Draco stood in the corridor, still and silent, unsure in every way. The bruised and bloody Potter had simply disapparated, and perhaps Draco didn't deserve to know the finer details of that man's life, but he felt like he deserved at least some sort of explanation for this day.
He noticed a small piece of paper falling slowly from where Potter was just moments ago. It must have slipped out of Potter's pocket before he disapparated. Draco watched the paper float down. He told himself that when it hit the floor, he would move – he would go into his home and pretend that this day never happened. He was so tired.
Then, defying the laws of gravity, the paper started to drift towards him.
Draco rubbed his eyes, but when they refocussed, the paper was still moving towards him. He tried to feel the breeze that must be pulling it, but the air was steady. His heart started beating faster but he told himself to not be scared – it was just paper. Yet, it had something to do with Potter, and Potter hated him. He should be scared. Although, maybe this wasn't real – maybe it was an alcohol-induced hallucination, or maybe he was in a coma on a hospital bed somewhere and this whole day was a dream.
Whilst logic and emotion battled within him, the piece of paper continued to move towards him. And then it reached him. And then it continued passed him. Draco cautiously turned around, almost expecting Potter to be stood behind him. Of course, his mind then jumped to that robed thing from earlier being behind him, and his whole body tensed, ready to fight. But when he looked, there was nothing, just the paper softly gliding over the stairs. As it reached the landing, it turned and disappeared behind the wall.
Draco knew that he couldn't just go home, drink a glass of water and get ready for bed, while pretending that there wasn't a flying Potter paper, so against his better judgment, he started to follow it. He found the paper going down the next flight of stairs and to the building's front door. He exhaled a sigh of relief. He watched, ready for this ridiculousness to end, ready for the paper to be thwarted. Paper may beat rock, but a closed door beats paper.
And then, like fucking magic, the door opened of its own accord and the paper just carried on going. For a second, Draco thought that he was going to succumb to tears. Instead, he followed the paper into the night.
It slowly led him to the park at the corner of his street. It, being a piece of paper, slipped through the gate. Draco, on the other hand, had to climb over, almost falling as he landed. He glanced around, more concerned about his reputation as a graceful Malfoy than about being caught breaking into a closed park. Satisfied that nobody had witnessed his blunder, he smoothed down his clothes, then rushed to catch up with the paper.
Illuminated by the moon, Draco could see a person in the distance, sat on the bench facing the pond. Draco was willing to bet another three years without magic that the person was Potter. Leaving the paper behind, he started to jog towards the bench. Perhaps it was the influence of the alcohol, perhaps it was the sheer insanity of the events of that day, or perhaps it was something else entirely, but Draco sat next to Potter without hesitation.
Potter's head whipped round to face him. "Draco?" he said, shocked.
Seeing his name form so easily on those lips, hearing it fall so easily off that tongue, Draco felt as though his final thread was about to snap. "Yes, Potter," he almost spat.
Potter's eyes widened a fraction then a small smile appeared, one that he quickly fought down. "How did you find me?" he asked.
"Oh, like you don't know. Like this isn't all part of your plan!" Draco said, hands gesturing wildly. He could hear his words slightly slurring, still he continued, "But I just don't understand what the end goal is here."
"The end goal?" Potter repeated.
"Yes. Is this a prank? Or revenge? Neither makes sense, though. And stop doing that with your face!"
"Doing what?!"
"That stupid grin. And those crinkly eyes. And get rid of that dimple, too."
"Are you drunk?"
Draco looked down and, like a drunk person, mumbled, "No, you're drunk."
Potter reached forward. Draco watched the hand moving in slow motion. He was certain that Potter wasn't trying to do what it looked like, but Draco had to pull his own hand back just before Potter's reached it.
Potter had just tried to hold his hand.
Livid, Draco said, "What are you playing at?!"
"Nothing. Sorry. Just a prank," Potter said, forcing out a humourless laugh. He slowly lowered his hand. As he did so, something brushed his palm. "What on Earth is that?" he asked, referring to the piece of paper gaining height and landing in his pocket.
"You actually don't know?"
"No. Should I?" he asked, fumbling through his pocket to find the paper.
"You charmed it to lead me to you."
Potter unfolded the piece of paper. "Oh, are you fucking kidding me?!" he shouted, immediately crushing the paper into a ball and stuffing it back into his pocket. "I'm so tired of this bullshit."
Confused and beginning to tip into a state of both drunk and hungover, Draco said, "Can I ask what's going on?"
"No," Potter said bluntly.
"Okay," Draco slowly said. "But I'm still going to ask. What are you doing here?"
"You always want to know what you don't need to know, Draco, always expect answers, yet you never return the favour," he said. Draco was unsure what to do with that, but Potter answered, "I like it here. I come here to think."
"You mustn't come here very often then," Draco said. Potter shifted slightly so that he could look at Draco straight on. "You know, because you don't think very often."
Potter smiled, his anger forgotten. His eyes twinkled brighter than the stars above them.
Draco cleared his thought. "I live right by this park. Although, you must already know that since you were waiting for me earlier. And then you disapparated," he said, verbalising slowly forming thoughts. "How do you know where I live, by the way?"
Potter simply shrugged his shoulders.
"That isn't an answer, but okay. Why did you leave?"
"Did you want me there?" Potter replied.
"That's beside the point! As if the famous Potter has ever acted having first considered other peoples' wants."
A strange look passed over him, almost like Draco had finally managed to hurt him after all these years of trying. "Well, maybe I've changed. Haven't you?"
Draco didn't know how to reply to that. Instead, he said, "I jog in this park every morning and I walk through it on my way home every evening, yet I've never seen you here."
"Yup," Potter said.
"Once again, not an answer."
"I don't think you asked a question."
"Merlin's fucking balls! Just tell me what today's been about," Draco said. He put aside their history and added, "Please."
Potter softened. Draco hadn't actually expected Potter to answer, but to his surprise, Potter started speaking. "Honestly, about this morning, I don't know myself. I don't know how I got there or why I ended up there, so close to you. And I don't know what to do now, so I came to see you, which was stupid, I know. It's not my fault you followed me-"
"Uh, you made me follow you with that piece of paper!"
"That wasn't me, that was…" Potter sighed. "That was an accident." He shifted back so that he could stare at the pond. Draco mirrored his action.
A long silence passed; despite all of the unanswered questions and the frustration and the fading buzz, it was almost a comfortable silence, something Draco had never expected to experience with the man beside him. The pair watched the ripples in the water scatter the moon's reflection. Draco eventually broke the quiet of the night and asked, "What happened to your face, anyway?"
"Ah, well, that person – or thing, I don't know – from this morning, it brought me somewhere. The place looked so familiar, but I can't figure out why. Anyway, I think it wanted something from me, I just couldn't understand what. Although, I didn't really put much effort into understanding what. I managed to escape, but I got a little hurt in the process."
Draco felt unnerved by how casually Potter spoke about his abduction and struggle. "Are you okay?" he asked, trying to ignore the changing dynamics between the pair as the conversation progressed.
"You should see the other guy," Potter joked.
"Ha ha. Wait, you physically fought it?" he asked, thinking of his knuckles.
"Yeah, sometimes it's better than duels. You should try it."
"Is that an invitation?"
Potter let out a burst of laughter. It sounded like it caught him by surprise. "Are you flirting with me, Draco?"
Draco felt his cheeks redden and his ears grow hot. "Fuck off," he mumbled.
"Well, when I was sat there outside your apartment waiting for you, I had a hopeful idea that you would heal me."
"What? Heal yourself!" Draco exclaimed.
"Oh, I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"It's not important. And since we're here now, do you think you could find it in your heart to help?"
"Well, no. I can't do magic, remember? You were at the hearing."
After a pause, Potter said, "Shit. I completely forgot."
"You're lucky you can forget," Draco muttered under his breath.
"I'm sorry."
Draco shrugged it off. "It's fine. Why don't you ask your friends? Or doesn't the Ministry have healers for aurors?"
"Don't ask why, but I can't go to see anyone I know."
"Why?"
"I just said don't ask why!"
"Okay, then why can you see me?"
"I probably shouldn't," Potter said quietly, "but I'm here anyway."
Draco felt something within him, something he definitely shouldn't feel while around Potter. A teenage boy's fantasy. And whilst he knew not to indulge, he found himself saying, "Well, I have a first aid kit at home, if you trust me that is."
"I do," Potter replied without hesitation.
Clearly still under the influence of alcohol to invite Potter into his house, Draco quickly stood up and started walking in the general direction of home. Potter followed, as Draco knew he would.