II.

In the end, it turned out Draco didn't need to help ruin his date — it was already doomed from the start. That isn't to say, he didn't at least try to make it work. And things did start off promising enough.

Draco found his date waiting just inside the entrance, saving him any humiliation of trying to find someone he didn't know…in a room full of people he didn't know. For once, he was grateful to have had his face infamously splashed across the papers after the war, turning at the timid, "Draco Malfoy?" muttered the instant he walked through the door.

He put on a gentle smile, ever aware of how he was expected to be perceived, and turned. For what it was worth, Astoria hadn't embellished her description of Sharif. He was a few inches shorter than Draco himself, which he found strangely endearing (and not just because Potter had been shorter than him and he missed that dynamic). He was also blessed with soft facial features, making him appear kind and sympathetic. But Draco was finding it difficult to focus on that with those vibrant green eyes looking him over. They weren't quite the same shade of jade as Potter's, but they were trying very hard to be similar, which was annoyingly distracting.

As soon as he could manage it, Draco refocused his gaze, taking in the man's choice of date attire — a cardigan he might as well have stolen from his grandfather, a graphic t-shirt with a logo Draco didn't recognise, and cargo khakis, all paired with sandals. In February. Draco cleared his throat. "Sharif?" he questioned politely, extending his hand and cursing the way its shaking betrayed his nerves.

Sharif smiled warmly and shook his hand just once before gesturing towards the tables. "Shall we find a place to sit?"

Crooking a brow at the formality of Sharif's words, especially amongst the relaxed clamour of the pub, Draco nodded and followed his date to a table just close enough to the bar to be convenient, and yet irritating in its lack of privacy.

Everything simply went downhill from there.

The most inexcusable thing? The guy ordered for him. He didn't wait for any input; he simply hopped up from his chair, walked over to the bar, and ordered Draco a Negroni. Knowing next to nothing about his date, Sharif had decided upon first glance that Draco was a gin drinker, and Draco had to pretend like he was grateful for the gesture when all he really wanted was a good stout. He sipped politely at the cocktail, already itching to leave even while attempting to live up to his personal promise to at least try.

"So," Draco began, doing his best to keep his voice even, "you work with Astoria?"

As it wasn't really a question, Sharif simply nodded and stirred his Vodka Cranberry.

Draco tried again. "What drew you to—"

"Oh, please don't ask that question." Startled, Draco barely managed a raised eyebrow in response. "You're going to ask me why I chose to work in childcare. And if you do, I'll have to pretend I have a passion for children when, in reality, I just needed a job and they happened to be hiring."

The smile plastered to Draco's face began to deflate as he studied Sharif for a hint of humour. Mostly, he was just coming off as disinterested, which really wouldn't have hurt so much if Draco weren't actually so desperate for this to turn out at least amicably. "I suppose," he paused to clear his throat, "that's as good a reason as any to be employed."

For a long moment, Sharif studied him back. His gaze roamed across Draco's moisturized face, down his vintage blazer, settling on his freshly manicured nails. He nodded slowly, posture stiffening. "I'm sure you wouldn't know the feeling." His tone hinted at a light-hearted joke, but the sentiment didn't quite meet his hardened expression.

Draco, who had been effectively cut off from his family both financially and physically for three years now, bristled and white-knuckled his glass. "I assure you, that assumption is unsubstantiated," he muttered, knowing any timbre louder would betray the frustrated shake to his voice.

Sharif nodded and pointedly stared at the table. Their conversation stalled, strangled once again by the weight of Draco's childhood. He cleared his throat, looking around the bar for distraction. Big mistake. All around them were couples, evident by meaningful glances and light touches — a slap-in-the-face reminder of his current situation and how badly he was failing at "getting back out there".

He attempted to save the date, pretending the awkward start had been due to nerves. "I've never been on a blind date before," Draco admitted, hoping to come off as playful and self-deprecating. "I've never had to start completely from scratch like this, so I'm really not sure where to begin. Should I ask you your favourite colour?"

"It's orange," Sharif supplied, just barely looking up through those thick lashes. "If that was, in fact, you asking."

"Let's say it was." Draco pushed aside his drink, using the guise of intimacy to cover his desperation to be rid of it. "Orange, like sherbet, or—"

"No, like an orange. You know, the fruit?" Once again, Sharif cut Draco off mid-sentence, swiftly bringing the edge back. "Wouldn't sherbet be like a peachy pastel-type colour?"

Draco had to physically hold his breath to keep from hissing something harsh. He counted to five before slowly letting it out, feeling only marginally calmer. "Right, of course. How could I be so stupid?" Except he couldn't quite contain all the sass, not that he found he particularly cared in that moment. His will to try had dissipated, and now he was just ready for this to be over and done with. "Look, Sharif, you seem like a nice guy—"

"But you're not interested." Sharif actually looked crestfallen, and a slimy feeling slid into Draco's belly. He readily blamed it on the gin.

"Maybe it's just too soon for me? You know, to get back out there?" Some part of Draco believed this to be true, so it wasn't too difficult to sound genuine. Some part of him still held out hope for a future he'd given up on. Some part of him might have been sabotaging this date just to avoid moving forward with his life.

But a larger part of him was screaming inside that Sharif was the one who seemed wholly uninterested himself. So…fuck him.

Sharif was on his feet in a heartbeat, forcing a smile through his hurt and anger. "At least nobody can say we didn't give it a shot."

Draco merely nodded, unsure if they really even had.

As soon as Sharif had so much as turned around, Draco was on his feet and making a beeline for the bar. He ordered the darkest beer they had on tap in the largest size they offered, tipping the bartender generously out of sheer gratitude.