20. Pick your poison [Friday, December 31st 2004]
It felt like the whole of Wizarding England and France had come. A huge magical dome had been erected above the garden, keeping the cold wind and occasional rain out and the warmth from several bonfires in, while still letting out the smoke. It rather felt like sitting inside a snow globe, only with confetti soaring down from the dome instead of snow.
Potter had spotted him immediately and grabbed his arm to tow him through the crowd, introducing him to a ton of people as 'the bad-ass Healer who saved his life and career'. Draco found that people were infinitely friendlier and more willing to talk to him when someone as influential as Potter introduced him like that.
At the end of their tour (which took more than half an hour, as there were so many people) Draco was pulled into a heated discussion about experimental healing techniques with a group of French mediwitches and only realised fifteen minutes in that Potter had vanished.
He spotted him sitting around one of the bonfires with his team, feeding scraps of food to the salamanders flitting through the flames. He was laughing happily and Draco's heart clenched suddenly.
He didn't hear the witches anymore as a horrible realisation gripped him tight.
Merlin, no. Why did it have to be him?!
He didn't have a crush on Potter.
When had been the last time he hadn't been thinking about him for fifteen whole minutes, apart from at work (and even there, he couldn't guarantee it)? He was always looking for him, thought about him constantly, everything reminded him of Potter.
He had kept that ridiculous sweater and wore it around the house sometimes, for fuck's sake! And the reason for that certainly wasn't that it was just so comfortable, however much he told himself that. If he was being really honest with himself, he probably wouldn't even have washed it if he hadn't worn it to a pub and then slept in it. How was that for pathetic?
He should have bailed long ago, broken off the contact, but he had been too weak and now look where it had gotten him.
He actually liked Harry fucking Potter. Like-Liked him. With feelings and everything.
What was he supposed to do? It clearly would not go away on its own – waiting had only made it so much worse. Draco almost wished that Potter were seeing Blaise.
There was nothing else for it – Draco had to tell him.
He had to come clean and then wait for Potter to cut him off. Staying away would be so much easier if Potter didn't surprise him at home all the time or invite him to parties.
Yes, he would tell him. This would be his New Year's resolution. He would tell him first thing after midnight and be done with it. Start the new year fresh. This meant he still had two hours to mentally prepare himself.
A waitress dressed in black and white robes came by and Draco put his empty cup on the tray she was carrying. If he wanted to do this right, he had to keep a level head. He had to keep a firm grip on his impulse control to avoid a repetition of what had happened the last time he was at Shell Cottage.
Jumping the real Potter definitely would not help Draco get over him.
He risked another glance at Potter and instantly wished for his drink back as their eyes met.
Potter seemed to hesitate for a second and then grabbed Beater Leona Robinson's cup and emptied it on the spot, much to her protest. He grabbed both his neighbours' shoulders and pulled himself up, looking over at him once more. Merlin, he looked pretty determined.
He wasn't coming over, was he? Draco wasn't ready to face him right now!
"Draco!" Blaise spun him around by one arm suddenly. "There you are! I'm going crazy!"
'Get in line,' thought Draco, only panicking a little bit.
And then Blaise pulled him away from the mediwitches, flashing them his most charming smile, and over to the patio, which was momentarily deserted.
"It's a nightmare. Did you know there is a thing called 'Wanda's Wandless Waiters'? She employs only Squibs."
Draco shook his head, frowning at Blaise. Maybe it was his recent catastrophic epiphany, but Draco wasn't following. "Squibs are a nightmare?"
"They are if they sell their hair for Poly-Parties and then get booked for my girlfriend's New Year's Bash!"
Draco raised an eyebrow expertly, finding solace in the fact that he was neither too drunk nor too freaked out to not be able to still do this. "Your girlfriend, you say? I would not know about that."
"It's not my fault you don't recognise attraction when it stares you in the face," Blaise said, rolling his eyes. "I'm sorry that I clearly overestimated your observation skills. Can we please focus on the real problem now? This feels like a convention for all the people I've shagged. And of course, the Squibs don't know me, which makes it even worse somehow."
"I think it's hilarious," Draco said, but he only managed a rather weak grin. "Reaping what you sowed and all that."
"Don't act so high and mighty. I'm not the only one who goes to those parties!"
"I don't see Potter running around like a hippogriff with its head cut off," Draco said, looking over to the bonfire automatically.
Oh no.
Potter had vanished and his place had been taken by Ginny, who was now talking to Leona Robinson animatedly. Draco resisted the urge to turn around and search the crowd for him. He could imagine what Blaise would have to say about that.
"Fine, so maybe I've gone to more of those parties than he has and he doesn't know the donors from earlier cycles. But still! This is a matter of principle."
Draco just snorted. "You will live. You manage to face Potter all the time, and with her there too."
"That's different," Blaise said with a wave of his hand. "We have other things to talk about, so it's easy to just pretend it never happened."
"That sounds like healthy coping," Draco said, looking around to check out the Squibs (and keep himself from asking how Potter was in bed). "Which ones did you sleep with?"
Blaise pointed out a pretty blond guy and a rather muscular man with very broad shoulders. Yeah, Draco wouldn't have turned down those two either.
"My advice: just pick a waiter whose Poly-Twin you haven't done unspeakable things to and stick with him for the rest of the night."
"They are just 'unspeakable' because your dry spell has gone on for so long that you don't even know how sex works anymore," Blaise countered. Rude.
Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Blaise just patted his arm and tried leaving him standing there. Draco followed him to the bonfire and they sat down next to Ginny (after checking that Potter was still nowhere to be seen).
Draco had just sat down when Potter reappeared out of nowhere, offering Robinson a cup.
"Here, mixed it myself," he said, grinning crookedly. He definitely didn't look all that sober anymore and his hair was standing up in all directions.
"Your concoctions could paralyse an Erumpent! You could've just brought me the same drink you stole from me," Robinson protested, sniffing at the cup. "Why do you always do this to me?"
"Because you're the only one who even still drinks them." Potter grinned dazedly, giving Draco a sidelong glance that made his stomach drop. Drunk Potter had bedroom eyes. Perfect.
"Sit down already, before you topple over and into the fire," Flynn Montgomery – one of the Falcons' Chasers – said. "Matt would skin you alive. He said you're not allowed to injure yourself until after our match against Puddlemere."
"When is that?" Draco asked in a desperate attempt at concentrating on anyone but Potter, who was still hovering behind Robinson. Much too close.
"On the sixteenth," said Robinson.
"Good luck with that." Draco laughed. He sounded normal, right? "No way he can manage that long."
Potter tried to shoot him what Draco suspected to be a scathing look, and failed miserably because he didn't seem to have his eyebrows under control anymore. His eyes didn't seem to fully focus on him either.
Draco stood up and gestured at his seat. "There, you can sit here. I need to find something to eat anyway."
"Comin'," Potter said at once, sounding more inarticulate by the minute.
Draco had the nagging feeling that Potter wanted to talk to him, which was the complete opposite of what Draco wanted right now. He needed time to come to terms with what he was about to do. Maybe make up a speech or something. Or, if he was being honest, talk himself out of it before midnight.
He shook his head and guided Potter over to the empty seat by his arm. "You should really sit down; I'll send someone over to you with food."
"But –" Potter protested, trying to stand up again and failing.
Blaise put a hand on his arm to keep him down. "Maybe you should also stop drinking," he said matter-of-factly.
"I didn't even –" Potter began, but then he seemed to lose his thread and just stared into the flames instead.
"Lightweight," Montgomery scoffed and the rest of them laughed.
Draco took his chance and cleared off. He found himself some food, sent a waitress over to Potter with the greasiest food she had and then joined Luna and Thomas in a game of Exploding Snap to keep his mind off things. And if he was procrastinating, who could blame him?
After the third round, he spotted Potter coming towards them and hurriedly ducked into the crowd and fled. It was definitely not midnight yet; he still had some time left.
Now he was sitting on the ground in front of the cottage, picking at some bread on a stick. This did not count as hiding, thank you very much.
"Draco. We need to talk," someone said above him. He looked up at Blaise, who was standing there with his arms crossed in front of his chest.
"What did I do?" Draco asked, instantly suspicious.
"Are you avoiding Harry?" Well, if that didn't sound like an accusation.
Draco frowned at him. If he could do one thing, it was faking total calmness. "What makes you think that?"
"Well, he seems to think so. He's been sulking all night and drinking his weight in alcohol too, by the looks of it."
"What's that got to do with me?"
"He's been stumbling around for the last ten minutes, asking for you. Not a pretty sight, I can tell you. It would be funny if it weren't so pathetic."
Draco groaned and tipped his head back so he could look at the dome. Some confetti got caught in his eyelashes and he blew it away.
"I may have been avoiding him a little bit," Draco admitted reluctantly. "But I'm not really looking forward to what he could want to talk about, especially when he is that drunk. He probably has some kind of speech prepared, about how he forgives me for my sins, because he is just that heroic."
"Since when are you such a chicken?" Blaise said. "Just go talk to him, please. Before he finds another waiter to supply him, preferably."
"Fine." Draco groaned again, letting Blaise pull him to his feet. "But just five minutes, tops!"
Blaise steered him over to the house. "Have it your idiotic way. Come on, we put him on the couch inside."
But just as they approached the back door, it opened. Both of them stopped to watch Potter, who was leaning against the door frame with his eyes closed, taking shallow breaths. He was unnaturally pale and his hair was sticking to his forehead.
"Need Malfoy," Potter mumbled, almost imperceptible.
Draco dashed forward just as Potter lost consciousness, barely catching him before he hit the floor.
"Get Granger!" Draco yelled. Then he Disapparated.
