The Last Time

Based, in part, on the song "The Last Time I Saw Richard" by Joni Mitchell

The last time I saw Draco was Hogwarts, '97. It's funny because I remember the exact words he said. But then, looking back, I guess I remember everything he has ever said.

"All romantics meet the same fate someday." He had whispered into my shoulder, after half a bottle of whiskey had been shared between us.

"Is that so?" I said, just as smashed as he was.

"Sure. You'll see 'em in London, cynical and drunk and boring someone in some dark café, talkin' bout that one person who never came back. Never loved them enough. Their standerds are too high."

I had laughed. He just keep staring at me, sobering up a tiny bit, maybe.

"You laugh," he said "You think you're immune? Go look at your eyes, Potter, they're full of hope. You like roses and kisses and pretty men to tell you all those pretty lies pretty lies."

I didn't respond to that. Didn't know how, really.

He was right of course. After all the time spent with him in 7th year, I was begininng to see that he knew me far to well. I hated that.

"When you gonna realise they're only pretty lies? Only pretty lies…just pretty lies…"

Draco was stuck on that. He'd seen me lied to before. Hell, he lied to me all the time. But he didn't think it was right, maybe. But we all had regrets. It wasn't my fault if one of his was lying to me about…that.

That day I told him I think we'd be good together. Thought. Thought we'd be good together.

When he said he dissagreed.

"I'll never tell you any more lies, Harry. God, I'm so fucking sorry. Sorry I waited this long."

"Waited this long for what?" I practially growled.

"To tell you I'm one of them."

"A liar, Malfoy?" I asked, deadly calm, the use of his last name making him wince, whimper a bit, and burrow further into my shoulder.

"No. No. Not a liar. I'm a romantic, Harry. I did lie. Told you I wasn't. I am though."

I lifted his head from my shoulder, confused. This wasn't suppose to be happening.

"Music. I need music." He said suddenly, going over to the record player in the corner of the Three Broomsticks. It was a gift from Mr. Weasley, who still had a fondness for Muggle machinary.

He put a quarter in the Wurlitzer and he pushed three buttons and the thing began to whirr.

And Madame Rosemarta came by in fishnet stockings and a dress that sparkled.

And she said "Drink up now it's gettin' on time to close."

"Draco, you haven't really changed" I said, ignoring her. "It's just that now you're romanticizing some pain that's in your head. You've got the tomb of your father still in your eyes but the songs you punched are dreaming. Listen, they sing of love so sweet, love so sweet. When you gonna get yourself back on your own? Oh and love can be so sweet, you know?"

I was beginning to sound like him, and it was crazy. I wondered who was trying to persuade who to be in love with whom. Me, probably. Maybe.

Neither of us needed much persuasion anyway.

We had sex that night. It wasn't the best I've ever had. Too clumsy, too desperate, to piss-stinking drunk for there to be any technique to it.

Honestly, just the thought of it still turns me on.

Draco married a girl with platnim blonde hair and pretty eyes. He hasn't had any children with her. It was front page news this morning, actually, that he left her. That he emptied half his account and told her he had to go see Harry Potter.

I'm sitting on my front stoop, watching for him, waiting for him to come ask me if I'm still a romantic. I'll tell him no, I'm not a romantic, but I'm a believer.

~fin~

Notes: Much of this is directly quoted from Joni Mitchell. The characters are JKR's, the idea is all mine, sadly. This is just a one shot thing. I'm feeling rather blue.