::insert obligatory disclaimer here.::
"Drowning His Sorrows"
Draco Malfoy drank yet another shot of Firewhiskey. A part of him hoped it would numb the pain, if only for a little while. He had been at the Three Broomsticks so much lately he believed he was developing a considerable tolerance for alcohol, as his surroundings were only slightly blurry after the consumption of his sixth shot. He studied the still-smoking glass for a moment before setting it down in front of him with the other five clustered there.
"Drowning your sorrows?" An all-too-familiar voice asked. Oh, no. He was the very last person Draco wanted to see.
"Potter," he drawled, without looking up from the small cluster of glasses. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Likewise," Potter replied. "And you didn't answer my question." He took a seat on the stool next to him. Draco rolled his eyes. Why couldn't Potter just keep his nose in his own damn business? Draco never bothered him anymore... Well, almost never.
"I'm not 'drowning my sorrows'," Draco snapped, then added as a hasty afterthought: "Not that I care what you think. I just fancied a drink is all." He made a mental note that one drink too many caused him to lose his infamous sardonic touch. He couldn't let that happen... especially when Potter was around, Draco did, after all, have a reputation to maintain- even if it wasn't a very good one. He picked up one of his empty glasses and began to trace his finger around the rim absentmindedly.
Potter nodded and smirked. "You've 'fancied a drink' every night for the past month. Tom's told me about how much you've been in here."
At the mention of his name, Tom the bartender turned to face the two wizards. Potter, clearly anticipating that Tom was going to ask him his pleasure, merely shook his head.
"Enlighten me, Potter- why exactly do you give a damn?" Draco asked in a scathingly sarcastic voice, that he could, in fact, still manage to pull off successfully even in a state of semi-drunkenness. He leaned his elbow against the counter as if listening closely and wore on his face an expression of mock rapt anticipation of his rival's response.
The other man rolled his eyes and smiled gravely. "Trust me Malfoy, I don't. But she would. And I do give a damn about her."
"Maybe," Draco replied, feigning nonchalance and slamming down the glass he had been playing with a little too hard on the counter. "But she really isn't here to give me her opinion now, is she?"
"So you won't even consider what she would think if she saw you like this?" Potter countered, obviously pleased that he was beginning to open Draco up, if only slightly.
"Once again, Potter," Draco said, dropping his casual manner as his temper began to rise. "That really isn't an issue considering she's DEAD!" He'd said those last words so loudly that half the bar had turned to glance suspiciously at him.
There was an abrupt ringing silence. He really wished Potter would leave him to "drown his sorrows" in peace, because he wasn't in the mood for dealing with him at the moment. He was going to tell him to bugger off, but something completely different escaped his lips. "I miss her."
Potter sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. "I know how you feel, Draco."
Draco looked at him sceptically, his eyes only slightly bleary. "Have you ever been in love, Potter?"
The other wizard paused for a moment, as if mulling over the question, before replying, "No."
"Then you haven't a clue how I feel."
Draco could tell he was beginning to frustrate his adversary. "You weren't the only one who cared about Ginny, Malfoy," Potter snarled through gritted teeth, "But you are, however, the only one with a chip on his shoulder the size of the English Channel because of it, so I suggest you get over yourself."
Potter's anger seemed to suddenly vanish, replaced by something that remarkably resembled sympathy. Great, the last thing Draco needed was Potter's sympathy, but somehow, he didn't feel as angry about it as he thought he would.
His enemy continued, "I knew Ginny, very well in fact, and I know she wouldn't have wanted to see you like this, refusing to acknowledge that things are different now..."
"No," Draco replied, "I suppose she wouldn't have. And I didn't want to see her murdered by Death Eaters, but we don't always get what we wish for. By the way, how exactly are things 'different now', as you so aptly put it?"
Potter shrugged. "When we were kids things were more... simple? Now that Voldemort's gone everyone that was affected by him in one way or another has to go on living... and in many ways that's worse than dying." Draco shuddered involuntarily. Potter sounded much older than a 22-year-old. "I don't know," he continued. "It seems like things used to be more black and white, I suppose. But maybe things haven't changed... maybe it's us...."
Draco shook his head, desperate to regain composure. "You may be the world's bloody savior, Potter," he muttered. "But that doesn't take away from the fact that you are hands down the densest person I know." His expression softened. He looked at his archrival since the age of eleven and said softly, "I know how angry you and Weasley must've been when you found out about Ginny and me."
Potter chuckled softly. "No, I don't think you do."
Draco smiled reluctantly. "But I did love her... I still do. And for some reason I suppose I'll never know... she loved me back."
Potter nodded in understanding. "I meant what I said before. Ginny wouldn't have wanted to see you like this. As cliché as it sounds, she would've wanted you to move on."
The two young men sat together in relative quiet for quite some time, only this time the silence was unmistakably companionable.
Draco was the first to speak again as he confessed abruptly, "I suppose everything happens for a reason, although it's damn hard to believe right now. But her death made me realize..." he trailed off, the words on the tip of his tongue, but not knowing quite how to say them to accurately describe his feelings- he'd wanted subconsciously to talk about this to Harry Potter, his archrival, for quite some time now, but he'd never quite been able to muster up the courage. Finally, he spoke quietly, "I've changed, you know."
Potter smiled. "As have I."
Draco almost laughed out loud. He never would have thought that he, a Malfoy, and Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, could possibly have anything in common.