Note: This chapter is a big one, plot wise. It's the Drarry chapter, and I was so excited when I wrote it. I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for all the reviews on this story! I'm so grateful! 3
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Approximately one year earlier…
It doesn't matter if you're The Boy Who Lived, the world is still shit. He's fine with it, life is always throwing him the most ridiculous hurdles and he's well equipped to Bombarda the fuck out of them. It's what he does. Like any great British cliché, Harry Potter carries on. But tonight, when Ginny sits down with tears in her eyes and tells him that she's slept with someone else, he's just broken. He's sad and he's confused and his heart feels like lead in his chest.
Probably what bothers him most is that he's not sure if he's more upset that his marriage is over or that the last vestiges of his youth have been ripped to shreds. In any case, something inside of him snaps and the powerful glow of magic just sort of disappears. He feels empty, alone, and incomplete.
Things haven't been right for a very long time. Magic feels wrong, foreign. It's the realization he's lost the wonder of conjuring and charming that cracks through his tough shell and brings prickles of tears to his eyes.
He can't look at her and he tells her so. She understands, she cries, and she tells him there's no mending what's broken between them. It takes him ages to agree; he wants to fight for his marriage, for his heart, but in the end she's right and he crumbles under the weight of it. After hours of silence Harry asks her to leave, to await his solicitor's owl, to stay with her mum while she's on holiday. The kids are there having a sleepover with their cousins, she can spend time with them and he can try to figure out where he goes from here. He's had enough, she's right, and he's going to start taking care to remember the world he fought to save so many years ago.
Unfortunately for Harry, remembering the world that he fought to save also includes remembering that it has pubs. Better than regular pubs, it has magical pubs. With highly effective tonics to cure all ailments. Or, at least the ailments that are forgettable after attaining an inadvisable blood-alcohol level.
There's a wonderful pub in Surrey, just outside of the muggle part of town, where on occasion, he journeys with co-workers for a night of well-mannered frivolity. That's where he finds himself now. With less than well-mannered intentions. It's strange to be back in Surrey after so many years not for his muggle relatives, but for its magical offerings. Granted, Petunia and Vernon haven't lived in Surrey in quite some time, it's still interesting to see his old haunt in the distance from the pub. He doesn't smile, just wonders briefly if his life would be any different if he hadn't grown up with the Dursleys.
Undoubtedly, it would, but he can't dwell on it. Ginny tells him all the time that the past can't be changed and we need to move on in order to grow. How he'd go on without her wisdom, he can't quite know yet, but he's determined to try.
He walks into the familiar pub and it's quiet tonight. There are a handful of patrons dotted along the floor, some in booths, a couple at a table, a bloke at the bar. Harry removes his dark gray cloak and hangs it next to the door. He's left in his DMLE polo and is happy to find that the temperature in the pub doesn't reflect the chill outside. As he makes his way to the bar, a couple of the patrons tip their heads at him; regulars that he's met before. He sits on a stool that's probably too used to his particular shape and places several galleons down in front of him.
"Harry," the bartender greets him with a wide smile and sparkling blue eyes. "Fancy seeing you here without the rest of your troupe."
Harry offers him a tight lipped smile. "Just the whisky tonight, Amadeus."
"Of course, sir." There's still a bright playfulness behind Amadeus' eyes, and Harry's happy that his mood doesn't seem to affect the man's demeanor. "One on the house and one on your tab?"
Grateful, Harry tosses a galleon behind the counter and into a pitcher that holds a mixture of various coins. "Thanks, mate. Keep them coming, yeah?"
His tolerance is admittedly higher than he'd prefer. He's not a drunk, but has sipped his fair share of neat whisky since becoming an auror. The bite of life, the gruesome details that other wizards don't care to see, they leave an imprint and he's spent a lot of time numbing himself to the difficulties of his job. Magic is beautiful, but it's also cruel. Harry's intimately aware with both sides.
The chatter in the bar gets louder as wizards find their way to Amadeus' place. Harry sits with his back to them all, nursing his beverages and considering all of the ways that his life changed tonight. His wife, his beautiful, feisty wife, tore him to shreds tonight. He's not sure how to feel about it. How long can he mourn for his marriage? Does it count if he grieves while drunk? He's going to find out. He doesn't think he can face their bed while sober, anyway.
He feels a breeze of cold air on his neck before a figure sits next to him. He's a smidge taller, especially since Harry is a little hunched over his drink. He's staring at the amber liquid as if it's going to magically erase everything in his head, but it doesn't. Tempted to try one of the elixirs that Amadeus procures, Harry grabs a laminated bit of parchment and starts reading through the list of available tonics.
"Detached Draught tastes like piss."
The voice next to him is one he knows well. A harsh, clipped tone that Harry has come to associate with all of his more dangerous missions. He lifts his head, stubble-covered chin aimed to the side over his shoulder as he considers the blonde wizard next to him. He settles on a light chuckle as he sets down the list of elixirs.
"Draco." Harry lifts his chin a little and flags down Amadeus. "He looks like shit. A whisky on me so that I can say I at least pretended to care tomorrow."
Draco barks a laugh and throws a few coins into the tip pitcher behind the bar. "Potter. Pleasant as always. Another rough case this evening? I figured you only had those when I'm consulting."
Harry downs two fingers of his own whisky and breathes sharply through his teeth before turning all the way to Draco. When their eyes meet, Harry sees his emotions reflecting out of the blonde's eyes. Haunted, curious, lamenting. He leans in so that his shoulder is pressed against Draco's and he whispers the words he hasn't had the guts to say out loud yet.
"My wife had an affair. I'm pretty sure my entire life is a wreck and everyone else has known it for ages except me."
Draco doesn't say much at all. His eyes follow Harry as he sits up straight again and he brings the small tumbler of alcohol to his red lips and sucks down the entire contents without so much as blinking.
"You seem content to be a wreck." Draco's lips twitch. "I figured it was a Gryffindor trait, no?"
It's Harry's turn to laugh as he shakes his head. "Appreciate the validation, Malfoy. What're you doing here on a work night, anyway? Shouldn't you be off finding a new liaison for your case against Alecto Carrow?"
Draco doesn't waste time between drinks and sucks down another. He peers at Harry over the lip of his glass as if he's considering to afford Harry with the same honesty in return. He sets down his empty glass and taps the table, requesting another.
"Astoria is dying." His lips barely move and the words escape him in a whisper.
Harry immediately feels like a complete dickhead for even considering that his marriage falling apart could compare to what Draco is going through. His mouth falls open and he's so sorry but he doesn't want to utter those words because he knows they don't help. So, he stares at Draco and watches as his face changes from tightly concealed secrets to a moment of open honesty and back again. He knows that Draco and Astoria have a strained marriage, a separation from each other. Draco stays in Wiltshire only during the weekends and is in his flat in Surrey while working through the week. Still, Harry imagines that they're amicable and that Draco still loves her somewhere deep down.
"Malfoy, I'm –"
"If you say you're bloody sorry, Potter, I'll remove your kneecaps with that spell you nearly killed me with." Draco sucks down a third drink, followed by a fourth. He sips the fifth gently in the moments of silence that follow. "She's known about it since she was little, apparently. A malediction of the blood. Runs in her family."
"Does Scorpius –"
The tumbler slams onto the oak bar and sloshes a little amber liquid over the side.
"Potter," Draco says through gritted teeth, "I don't really want to fucking talk about which blood diseases can pass down from the mother of my child to my son, alright."
Harry swallows around a dry patch in his throat. It's thick, like tar, and he's desperate to alleviate the uncomfortable feeling so he slams back another whisky and rather than breathe through the burn, he welcomes it. The pub is warmer than it was when he entered and his vision has this delightful fuzz around it. His head feels like and his body is loose and it's exactly what he'd aimed for when he came here tonight.
"For what it's worth, Draco," Harry says lightly, testing the waters of communication between them. When Draco doesn't cut him off, he continues, "I'm sorry."
Draco nods, a small dip of his chin, and fingers the glass in front of him. Harry takes the time to really consider the wizard. His hair is normally done up, a purposeful sweep to it with magical product to keep it perfectly in place. Not tonight, though. It's falling onto his forehead and just a small chunk falls over his brow and lays gently over his eye. His sharp jaw is shadowed with stubble and he's wearing a black collar that hides the curve of his throat. He's half put together and half disheveled and Harry doesn't think he's ever noticed the way that Draco's eyes tend to mimic whichever color he's wearing. Today, they're dark and they slice through the silence as if to say 'bugger off' to anyone who approaches, but just yesterday when they'd worked through details of the Carrow Case, his eyes were light and flecked with darkness that welcomed Harry into his personal space without saying a word.
It's a few moments before Harry realizes that he's been gazing into Draco Malfoy's eyes. He pulls away from the flashing irises and trails down his thin nose to the half-lifted lips that are surprisingly fuller than what Harry expects. He licks his lips and drags his stare from the blonde's face to the drink set down in front of him.
"Find anything you like, Potter?" Harry can hear the smirk in his voice without even glancing to him.
He shakes his head a little in response and gulps back the drink in front of him. He's going to have the worst hangover tomorrow; he'll have to remember Hermione's cure-all. Merlin knows he's not allowed to floo and ask her for it anymore.
"You're more put together than I'd expect you to be after finding out your wife had an affair." Draco says it matter-of-factly, less cruelly than Harry would imagine it to be any other time. "Did you have a happy marriage?"
Harry thinks about it. He loves Ginny, but perhaps not in the way that a husband should love his wife. He wasn't very shocked about her affair, not really. She's gone more than she's home and most of their sex is uncomfortable and awkward. It's not as passionate as Ron boasts about him and Hermione, and he's looked at magazines – Ginny never seems that content after they sleep together. When he'd wondered earlier if he'd missed any signs, he should have considered that it's never been phenomenal. Just comfortable, familiar, safe.
"It was okay," he settles on and knows it says more than those three words let on. Draco levels him with a look, like he also knows there's more behind the words. It could be the alcohol or maybe it's that he's tired of dancing around his feelings about it, but Harry gives him a little bit more than what he'd meant to. "I guess I'm not shocked that it came down to this. It was always going to be her decision to end it."
"Coward?" Draco raises an eyebrow and sips from his glass again. He isn't being malicious, Harry realizes, but asking for an honest assessment of himself.
"Comfortable." It's nothing more or less, except perhaps he wouldn't want to hurt Ginny after everything they've been through.
The blonde nods and Harry lets a deep breath fall from his lips. It feels good to say it out loud, that perhaps his marriage isn't everything he'd ever wanted, but it isn't the worst thing he's dealt with in his life, either. He's never had a reason to leave and perhaps, until now, that's enough.
"Astoria and I were incompatible from the start, but I wanted to make my parents happy." Draco points to an elixir on the menu – Honest Brew – and waits until it's in front of him before continuing. Harry's hanging on every word. "My father demanded that I marry a pureblood. That's not really shocking, I know. But he thought the Greengrasses would be a logical, strategic choice. They were innocent enough in the war to help bring a bit of grace back to the Malfoy name, but still an old family with deep pockets."
Harry doesn't understand, not really. Arranged marriages fall outside his knowledge base. Sure, he's heard stories from Andromeda about being blasted from the Black Family Tapestry and why – she'd married a muggle born despite her parents' protests – but, he never really knew anyone with these stringent rules of marriage. Hell, he had all the freedom in the world to choose and still chose wrong, apparently.
"We liked each other enough," Draco continues and tosses back the Honest Brew. Harry orders another drink, not brave enough for the elixirs. "The sex was –"
Harry flushes. He wants to tell Draco that it's not necessary to detail his sex life, that it's of no interest to him, but something stops him. Without meaning to, he leans in and their shoulders are barely touching.
"– Adequate. She's the type that likes to please. My tastes lie…" Draco meets Harry's eyes over the curve of the glass he's drinking from. Harry sucks in a breath and holds it, hanging on every beat between Draco's words. "Elsewhere and everywhere."
Suddenly, Harry feels transparent. His cheeks are tinged pink and his breath leaves him sharply through his nose. The noise in the pub is muffled and there's a vibrating feeling in his chest that leaves him warm and on edge and he sort of likes it, but it's foreign, too. He's never really had feelings for men, though he's found them attractive in a broad sense of the term. Draco Malfoy is handsome, sharp and edgy in a way that Harry thinks he likes. But girls, they're soft and curvy and sexy in a way he's sure he prefers. Maybe. He's mildly confused and Draco's intense stare is not helping at all.
"We're ill matched," Draco says finally. He pinches his lips, just a little pout as he swallows more liquid. "She's certainly had her dalliances outside of the marriage. I believe she's in love with Marcus Flint, of all people."
Harry likes the sound of Draco's rough chuckle, the way the sound is so natural to the blonde. He can't help but smile at the sound, and then they're sharing a smile and Harry realizes that he's probably in a very precarious situation now with Draco's honesty and his growing understanding of his own potential sexuality. He shouldn't be feeling this way, not with his impending divorce so fresh, but then Ginny hadn't even waited for it to end before she'd gone off and ruined everything. And he's been so empty, so tapped out for so long. This is the first time he's felt excitement outside of work in years and he's curious.
"Potter."
Harry's eyes are all over the man in front of him. He's trying to take in everything, to determine if this is the thing that's been missing, and he's not sure, but just considering it makes him feel something… a spark.
"You don't want to return to your marriage bed tonight, do you?" Draco's eyes are darker still and Harry wets his lips when he shakes his head in response. "Come have a nightcap with me. Neither of us need to be alone tonight and if you keep staring at me like that in this pub, people are going to make certain assumptions."
Harry realizes he's gotten so incredibly close to Draco that he must appear to be sharing a secret or something much more intimate. He immediately backs away.
"I don't…" He takes a steadying breath and glances around the pub. It's packed now, people dotted everywhere in clusters. No one is really paying them much attention, save for Amadeus who is keeping them well plied with drinks. "I'm not sure –"
"I'm only asking you to join me for drinks in a private setting," Draco reminds him gently. He stands from his chair and summons his cloak. "I understand if it's not something you want to get into, but I think you'll be surprised how well I can mix a drink."
Harry's certain that his stomach is filled with butterflies. Whether Draco meant the words as innuendo or not, Harry chooses to believe he did. If he does this, if he leaves with Draco, he can't ever take it back. He can't pretend it doesn't happen. It changes everything he's ever known and it forces him to face every failure of his marriage. But that spark he feels under Draco's presence, he doesn't want to ignore it. It's been so long since he's felt it, since after the war. He wants that sensation to stay. It's like his magic is happy, like it feels purpose.
He non-verbally summons his cloak and follows Draco out of the pub. They don't even make it around the corner to the closest apparation point before Draco has him pressed up against the brick wall with his hands thrust into Harry's unkempt, raven hair. There's a moment, a solitary beat of time, where Draco allows him to say no, to move away, to push off the wall and walk away. His eyes dance between Draco's, he swallows, his throat bobs, and his gaze darts to Draco's lips. Wet still with drink, parted under a shallow breath, they get closer by only the barest of movement. The spark inside his chest is roaring like a fire now and it gives him all of the bravery he needs to close the gap between them.
When their lips meet, it's like a symphonic crescendo in his ears. His heart is beating erratically and every thrum of his nerves is pulsing with magic he hasn't felt since he'd held all three Deathly Hallows and stood triumphant against evil. Draco tugs his head back and slants his lips over Harry's, and wastes no time delving his warm tongue into his mouth without any care in the world about what it means or what it changes. Harry can't even dwell on it longer than the scantest bit of a moment as he moans around the feel of Draco's mouth on his.
Harry puts his hand on Draco's waist, surprised to find that his body is harder than Harry would have guessed it to be. He's all angles and edges and they press against Harry's body in a delicious way that makes Harry gasp into their kiss. Draco dominates the kiss first, but Harry doesn't let him control it for long. He spins them around and puts his knee between Draco's and pushes him hard against the brick before their lips are attached again.
There's a pull behind his navel and they're spinning around in the darkness. When they land in Draco's house, his cloak is removed, his jumper is next, and then his shoes. He's standing half-bare in Draco's living room and he only has a second to consider what it means before Draco's naked chest is pressing against his. He's surprised at their size difference, Draco more lithe and thin against Harry's muscular frame. His hands are everywhere all at once as Draco's lips find the fleshy part of his neck just below his earlobe. He bucks under the thrill of it and then he's on the floor and Draco is breathing heavily on top of him.
"Draco, I don't –" Harry breathes into the blonde's ear as he thrusts against him and earns a growl in return. "God, Draco, I'm not –"
Draco moves his hips, just a light movement but with enough friction to get Harry hard immediately. "If you need to stop, tell me now, Potter."
His head is fuzzy and he knows that this decision can't be made lightly. But, he's so caught up in the heat of the moment, the way his body reacts to Malfoy, the way his magic responds to him without even having a wand in his hand, like it's pleased. It creates the most marvelous sensation, like fizzy beverages tingling up his spine or the zing of lemon lighting up his soul. He doesn't want to say no, and so he doesn't.
Harry grabs the back of Draco's head and pulls him in for another kiss, but this time he takes control entirely and nips at his lip. He can do this, he can spend a night with Draco Malfoy and still look at himself in the mirror tomorrow.
Or, if not, he'll destroy all his mirrors in the morning.
