashed into the ground.
"Malfoy, you okay?" Potter's shout sounded out somewhere to Draco's right, but his ears were ringing and he couldn't find words inside his mind to answer. Even if he had been able to, his tongue was tied and his body frozen.
"Malfoy!" The panic was palpable, and Draco's mind slowly began to function once again. He dimly realized that he could properly feel his limbs again - probably another warmth charm... but who was casting it? - and then regretted that development because pain lanced through his defrosting limbs, supercharged.
He groaned. "I'm okay, Potter. I don't think I've broken anything, but my ankle needs tending to."
"Let me-" Potter's touch was light on Draco's back. He reached one hand under Draco's shoulder, lifting so that Draco could turn to his side and finally onto his back. Draco retched, ready to vomit, but Potter whispered something wonderful that made the nausea recede.
Then, a dazzling white healing spell chased the darkness away for a split second, sending Draco's pain away as well.
"Thanks, Potter."
"Don't thank me. We both could have died."
Draco thought for a few moments. "Bugger. That was a supremely bad idea."
Potter nodded. "Are you all right?"
Draco shrugged, experimentally lifting himself so that he was sitting. An unfelt breeze flitted through his hair.
"I think I'm just a little drunk," Draco admitted.
Potter leaned toward him, looking worried. Draco had the surprising urge to see more of Potter, more than just stormy eyes and furrowed eyebrows. He cast a lumos silently, and the wand he'd retrieved from his pocket glowed bright.
Potter was staring at him, worrying a lip between his teeth, though his eyes were narrowed at the offensive light.
"I think we're both a little drunk," Potter finally concluded. "Which is why this was a horrible idea."
"Wretched."
"Ghastly."
"Imbecilic, really."
Draco watched the gears turn in Potter's head. The Gryffindor leaned forward again, shifting his weight. He was kneeling right next to Draco, facing him, and Draco knew the alcohol was still working because his body jumped ahead of his mind at the feeling of Potter's warm breath on his cheek.
With a tiny turn of his chin, Draco met Potter's inquisitive gaze. He hadn't yet caught on.
"I'll continue in that tradition with another bad idea," Draco whispered. Inside, he was drowning in conflicting thoughts, bone-chilling memories, and red-hot urgency.
He pressed his lips to Potter's, and it was like he'd taken a breath of fresh air. Potter's lips were frigid against his, and Draco moved quickly so that Potter was falling backwards, tumbling onto his back. Draco climbed on top of him, ravenous as though this was what he'd wanted all along.
Their lips met again, and this time Potter didn't seem quite so shocked. His lips were soft, though still cold, and they parted slightly so that Draco's could fit. They breathed together, moving their mouths so that tongues could meet and twine together. Draco pulled away for just a second, bewildered at the turn of events, but Potter had other plans.
Draco felt a hand in his hair, tugging insistently, and he put up embarrassingly little resistance before rejoining his mouth to Potter's. A flash like lightning jolted through him, and Draco dropped his wand and moved his hand to cup Potter's cheek. The firewhiskey was bitter on both their tongues, having chased all their inhibitions away.
Opposing sensations like fire and ice pushed him to ravage Potter, pressing ever closer.
His teeth bit Harry's lip, and the Gryffindor let out a low groan. The kissing continued, intense, and Draco wondered if Harry's mind was as blank as his was. He couldn't think of anything but the present. There was nothing but the smoothness and slipperiness of Potter's tongue against his and the bruising enthusiasm with which they exchanged words that could never be spoken.
"Draco," Potter whispered when Draco relinquished his mouth to heat Potter's neck with hot kisses, "come to my place?"
Draco grabbed his wand instinctively, finding it after a moment of fumbling around with his hand.
"Yes," he whispered against Potter's neck.
The next thing he knew, Potter had apparated them both to some destination. They landed on their feet rather abruptly, though the uncomfortable jolt of apparation disappeared immediately when Potter pushed him against the nearest wall, pressing himself flush against Draco in a way that reawakened desire in Draco's stomach.
"This is a horrible idea," he whispered when Potter fell to his knees some moments later.
"Awful," Potter whispered back with a wicked smile before reaching up to unbutton Draco's cloak. Deft fingers slipped the button from the hole on Draco's trousers, and then he proceeded to erase all words from Draco's active vocabulary but a rather large collection of four-letter ones.