Chapter 2
Harry is rooted to the spot. What do you say to one another after all this time? Although he is surprised, he is more than a little intrigued.
All hostility forgotten, he finds himself saying "I'm not an alcoholic."
It is then that Harry decides that he doesn't appreciate Draco's piercing gaze, as grey eyes scrutinize him. He must not have found what he is searching for, because he looks away almost immediately. Something about the gaze is electrifying, and Harry is feels bereft the minute the connection breaks.
Harry turns back to his drink, downing it in one with the ease of someone who has had copious practice.
Draco looks at him pointedly, but still doesn't say anything.
Ignoring him, Harry signals for another. "I heard you turned to our side before shit hit the fan."
A low hum is the only response he receives. This takes Harry by surprise; the Draco he knew would have gloated. Probably with some smart remark about being on the winning side. He reminds himself that people change, and he cannot expect to hold the monopoly on that.
"You chose the winning side," Harry prompts, his tone carefully neutral.
Draco is silent for a couple minutes "I chose you."
Three syllables and Harry is at a complete loss. Who would have thought that he would be rendered mute by the words of Malfoy? Search as he might for any hints of emotion, he comes up empty.
It is a while before he realizes Malfoy is smirking.
"Prat." Harry huffs. "So how come you smell like Potions?"
…
They had covered the basics—profession, hobbies, favorite food, color, music, and even a contrite couple of fragments on their past relationships.
Some nights they would talk until they were the last ones left, interrupted only by the sudden brightness of the rising sun.
Others, they would sit in silence, and Harry would swear the leg brushing his had no effect whatsoever on his breathing.
….
Harry's vision was starting to blur.
"You should come over more often," Ron says.
"More often than already?!" Harry exclaims. "I feel like I live there!"
Harry could always predict the way Ron dismissed his words with a brief gesture.
"—that's when the Ministry first started using dementors to as guards for Azkaban." Draco was saying.
The wealth of knowledge Draco had about the Wizarding world, courtesy of his upbringing, was astounding, and stories like that keep Harry from drifting back into his memories.
…..
They had been kissing far too long to blame their actions on the few drinks they had.
Harry would be lying if he said that he hadn't thought about messing up that perfect blond hair before. Tentative hands are at the small of his back as Draco Malfoy is pushed against the wall. A small dent appears at the spot where it meets the clasp of Draco's golden watch. He supposed these walls housed memories of many illicit affairs, rushed hook-ups, or, in Harry's case, unconscious drunks. He wondered what category they would fit into right now.
…..
The first time they fuck, Harry leaves bite marks on Draco's shoulder that doesn't heal for a week.
He fights to keep his eyes open, wanting watch Draco as he cries out his name in the dingy room above the pub.
Harry feels indecent and exposed. It is exhilarating.
…
Tonight they match each other drink for drink.
Draco lets out a sigh. "Why can't I figure you out Potter?"
"There's nothing to figure out," Harry says roughly, lips still swollen from their earlier tryst.
"What do you want? Why aren't you living your white picket fence life, basking in your glory?"
"Not all of us can be members of the gentry," Harry snaps.
Draco exhales through his nose with the impatient air of someone dealing with a particularly recalcitrant child. "Forget it."
He looks up to see the apology reflected in emerald eyes. "Being here makes me feel alive."
That is all Draco needs. Twenty minutes later he comes violently inside Harry, all trace of aristocracy gone. At that moment, their world is reduced to each other, frozen in time.
…
Harry lets the cigarette dangle from his fingers as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He stares at the only picture that adorns the wall in the barren room—a generic image of a sunflower. The thick smell of smoke does little to mask the stench of sex that hovers in the air and clings to the fabric of their clothes.
"A signed Cannons portrait!" Ron yells, ripped scarlet wrappings lying haphazardly on the ground beside his crossed legs. "Thanks Harry!" he beams, fingering the hard wood frame.
Harry grins, glad to finally give him an excuse to take the hideous painting off the wall.
Blonde hair tickles his neck as the other man comes up behind him, the length of his chest pressing flush against his back. Lean arms wrap around his stomach in a bold gesture.
"I can tell when you disappear into your head, Potter."
After a moment's quiet, he feels rather than hears Draco's sigh.
"C'mon," Draco mutters, placing a chaste kiss to the curve of his collarbone. He feels the absence of the familiar weight on the bed as Draco fluidly gets up and tosses him his shirt from the floor.
"You can't keep wearing that sweater, it's dreadful. Even someone like Weasley wouldn't have gone around in—"
"DON'T SAY HIS NAME!" Harry shouts, whipping around to face Draco. "And don't you DARE talk about him as if he's already dead! You don't know anything, you— you—.
It takes a while for him to regain his composure. Draco wisely says nothing. The silence stretches like a void between them, growing until the only sound that remains is that of Harry's heavy breathing. At last, Harry chokes "He'll come back. He told me so."
Draco inhales sharply, scarcely able to contain the involuntary gasp. He casts his gaze downward, frantically wanting to look anywhere but into the Savior's impossibly green eyes. How could Harry not know? He thought it was common knowledge.
Unfortunately, Harry catches the sound. "…You know?"
His voice is barely above a whisper, as if saying it any louder would taint the response. Draco hears the loaded question for what it is: a plea, filled to the brim with desperation and hopeless longing. He recognizes that by remaining silent, he is practically admitting the truth.
Harry holds his breath, childishly craving an assurance that does not come.
A tiny, strangled sound escapes his parted lips and in a split second, Harry's world shatters. And Draco Malfoy finally knows why he finds the hero of the Wizarding world in the corner of this bar every night.
