The first time Harry saw Draco after the war, he was dancing. If dancing was the proper word. Writhing was a little bit closer, but suggested less control. It was clear Draco knew exactly what he was doing.
He was wearing a tight black t-shirt, even tighter black jeans, and a snake tattoo wound its way out of his sleeve and around his bicep. There was a sweep of glitter on each cheekbone, and Harry thought if he brushed the back of his hand against Draco's jaw it would be smooth like the skin of a child.
Harry spun away.
::
It had been a stupid idea anyway, going out. Slipping into Muggle clothing and Muggle clubs with the vague hope of pulling someone who would make him forget it all. And so of course he found the one person who could remind him of everything he never wanted to know.
He paced outside in the warm summer air, unwilling to go back to the house, to the room with its narrow bed and its wallpaper the fading memory of cartoon bunnies and candy colored childhood. It smothered him in domesticity.
He leaned against the wall and fished for a cigarette.
::
After, Hermione said that he would stay with them, of course. It felt like a command, not an offer, but after years of giving orders Harry thought it would be an interesting change to follow them.
It was starting to feel as though he would always live with Ron.
When they told him the baby was coming, he pierced his ear with an ice pick and went looking for something he could not name, but that twisted through him with a need that broke through his sedated existence.
The scar never burned him anymore, and he rather missed the pain.
::
Harry watches the bouncer for a while, all spiked hair and tattoos. He imagines Draco shimmering out the door, arm slung around some anonymous girl or boy. Or maybe alone, heavy silver rings glinting in the street lamp light, slapping Harry across the face, drawing blood. Or maybe the classic sneer, the drawl of Potter left unspoken as he tore the cigarette from Harry's hand, ground it out underneath the toe of his boot, then pushed Harry back, demanding hands and punishing kiss and the grit of the alley.
Or maybe. Far more likely. Draco never saw him at all.