Chapter Nine
The Xuhui district of Shanghai consists of quiet streets lined by low-rise apartments. While the upper floors of these European-influenced structures are residential, the ground floors are usually converted into cafés or elegant little shops. Hours could be spent peering into these little pocket universes, some containing antiques or vintage clothing, florists wrapping bouquets of blossoming flowers, or art studios with oils hung on the walls.
Draco lived there, his apartment on the third floor, right above a flower shop. It wasn't very large, consisting of only a small living room, bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom, but it was comfortable. The living room contained a coffee table and a dark green couch, in memory of his Slytherin days, and the walls were covered in bookshelves. The bathroom and kitchen were both small and simple, containing only the necessities, but out of all four rooms, the bedroom remained Draco's favorite. It was dominated by a massive bed decked in silk sheets, a little art corner where he painted, but best of all, it had a large window. Since Draco slept at dawn and woke at noon, the curtains were drawn for quite a bit of time, but whenever it was possible, he would keep it wide open, welcoming fresh air and sunlight.
Everything was, of course, clean and immaculate. Despite his busy schedule, Draco invested at least three hours a week in keeping his apartment spotless, because after running around in clubs and bars all night, god knows he needed somewhere sterile to rest.
It had been two days since meeting Lee, but Harry had not contacted Draco since. He thought he'd feel relieved, but to his surprise, he felt almost… sad. Of course, he felt frustrated, disappointed, and absolutely furious, but at the same time… there was also a strange twinge of sadness.
Fortunately, there were more pressing concerns at hand, so Draco didn't ponder too much about it. He rarely got sick, but that fight after the Lee incident must have fucked up his immune system, because he woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, a hoarse throat, and a bucketload of snot. He was forced to call in sick, and slumped back into bed, feeling more miserable than ever. Two days later, his flu finally began to fade, but Draco decided to stay at home for one last day just to be safe.
It was around eight, and the sky was in a lovely shade of indigo. Lights glimmered outside the window, the streets silent other than the rumble of the occasional passing vehicle, and it was a beautiful night. Draco was at the kitchen, brewing cider. When he had first gotten sick upon arriving in Shanghai, he had reached for a cup of ice water, which was easily one of the worst decisions he'd ever made, because Hyun threw a fit. As he delivered a long and passionate lecture on the importance of 'hot' and 'cold' foods, he made him a large pot of thick apple and ginger cider, and after drinking a cup, Draco was healed. Ever since then, it became the first thing he made whenever he got sick.
Draco took a sip and coughed. He added way too much ginger, and he could barely taste the apple. Sighing, he added another cup of water to dilute the mix, and spooned in some brown sugar. No matter how many times he made it, it could never be as good as Hyun's.
Someone knocked on the door. Draco frowned. He hadn't bought anything recently, so it shouldn't be a deliveryman. Since he was sick, he hadn't invited any friends over either, not that he had too many to begin with. He hurried over and glanced through the peephole.
Well, shit.
Draco slumped against the door and slid to the ground, trying to stifle his groan. Of course. It just had to be him. Harry fucking Potter, the persistent little prick who not only took advantage of his connections, accused him of being a serial killer, and who now has the audacity to come barging into his home like he owned it.
Potter knocked again, and Draco jumped, the sound startling him from his thoughts.
"Are you there?" Potter called. There was a moment of hesitation before he added thoughtfully, "I brought food."
Food? Potter brought food? On one hand, Draco became immediately suspicious. Why would Potter ever bring him food? The answer was obvious – they needed him for something. Maybe the MI6 wanted him to schedule them another meeting with another mafia lord, and had forced Potter to come over bearing offerings to make peace. On the other hand… how dare he. Draco certainly enjoyed good food, but he didn't love it enough to make him welcome his one sworn enemy into his home. However, his appetite had been nonexistent so he had barely eaten anything in the last few days, but now that he was nearly recovered, his stomach grumbled loudly, demanding nourishment. Yes, there were leftovers in the fridge, but freshly-made food sounded really appealing…
Before Draco could regret his decision, he got to his feet, threw open the door, and jabbed a finger into Potter's face. "You got me so pissed off the last time my immune system got fucked and I got sick, but since you brought food, I'll take that as your apology. But don't you dare piss me off tonight, because I don't want to get sick again. Do you understand?"
For a second, Harry looked shocked. Then, he began to laugh, and in that moment, Draco found himself stunned. Maybe it was because he was still recovering and his mind wasn't functioning properly yet, but Harry had a rather lovely smile. It was open and friendly, the energy almost infectious, and it was impossible not to be affected by it. Subconsciously, Draco realized that there was a ghost of a smile on his lips as well, but forced it to return to a scowl.
"You good with curry?" Harry raised a takeout bag.
"Why the hell not?" Draco agreed, stepping back. Still chuckling, Harry entered.
As Draco closed the door behind them, Harry stopped and glanced around, taking in the massive bookshelves, the soft yellow lighting, the rugs thrown over the hardwood floor and the dark green couch that took up half the space. Right at that moment, Draco caught a glimpse of his arm, and realized with a jolt that he was wasn't wearing long sleeves. The mark on his left forearm was in full display, and the dragon tattoo on his right shoulder… thank god, it was covered by his short-sleeved shirt, but the last thing he needed was Harry asking why the dragon inked on his skin was the same as the brand the Dragon Killer used for his victims. He picked up a jacket and threw it on quickly, glancing at Harry to see if noticed anything, but shouldn't have worried.
"It smells like Thanksgiving." Harry observed, lifting his nose in the air and sniffing.
"Oh, yeah," Draco said, remembering his brew. He hurried into the kitchen and quickly ladled two mugs of cider. When he returned, Harry was still standing there awkwardly. The laughter they shared earlier broke some of the tension, but it was evident he wasn't completely at ease. Draco quickly invited him to take a seat on the couch, handed him a mug, and busied himself with unpacking the food on the coffee table. He expected perhaps two bowls and some rice, but to his surprise, found himself looking at a feast. In addition to two bowls of golden rice and a basket of naan, there were four different bowls of steaming curry, each containing different flavor but all of them looking absolutely delicious.
"I wasn't sure which type of curry you liked, so I got one of each just in case," Harry explained.
Despite himself, Draco was touched, and shook his head ruefully as he said, "Oh, Potter. You shouldn't have. But thank you."
Harry nodded in welcome and took a sip of the cider. His eyes widened in delight. "This is good!"
"Really? Thanks." Draco was surprised. He took a quick sip. It wasn't as good as Hyun's, but Harry looked so happy drinking it Draco couldn't help but to feel slightly proud of himself. "I can send you Hyun's instructions on how to make it. It's great for chasing away colds."
"Hyun?" Harry paused, frowning.
Right. Harry hadn't been properly introduced yet.
"He's my creative director," Draco explained. "He's in charge of the menus and drinks. Incredibly talented and one of the most brilliant people I've ever met."
Harry nodded, seemingly thoughtfully, but Draco noticed that there was a touch of stiffness that hadn't been there earlier. Draco also noticed that the cup, which had been cradled in his hands earlier, was now on the coffee table. What was that all about?
Well, whatever it was, Draco was hungry, and he didn't want to think too deeply into it, so he tore off a piece of naan, dipped it into a chicken curry, and took a bite. However, the moment the morsel of food brushed his tongue…
"What the fuck?" Draco yelled, scrambling for a napkin and spitting out the mouthful of food. His eyes were watering, his nose running, and his tongue was on fire. Every taste bud was screaming for mercy from the sheer amount of spice, and he dashed to the kitchen to frantically drink a glass of water. When he returned, Harry was in hysterics, rolling on couch in laughter, and honestly, Draco couldn't blame him. He caught a glimpse of himself in the microwave reflection, and even he had to hold back a chuckle. His face was as red as a tomato.
Draco returned to the couch with a jug of water. "Which level of spice did you order, Potter?"
"Four!" Harry answered, still chortling, and shook his head in mock disappointment. "Damn, Malfoy. I usually order seven, and still find it not spicy enough. Who knew you couldn't even handle a little bit of spice?"
"Don't make fun of the sick person. My taste buds are just… oversensitive today." Draco shot back, but oh god, Potter could never know that the curry he usually ordered would either contain zero spice, or, at the very most, level one.
"If you say so," Harry said with a light laugh. At that, he tore into his food, seemingly completely oblivious to the pain that had incapacitated Draco earlier. Draco felt incredibly self-conscious as he picked at his naan dotted only with the barest traces of curry. It might as well be the time to change the topic and state the obvious.
"As grateful as I am for the food, I'm afraid I don't think you're here for my company." Draco said carefully. "What is it that you need from me now?"
"Actually, you're wrong." Harry sighed. "The MI6 didn't send me here. I came here on my own to apologize for the Lee incident."
Draco looked up, astonished.
"I wanted to apologize in particular about what I said about you not being able to make friends." Harry continued. His gaze was fixed on the plate in his hands. Whenever Potter apologized, he usually sounded reluctant and forced, but this time, his words were startlingly sincere. "It was wrong of me to judge your lifestyle and your time in Shanghai. I went too far, and I'm sorry about it."
That was probably the most genuine apology Harry had ever given to him in his entire life. Draco didn't know what to feel about it. On one hand, he was really touched. Potter had come, alone, to personally deliver a heartfelt apology. On the other hand, that level of sincerity made Draco feel like the world's biggest prick.
"I suppose I owe you an apology too," Draco said ruefully. "I shouldn't have called you a hero. No. Wait. You are a hero, but earlier, I meant it as an insult, and…"
Ah, fuck. How was Harry's apology so coherent, and his so unintelligible? He was usually the articulate one!
"It's alright, I get what you're trying to say," Harry came to his rescue with a chuckle.
"Thank you." Draco said gratefully.
"But speaking of that…" the smile faded from Harry's face. "It's not just you. Ever since Voldemort, a lot of people think that I have a hero complex, that I'm addicted to the attention or that I just need to be the hero of every story. But that's not the truth. For Voldemort's case, I only picked it up after discovering the fact that my parents left horcruxes for me to find, and it was their hard work that finally exposed him. After seeing how so many people were freed after he lost power, it inspired me to do more in this line of work, but honestly, I just want to help." Traces of frustration leaked into Harry's voice. "I'm fine with not being the hero. I'm fine if someone else took all the credit. I just want to do something to help."
For a moment, Draco didn't know what to say. He was used to seeing Harry's aloofness, anger, defensiveness, righteousness, and pride. But this… this was a different side of Harry he was seeing. A side that was frustrated at being misunderstood by everyone, and his helplessness to change it. A side that, in a strange way, Draco found himself understanding.
"Well, now that the hero-of-the-day insult is dead, I suppose it's about time I should start thinking of more creative ways to provoke you." Draco said lightly, breaking the silence.
Harry burst out laughing. "Fuck you!"
Now that it was filled with noise and warmth, the air fragrant with the scent of spices and cider, the apartment no longer seemed cramped and awkward but cozy and comfortable. Harry's laugh was infectious, and Draco found himself chuckling as well. As they finished up the meal, they talked. It was simply idle chitchat about the quirks of living in Shanghai, a random incident or two, and how fickle the weather was. Their conversation never went any deeper than that, but Draco didn't mind. It was comfortable, and he was content.
It was around nine thirty when Harry glanced at his watch. "It's getting late. I suppose I should head back soon."
"Do you live far away?" Draco asked. "I can call you a cab."
"It's close enough, don't worry about me." Harry reached for his coat. As he shrugged it on, he glanced at Draco, and those green eyes flashed with amusement. "What the hell, we're making history today! Us apologizing to each other is already impressive enough, but we actually finished a conversation without pissing each other off!"
"It's a miracle," Draco agreed.
"Oh, wait." Harry typed something in his phone, and Draco's phone buzzed in his pocket. It was an address. When he glanced up, Harry was looking at him, and asked, "We're meeting tomorrow for a quick meeting to plan what to do next with the Dragon Killer case. You still down to help us out?"
In the past, every time Potter or the MI6 asked for something, Draco felt as if they were taking advantage of him. This time, it felt casual, natural, as if he was simply a friend being invited to a party or a hangout.
"I'll be there." Draco said.
"Great!" Harry grinned. Once again, Draco found himself stunned. Some people have smiles that are so friendly and charming that you couldn't help but to want to know that person more, and Harry had one of the loveliest smiles he'd ever seen. For a split second, Draco reached out, wanting him to stay. But he caught himself quickly and stopped.
"I suppose I'll see you tomorrow," Draco said, forcing himself to smile. "Thanks for dinner."
"No problem." Harry responded easily. With a wave, he stepped through the door and made his way down the stairs, humming a simple tune. Draco didn't know why, but he found himself standing there at the doorway, listening to his footsteps and the echoes of his voice until it faded into silence.
The MI6 couldn't be trusted. Potter couldn't be trusted. This was simply a ploy to get him back on board so that he could continue being their connection to the underworld. They still suspected him of being the Dragon Killer, and this was an act to get him to drop his guard so that they could arrest him. The familiar fears and suspicions whispered angrily in his mind, reminding him of reality, but Draco covered his ears and refused to listen.
For now, he was happy. And he wanted to enjoy that contentment for as long as it lasted.