"I can tell I'm already starting to grow on you," Malcolm commented as they sat at the table. Malcolm had chosen a different spot, choosing to sit closer to the head of the table than he had last time.
Draco rolled his eyes.
"Like a second head, maybe. Useless, annoying and generally painful when knocked together," he smiled grimly.
"Ah, but having a second head is interesting. Your friends must be entirely too boring," Malcolm responded. "I've yet to see one stop by to visit and shoot the breeze with you."
"I don't have friends. I don't need them," Draco told him and shrugged, cutting off a piece of ham for his fork.
"Most people who say that are the ones who need friends the most, don't you think?"
"That's such an… innocent comment. And for your information, my friends are dead," Draco admitted, clearing his throat.
"Poor excuse for friends, dead people are," Malcolm muttered and took a swig of Firewhisky.
Draco narrowed his eyes, watching Malcolm in disapproval.
"I'm the reason one of them is dead. The other one went and accidently blew himself up because he used the wrong spell to light his fireplace," he told Malcolm.
There was a moment of silence.
"I thought the Sir Dark Lord mess was the reason you're such a downer. I mean, yeah, it probably sucks too that your Dad is locked up in Alakazam," Malcolm replied.
Draco was flabbergasted.
"Azkaban. How do you know that?"
"…I might or might not have accidently fallen face-first into your private desk drawer?"
"That drawer is locked."
"Not if you know how to pick it."
"Unbelievable."
"I mean, you'd think snooping in a wizard's house would be much more difficult because of all the magical shenanigans but it's actually quite simple to break into stuff if you're into the physical work."
"I'm not into the physical work-"
"Thus, I know your entire life history. Moving on now," Malcolm changed the course of the conversation.
"You feel guilty for what happened when you were, what, sixteen? Seventeen? Right, so you and Daddy dearest were in cahoots with the Death Munchers-"
"Eaters."
"Whatever. Bad people. Then Dark Lord of the Slytherings decided to mess with the wrong asshole and here you sit in this big empty place thinking of ways to off yourself all day because you finally figured out you were led astray the whole time."
Draco was sitting back in his chair, gripping the arms until his knuckles were white with his jaw hanging open.
"I… You shouldn't have…"
Malcolm raised his eyebrow.
"I also forgive you, you know. Everything that happened… well, you were young and stupid and all that stuff you keep blaming yourself for would have happened with or without you there. My god, man, you were a kid. Hell, I wouldn't be sitting at this ginormous beast of a table if you were really a bad guy. Stuffy, maybe. But not bad."
Draco's voice was faint.
"I've never contemplated suicide-"
Malcolm waved his arm out across his food dismissively.
"I must have looked into it too much. But I would if I were stuck here with me. Kill myself, I mean. I'm terribly annoying."
For the first time in years, laughter (somewhat weak but laughter nonetheless) escaped Draco's throat.
