IV.
For the first couple minutes, they walked in silence. There were about a hundred questions Draco wanted to ask, but he just couldn't find the courage to voice any one of them aloud. Even with the alcohol coursing through him, making him warm and his steps bouncy, he was just too scared to know the answers.
Thankfully, Potter broke the subtle tension in that comforting way he had, cutting right to the chase with no bullshit. "Neville and I…we weren't working out."
Draco's breath caught in his throat.
"I have nothing bad to say about him, and our relationship wasn't serious, anyway." Potter paused and cleared his throat. "Which probably sounds like I just didn't care, but I did. I do. We're still great friends, Neville and I, we just weren't working out as partners. We weren't right for each other."
"Were we right for each other?"
The question slipped out before Draco could hope to quell it, effectively bombing any attempt at keeping the topic light.
"On second thought, don't answer that," he backpedalled. "Forget I even asked."
Potter honoured his request and graciously ignored his question. "If you could call it that, we 'broke up' shortly after Christmas. So, yeah, I'm back at my lonely, oversized home on Grimmauld Place. As you can understand, I'm not too eager to get back to it, hence the whole…'walking you home' ploy." He grinned up at Draco, bumping their shoulders. "It's just as much for my sake as it is yours. I keep your drunken arse from getting taken advantage of, and you keep me from going bonkers all by myself in that house. Win-win."
Draco couldn't stop his loose muscles from returning the smile. "And here I thought you were just being chivalrous." He raised his voice, shouting at a much louder than appropriate volume considering the late hour, "Alert the presses — Harry Potter is a selfish twat!"
From up above, somebody hollered back through their open window, "Nobody cares!" Which, for some reason, was the funniest thing Draco thought he'd ever heard. Luckily, they were paces away from his front steps, because seconds later, he devolved into a fit of laughter so violent he had to sit down.
"N-nobody— Nobody…cares," he barely managed to breath out between cackles. He looked up at Potter who was trying very hard not to crack his composure. Draco forced himself to calm down just enough to let him in on the joke. "It's true, Harry; it's true. People like Rita Skeeter, they think we all care what you're up to every hour of every day, but we don't. Nobody cares!"
"Well…some people care…." Potter scuffed the toe of his trainer against the ground. "Not that I'd rather they didn't care, but there are people who do. I still get fan mail, you know."
A harsh slap of nostalgia hit Draco right across the face. He stilled, remembering the simpler times when they would sit cross-legged in Potter's living room, taking turns trying to find "award-winning" letters amongst the pile of fan mail he'd received over the years. Once, Draco snuck one of his own hand-penned letters into the pile, forcing Potter to read every flowery and romantic word of it until he went misty. The letter was given the Hopeless Romantic award, usurping the previous title holder — an elderly woman from Latvia. Potter even went so far as to frame it upon his bedroom wall.
"I'll bet you do," Draco choked out through a clog of emotion, determined not to go from laughing lunatic to crying lunatic in two seconds flat. "Well, uh…." He stood up on the step, forcing him to look down at Potter even more than usual. "Again, it's been an interesting night, and thank you for walking me home…." He was all set to force himself to say goodbye, but something stopped him. Something no longer deeply buried. Something desperate. "You know, if you wanted to catch up a bit more, you could come up for a nightcap?" He frowned. "Or just some tea, since you're doing the whole…not drinking thing. I'm flexible to…to whatever."
Draco held his breath for Potter's reply, studying his face for any sort of tell. All he received was the same still, serene smile. "I should actually probably get home, myself," Potter said softly, taking a step back. "It was nice to see you again. Really."
Nodding absentmindedly, Draco turned towards his door. He knew a rejection when he heard one, even if the tone behind it was kind. "Get home safe, Harry." Draco could hear that his voice sounded sad. He didn't know how to hold back the emotion any longer.
"Draco." Draco paused in his steps up to the front door, his heart aching at the plea hidden away in Potter's voice. "I really am sorry. For everything."
The worst part was that Draco knew Potter was being sincere.
"It's why I'm sober now. I wasn't a nice person when I was drinking or smoking. I wasn't…I wasn't good to you. I wasn't good for you. Not back then. And I just need you to know that I'm—" Potter's voice cracked and broke off. Draco just barely resisted turning around before Potter whispered, "I'm sorry, Draco. I'm so, so sorry."
When Draco finally plucked up the courage to face Potter again, he found the man on the step just below him. "Oh, fuck," Draco mumbled, his hand on his swiftly beating heart.
"Sorry, you just looked a little wobbly," Potter chuckled through his waterlogged throat.
The alcohol coursing through his veins combined with that tearful apology did have Draco's knees buckling. "I'm fine," he lied, shaking his head to clear a bit of the fog. "Look, Potter—"
"I think we should talk about this another time." Potter's hand was at Draco's elbow, guiding him gently towards the door. "You're not in the right frame of mind for a serious conversation."
"Tomorrow?"
There was no hiding the surprised smile that flitted over Potter's lips at Draco's suggestion. "Maybe."
"I'm going to need a pretty hearty breakfast in the morning…," Draco hinted.
"Sure, I'd like that."
Potter let Draco into the unlocked house, saying a soft goodnight and promising to pick him up at a reasonable hour the next morning. Draco, his heart significantly lighter than it had been earlier in the evening, stumbled his way towards the kitchen.
Without a contrary thought, he helped himself to a celebratory handful of chocolates from the open, heart-shaped box on the counter. Eating them felt significantly less pathetic than he'd anticipated, especially considering the way his night had begun. He had failed miserably at that blind date, but the end result hadn't been so bad.
In a way, it felt like he had the closure he'd never been able to grasp at these past nine months. Potter had apologised to him before, back at the greenhouse, but somehow this felt different. This felt like an apology crafted out of intense retrospection.
This felt like Draco was ready to forgive him.
This felt like they could start over and finally be happy once again.
Finis
EndNote: This work is part of the Seven Shades of Romance anthology, a series of Drarry fics inspired by the romantic spirit of Valentine's Day. Please see this account's Author Profile for more information on the anthology, the collective, and each individual author.
