III.
Although Draco wouldn't say he was happy to be sitting amongst a room full of happy couples after the disaster he'd just fuelled, he couldn't help but find himself content to simply be sitting on his barstool, drinking something that didn't taste like dirty dishwater. He was also content in the thought that "getting back out there" was a lost cause and perhaps he should just give up on it altogether. It wouldn't be the end of the world to be alone for the rest of his life. At least he'd always have first pick at what to have for dinner.
Perhaps if he couldn't, or rather shouldn't, have the one person he truly wanted, being alone might be the next best option. Perhaps, eventually, he could learn to be okay with that.
"Forgive me for salting your wound, but that didn't look like it went well…."
But this, running into the man he dreamt about at night, certainly wasn't going to help him on his way to being at ease with his situation. Every time he looked up and found Harry Potter standing there when he least expected it, his heart skipped a beat and broke all over again.
Taking a steeling breath alongside a deep drink of his beer, Draco searched for an appropriate response. Something suave and easy. Something which wouldn't betray how vulnerable he was feeling at the moment.
"What you saw, Potter, was, er—" Draco cleared his throat. "Oh, that was nothing. I just wanted to, uh…get rid of him. It wasn't working. You know how it goes. Dating and…and all that…."
Okay, nope, that wasn't it. Not at all.
To his credit, Harry— No, Potter. Always Potter — it hurt too much to fall back into the intimacy they had developed. Potter tried to hide his amusement, but he never really was all that adept at policing his emotions. "Sorry to hear that. Dating can be difficult." He smiled, something dark like sadness shifting across his eyes for just a moment. "And on Valentine's Day, no less. Ooph, that's gotta hurt."
Before he could stop himself, Draco lashed out, "What are you even doing here?" the implication of an accusation hidden behind his tone.
If he was surprised by Draco's tone, Potter didn't let on. He merely raised the takeout bag from his side with that same cheeky grin, knowing the gesture would be enough of an explanation for someone who used to know him so damn well.
Draco visibly relaxed. "Ah, yes, your endless search for the best chips in London. I almost forgot."
"How dare you."
For a moment, Draco could almost believe things were back to how they used to be. He could almost pretend that being in this bar with this man was a purposeful act. It was a deluded thought, but once it was nestled into his alcohol-softened brain, he found himself smiling and succumbing to the fantasy. "Why don't you have a seat?" he said gently, scooting the barstool beside him out with his foot. "I'll buy you a drink and maybe we can test those out together. Just like old times?"
In the too-long few seconds it took for Potter to think over the suggestion, an unclouded hesitancy to his expression, Draco internally scolded himself. He couldn't believe he'd even said that, really. His words echoed back to him, sounding twisted and strange. Muffled and slurred. He hadn't even had all that much to drink yet, but it was going straight to his head. Which he supposed was bound to happen when he'd skipped both lunch and now dinner.
"Actually, I'm sober now."
The denial swiftly pulled Draco from his own head, the effect of his carelessness sending him reeling in a different direction. "Oh…wow, good on you. Cheers." He quickly saluted with his drink before desperately raising his glass to his mouth and chugging the remainder of his beer. He signalled the bartender for a refill, gratefully using any excuse he could find not to look back up at Potter.
An annoyingly loud screech accompanied Potter's decision to sit down anyway, much to Draco's surprise. He pointedly kept his eyes elsewhere until he had another stout in hand, chasing down his previous one with a couple shots of whiskey for good measure. By the time he did finally take the leap to meet Potter's gaze, he found that the man had already unpacked the contents of his takeaway onto a placemat of napkins between them. Like a picnic in the middle of a crowded bar.
Potter uncapped the small tub of ketchup, completing the display and looking quite proud of himself. "Can't remember the last time someone sat down with me for one of these taste tests. It's almost exciting, even with the present company."
"Anyone ever tell you you're a smartarse?" Draco asked with a smirk, plucking one chip from its box and holding it aloft.
Potter did the same, waiting for the signal. "My boyfriend used to, all the time…." He winked, and Draco's heart dropped into his stomach, effectively sobering him up just enough. "But, I'll admit, it has been a while since anyone did."
The last time Draco had endearingly called Potter a smartarse had been…. Well, it had been long enough ago. At least the nine months since their breakup, but likely even longer than that. Those last few weeks they had been together had been rough. They were fighting all the time, leaving little to no room for endearing insults or other such intimacies. But now, it felt like he had never stopped. It was like a reflex ingrained in his memory, raring and ready to go, even after all this time.
So, of course, he had to spoil it, lest the feeling get out of hand. "Then what does the new boyfriend call you?" Draco asked amid the "go" signal, a nose wiggle well practised and mastered as a child.
The last time Draco had seen Potter was still vividly stuck in his mind. That greenhouse at the end of Diagon Alley, so lush and green and warm. It hadn't been as awkward or horrifying as he thought seeing his ex-boyfriend after such a tumultuous breakup might be. Being around him again had actually felt comfortable. And seeing him now wasn't so bad, either, aside from that fluttery feeling in his stomach and the constant need to prove he was still his same, desirable self.
But the part which had been difficult to handle was that Potter had seemingly been moving on. He had made himself perfectly at home in Longbottom's little cottage behind the shop, as evidenced by the scent of his cheap cologne lingering on its surfaces. Although he had denied that his current relationship was anything serious, Draco had heard enough about how sweet the couple were over the next few months to negate that statement. Especially after their supposedly romantic night out at the DMLE Holiday party a couple months back.
Except for the smallest of eye twitches, Potter didn't so much as react to Draco's attempt at dropping back into reality. He shoved a chip into his mouth, chewing it for a moment before pulling a face. "Oh, no."
Draco, who had forgotten to eat on his own signal, leaned in a bit closer. "What?" he asked, breathless.
"Oh, no no no." Potter looked around him quickly before ducking down and spitting out a mouthful into a napkin. He surveyed once more to be sure no one had seen him, flushing just barely pink in the cheeks. "They really should be ashamed of themselves with that."
The graceless snort which erupted from Draco's nose ended up drawing more attention than Potter's little toddler antics as several people, the bartender included, turned around to see what could be so funny. He waved them off with an "everything's just fine" grin before dropping his forehead into his hand. He wasn't near sober enough to keep from dipping into delusion about this night and how perfect things could be if they just….
"They can't be that horrible." Draco abruptly interrupted his own stream of consciousness before it could go too far. For further distraction, he shoved his waiting chip into his mouth and immediately pulled a face. "Oh no," he echoed around the bite, also at risk of spitting the mass of potato out into a napkin. Knowing he would never save face if he did so, Draco grabbed for his pint and swallowed the mashed lump down with his last few gulps.
"That was bad," he stated plainly as he all but slammed the glass down on the bar.
"So bad," Potter agreed.
"I don't know how it could be both crispy and soggy at the same time?"
"And salty but also lacking flavour?"
"And I feel like there was a burnt taste. Did you get that, too?"
Potter nodded, a cheesy smile plastered across his face. "I think that's the worst one I've ever had. It'll be a night to remember, at least."
"Yeah…yeah, it will." The corner of Draco's mouth twitched and he realised he was copying Potter's dopey look. He swiftly corrected this by covering his mouth and feigning a small cough. He also averted his eyes for good measure, distrusting the telling way his pulse jumped. He had spent nine months getting over Harry Potter, and yet, here he was, throwing every single second of that away. How stupid could he be?
"You know," Draco started once he regained a semblance of his composure, "I should probably get home. If I stay, I may just drink myself into a hangover. And if I'm going to do that, I may as well be in the comfort of my own home where I can't make any other poor decisions."
"Or, at least ones that won't be public."
Draco looked up from the dregs of his glass to find Potter's smile noticeably subdued. Was it possible he didn't want this moment between them to end either?
"My thoughts exactly." Draco chuckled half-heartedly and threw down a handful of Muggle banknotes to cover his tab and then some. "Well, Potter," he began, using the excuse of buttoning up his coat to not meet the other's eyes, "it's been an interesting evening."
"Let me walk you home." Potter's suggestion came out forceful and kind all at once.
Draco frowned. "All right, but aren't you staying in the opposite direction?" He pointed one way, thought about it a moment, and ended up pointing the other way with a nervous chuckle. "In Diagon?"
A strange, unreadable expression flitted across Potter's face. "No. C'mon." He hitched his head towards the door and gave Draco only a second to decide if he was following before turning around and heading out.
