Chapter 5: The Torture of Friendship
"Draco! Over here."
Sighing as nearly a dozen heads turned his way, Draco turned from the doorway of the Lodestone towards the sound of Pansy's voice. In perhaps any other bar, such a call would not have elicited any particular interest. But the Lodestone was respectable and as upper class as a room of potential drunkards could be.
A tidy establishment, it was relatively small, relatively well lit, and significantly cleaner than some of its grimier cousins – the Leaky Cauldron, for instance. Boasting not quite twenty small tables, it was once a retreat for the less glowingly Light individuals of society; many claimed that the Lodestone was the common room of graduate Slytherins and they wouldn't be expressly wrong in thinking as much. Nowadays it was less exclusive, yet still the patrons tended towards those less remarkable of the Wizarding worlds repute. It was, in short, still a retreat, yet more for those wishing to escape the kindly sympathy and irksome 'forgiveness' of those that felt it their duty to accept their fellows of a decidedly darker past.
On Saturday nights, contrary to popular social conventions, the Lodestone was not at its fullest. The polished, immaculately clean round tables were only half filled at most and the murmur of conversation muted enough that when a somewhat tipsy Pansy Parkinson half rose to her feet and called across the room every single person immediately knew exactly who she spoke to.
If, of course, they were one of the scant minority in Wizarding Britain who lived under a rock and didn't know who Draco was already.
Weaving his way through the tables, Draco approached his six friends, all crowded casually around a table cluttered with bottles and empty glasses. He was the last to arrive, which was fairly typical, yet as usual Millicent and Theodore had left him a seat directly between them. Blaise was already rivalling Pansy for the fastest descent towards drunkenness, a wide, sloppy smile baring immaculately white teeth, and barely seeming to notice Draco's arrival. Neither seemed to realise that Greg had already beaten them to the punch. Theodore tipped his head slightly in a nod of greeting before turning his attention back to his muted conversation with Daphne. The quiet girl offered Draco a moment's glance that would have been a cordial smile of welcome in anyone else before similarly ignoring him.
As soon as Draco folded himself into his seat, Pansy was upon him, leaning over Blaise to jab at him accusingly. "Draco, I told you to get here by nine o'clock tonight. Nine o'clock. What do you call this?"
Raising an eyebrow, Draco regarded Pansy with false confusion. She was right of course; he always tended towards half an hour's lateness. "I call it nine o'clock, Pansy. Have you perhaps recently lost the ability to tell the time?"
Pansy blinked up at him owlishly for a moment. She glanced across the table towards Millicent. "Is it really?"
Millicent, drawing her attention from where Greg had been only half attending her words, fixed Draco with a pointed stare. "I don't know, I haven't checked. Is it really, Draco?"
"It most certainly is."
"Well, then, if Draco says it is so, then it must be true. You know he would never lie to you, Pansy."
Evidently, Pansy was further gone than Draco had at first assumed, for she only took a moment of consideration before nodding and replying slowly, "Yes, that is so. Good job, Draco."
It was a testimony to how drunk she was that Pansy believed that simple lie. Draco's friend was at times remarkably gullible when she'd had a few. Millicent rolled her eyes and turned back to Greg who appeared not to have noticed her moment of distraction and still frowned into the cup cradled in his lap.
The meeting of the ex-Slytherin cohort had been a tradition of sorts for years. Initiated sometime shortly after Draco had finally been released from the intense scrutiny of Wizarding parole officers, their little meets had begun with tentatively scouts into a number of different British pubs around London and stopped after sampling only a few when they had unanimously agreed that nowhere could possibly quite meet the standard of the Lodestone. Since, their bimonthly meetings had acquired them something of a reserved table at the back of the pub, one that was quickly vacated when the first of them walked through the doors of a Saturday night.
Not that Draco would know. He was always fashionably late. He was a reputation to uphold, as Blaise so frequently and unnecessarily reminded him.
Such nights were almost boring with their consistency, and yet Draco knew with the certainty that one knew their own name that he would never be so comfortable with another group of acquaintances as he was with his old school friends. They mocked one another, teased and degraded, but it was all in good humour. And though each would rarely claim it in so many words, it was a friendship. They supported one another in ways that their distant, aloof families and the painfully cordial work colleagues couldn't. And Merlin save any passer-by that sought to offer a maliciously provocative comment; for mock one another though they did, Draco knew from experience that should anyone else – anyone – attempt to respond in kind, said intruder would quickly find himself crushed beneath the full and cooperative weight of their party.
It actually heartened Draco to recognise the reality of the situation. Not that he would ever tell anyone. So long as there were no listening ears, his 'friends' would take savage delight in teasing him and snickering over the sappiness of their resident cold-hearted Malfoy.
As it was, said Malfoy slipped easily into the midst of their easy conversation. Theodore and Daphne, as was usual, were huddled at one end of the table and speaking in low and serious tones about something that Draco was mostly certain was definitely not serious at all. Daphne, for all her sombre expression, was a ruthless miser of secrets and dished it out to her sole correspondent in Theodore. Who promptly bartered such information with the best of them.
Pansy just so happened to be one of the best of them. It was not uncommon for an entire Saturday night to be consumed with her attempts to pry the latest juicy secret about who eloped with whom, whose child the teen Witch Weekly star's truly was, which family was doomed to financial disaster after a particularly foolish dabble in shares that were far more convoluted than they'd anticipated. Daphne rarely obliged, mostly because the nature of her secrets generally lay in a less superficial area. They carried a somewhat… darker tone. Death, disownment and destruction to name a few.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately given Draco's disinclination for bearing witness to such scenarios, Pansy was rather distracted by Blaise that evening. And Blaise too appeared to be somewhat distracted by Pansy. After watching them for barely a half a minute Draco deduced that his two friends were once again in a single-and-flirtatious mood and would likely be temporarily sharing one another's beds soon in no time at all. Shaking his head, he snorted.
"Something funny, Draco?"
Draco glanced towards Millicent, who had detached herself once more from Greg's brooding companionship to affix him with a pointedly raised eyebrow. "Not at all. What would make you think that?"
"Oh, nothing in particular, save for a rather disagreeable sound that keeps erupting from your nostrils. Do you have a cold?"
"I have a handkerchief here if you want it, Draco," Greg mumbled, shifting in his seat the fumble through his breast pockets.
Draco held up a hand. "Very kind of you, Gregory, but it is unnecessary. Millie simply lacks the perception skills to identify my scepticism."
"Don't call me 'Millie'," Millicent said with a sickly sweet smile. She could have scared baby goblins with a simple bearing of her teeth.
"But I do believe it quite suits you."
"Almost as well as 'Dray' suits you?"
"We're not having this conversation again. You'll recall that I flamed you to ashes in your last attempt. Thank you, Greg," Draco nodded towards his quiet friend as the hulking young man finally extricated a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to him. Unnecessary as it was, at least Greg tried. And at least it looked like it hadn't been used.
Millicent tapped a finger on the side of her wine glass. "I think you'll find that I've become quite practiced in the art of disintegrating pompous arseholes these days, Draco. Certainly more than I was at – what was it? – twelve years old?"
"I look forward to witnessing it someday. However, for your own sake, I'd recommend you attempt as much on a less challenging opponent before trying me."
Millicent sneered. "You have a rather inflated sense of your own competency."
"It's entirely warranted, I can assure you."
"Care to test it out?"
"We've just been through this. I don't want to embarrass you." Sighing like a long-suffering older brother stemming the whining pleas of his younger sibling, Draco rose to his feet. "I'm getting a drink."
"Oh, good. You can get me a top up." Millicent held her glass of pale pink wine aloft. "I'll have another cherry Moscato."
"I'm not getting you anything."
"Don't be an arse, Draco."
"I'm hardly being an 'arse' but simply saving you from the embarrassment of consuming another of what would have to be the pansiest wines to grace the Lodestone's cellars."
"What was that? Were you talking about me, Draco?"
"It's nothing, Pansy," Draco replied to his friend as he edged around the table. "I'm merely sparing Millicent from another social blunder."
Pansy nodded knowingly. "Yes, she is rather prone to them, isn't she?"
"I hate you, Pansy."
"You know you love me." Pansy flashed a smile at Millicent before turning her attention back to Draco. "Could you get me another ninety-four Muscat? Geoffrey's keeping me the bottle. Did you want anything?" She asked, turning towards Daphne and Theodore.
"I'll just have a firewhisky, and Daphne's on Tespits tonight."
"Oh, are you portkeying somewhere tomorrow, Daphne? I heard international trips have a zero-blood alcohol as of June, don't they? Are you going back to Sweden or somewhere else this time?"
"I'll have a Kelpie beer," Blaise chimed in, holding aloft his nearly empty bottle.
Draco huffed as his friends all turned their attention back to their conversations. "I'm fairly certain I said I'm not getting anything for anyone else. Did no one hear me say this?"
"I heard you," Greg grumbled, blinking up at him with watery eyes.
"Thank you, Gregory, that's very gratifying." Millicent smirked as he fought and failed to restrain a scowl. Rolling his eyes he turned towards the bar.
When he returned, it was to find Blaise at the centre of attention. Which was exactly where Blaise truly liked it, all things told. The levitating beverages he'd begrudgingly purchased found their drinkers and Draco slipped back into the chair beside Millicent. He directly handed the Butterbeer he'd snagged for Greg to said friend; sticking to non-alcoholic drinks for the rest of the night would probably be a good thing given his current state. Draco wouldn't be surprised if at least a quarter of the empty glasses on the table belonged to him. For such a big man, Greg had a relatively low tolerance.
"It was just sort of unexpected. A throwaway ceremony. There were barely more than ten people there."
"What's this?" Draco asked, interrupting Blaise before Pansy could. The pug-nosed girl looked on the verge of spitting indignantly about something or other, an expression that did little to favour the unfortunate uptilt of her facial features. Draco had always silently considered she looked like her face was permanently pressed firmly and inquisitively up against a glass window. A rather apt analogy if he did say so himself, given her manic and often intrusive curiosity about everything.
Blaise glanced towards him, uttering a long-suffering sigh. "Mother remarried."
"To that Danish bloke?"
"Who, Frans?" Blaise waved of the suggestion derisively. "Of course not. Mother hasn't been with him for a good two months now."
"Yeah, she's had a solid dozen lovers since," Millicent muttered into her wine glass. If Blaise heard, he ignored her.
"When was this?" Theodore asked.
"Not quite a week ago. It was pretty last minute; we were only able to book Periwinkle Church because of Mother's connections –"
"Dear Merlin, not Periwinkle." Draco shook his head in commiseration. "Does she think no other churches exist? You say connections, Blaise; I claim she holds a loyalty voucher."
Blaise frowned, pursing his lips. "She did have that one wedding up near Edinburgh with Carlos three years ago –"
"I can't believe you didn't invite me this time!" Pansy whined. Her pout was so pronounced it appeared as though her lips had physically dislodged from her mouth. "You said you would ask me along as your partner when it happened if I wanted."
"Yes, well, after last time –"
"Was that with Balthazar or Oden?"
"Shut up, Millicent. Last time, all of you," and Blaise swept a pointed finger around their circle, "said you'd hex me if I dragged you along to another."
"Yes, but we would hex you lovingly, Blaise."
"Why does that not reassure me, Theodore?"
"Probably because it's Daphne's words, not mine." No one disputed the claim. Daphne was the silent but deadly kind, in just about every way conceivable.
"So you're a wonderfully, sickeningly happy family again?" Millicent asked, lip curling distastefully into her wine. "Should I offer my congratulations or commiserations?"
"Does it really matter? It's not like it will last long," Draco murmured, and Millicent snorted a snicker.
Blaise sighed, ignoring Draco's words. Or maybe he just didn't hear them; he was prone towards auditory failures when he'd had a few, though his own tolerance was markedly higher than Pansy's and Greg's. Draco had to pause at the thought; he really was too familiar with his friends' habits. "Probably a bit of both. I mean, I like Frans, but Mother is always a little sickening in the honeymoon period."
"She still has a honeymoon period?" Theodore asked. He sounded genuinely surprised.
"Of course she does," Pansy scowled at him, as though it was a personal insult to suggest that anyone wouldn't be glowing in the aftermath of their wedding. Even if it was their fourteenth. "She's flying on cloud nine for a solid month these days, isn't she Blaise?"
The sappy grin Blaise turned upon Pansy was sickening to behold. Draco had to take a fortifying sip of his whisky to retain the contents of his stomach. "That she is. It's not particularly nice to live with, though." Another sigh. "I wish I could simply have normal parents."
"You and everyone else," Millicent muttered. "You should be happy you've only got one."
"Come on, Millicent, your mother isn't that bad." Pansy reached across the table to offer a gently commiserating pat on the shoulder that Millicent glared at as though it were a misshapen spider.
"Yes, she's only hexed your father into hospital once in the past year, hasn't she?" Draco asked innocently. The glare shifted to him instead.
"Well, we can't all have perfect parents like yours, Draco."
"Oh yes, my parents are so perfect. One in Azkaban and another a self-induced hermit."
"I wish my parents were in Azkaban sometimes," Pansy sighed wistfully. Theodore and Daphne nodded their heads in vehement agreement.
"I believe 'hermit' is a bit of a strong word," Blaise contended. He was obviously holding back a smirk. Draco crushed his foot beneath the table, eliciting a yelp.
"How is your mother, Draco?"
Gregory, evidently drawn from his listless stupor by talk of Narcissa Malfoy, peered at Draco with more attentiveness than would have been thought possible but a minute before. He'd always had a bit of a hero-worshipping adoration for Draco's mother, and that adoration hadn't faded even an ounce in the past six years, reclusive though Narcissa had become.
Draco shrugged. "She's fine. I haven't seen her in about a month, but last I checked she was building a labyrinth around the house. It will be, and I quote, 'a maze without end'. I assume she's attempting to lose any potential door-to-door salesmen between the hedges before they can reach her front porch."
"What kind of a salesmen walks all the way into the back end of the Retreat?" Blaise asked wonderingly.
"A very desperate one," Draco replied dryly. "And one without hope of ever resurfacing."
"So it's been a while," Gregory persisted. He'd actually momentarily settled his bottle back onto the table-top. "How is she?"
"Gregory, you've already asked that. You're starting to sound like a broken record," Millicent said with a poke to his shoulder.
"She's fine, Greg." Draco repeated. Short, simple words were better for his friend, and not just when drunken.
"Oh. Good." And Greg went right back to peering quizzically into the yellow-brown liquid swirling in his bottle.
"Will you be spending Christmas with her do you think?" Pansy asked.
"Why, are you looking to escape your mother's eggnog and join us again?"
"Of course. Why else would I ask?"
"I'm up for that," Blaise input. Because of course he would be. Draco knew the paces; when Blaise was attempting his none-too-subtle pursuit of Pansy – it must have happened at least five times already – he followed her around like a loyal hound. Pansy actually seemed to like it, oddly enough.
"And here I thought you'd perhaps simply wish to experience the continued pleasure of my company," Draco sighed.
"Don't be so blissfully ignorant, Draco," Millicent said with a hint of barely suppressed amusement. "Christmas is all about spending time away from those you can stand the least. It's absolutely nothing to do with enjoying oneself."
"And I'm sure you'd know that? Where, pray tell, will you be?"
"With my cats of course." She took another sip of her wine. "I can stand there company by far the easiest."
"And not mine?"
"You're neutral territory, Draco. I wouldn't pass up the offer of joining you in favour of, say, Pansy's family."
"Hey! Pansy exclaimed, sloshing the contents of her glass across the table. Millicent glared at it distastefully and Greg adopted an expression of stunned surprise as his attention shifted to the pooling burgundy liquid. "Father isn't that bad."
"True, but your mother is insufferable."
"Anyway," Draco broke in before their argument could deteriorate further. "If you should so desire, you are more than welcome to join me. I'm sure accompanying me would be a far better excuse to give your parents that cloistering yourself from society with your cats. But," he turned his attention fully onto Millicent to the exclusion of the rest of his friends. "You have to accompany me next Saturday to Our Saint's Hall."
Millicent narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "Why? What's happening at Our Saint's Hall?"
"Really, Millicent? Do you not read the news at all?" Theodore sighed in mock regret while Daphne shook her head and rolled her eyes.
"Oooooh, I'll come!" Pansy sang enthusiastically.
Millicent continued her suspicious glare for a moment before understanding cleared them. "Oh. That. No, no way. I think I'll take my chances with my parents, thank you."
"Bitch," Draco muttered. Millicent smiled. He turned to Daphne instead. "How about you, Daphne? Will you be my most esteemed accompaniment?"
Daphne's lips quirked to the side, a single eyebrow arching in a very telling and very Greengrass expression of "no way in hell". Her sister wore it exactly the same way. Draco sighed and turned to Theodore instead. "Theodore?"
Before Theodore had a chance to answer, Pansy overrode him. "Hey! How come you asked Theodore before me? I'm the girl."
Draco spared her a moment's glance. "I fail to see the relevance of your gender to the situation."
"Whatever happened to good old-fashioned chivalry?"
"It died. Brutally," Millicent informed her. At a casual clearing of Blaise's throat she added, "Except for in the Zabini line, of course."
"I'm not particularly inclined to attending Ministry Christmas parties," Theodore finally replied to Draco's question. "Too many arrogant, obnoxious do-gooders for my taste."
"Too much for mine too, is more the problem," Draco agreed with a heavy sigh.
"But do-gooders are such fun to mess with," Pansy said. She leant across the table eagerly. Her eyes were lit with excitement at the prospect of an entire hall full of potential victims becoming increasingly intoxicated as the night wore on beneath the ardour of Christmas spirit. "And so easy to extract delicious, tantalising, delightful –"
"You get off on this, don't you?" Millicent muttered, her face twisted in disgusted horror. Blaise hummed approvingly.
Ignoring Pansy's longing gaze, Blaise's fixated staring and Millicent's muttering, Draco turned his almost pleading attention back towards Theodore and Daphne. "You can't leave me to her."
"Don't worry," Theodore reassured him. "I'm certain Blaise will want to come along too."
"That doesn't exactly ease my thoughts on the matter. Why do you so persist in declining?"
Theodore shrugged. "I'm going with Daphne to meet up with her new girlfriend. She's coming to London next Friday, so we're showing her the new place down on Griffin Street."
"You mean that Hawk place?" Pansy piped in, her attention shifting fluidly.
"Falcon's Nest, Pansy, not Hawk," Theodore corrected.
"Same thing," Pansy replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"Hardly," Millicent interrupted before Theodore could continue. "I believe there's quite a difference between hawks and falcons. Draco?"
"Falcons are generally smaller, faster and have proportionately longer wings," Draco supplied mechanically before he realised he was speaking. He speared Millicent with a glare that she only replied with by baring her teeth in her devilish smile. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice Draco's apparent knowledge of bird lore.
"Isn't that a gay bar? You two went to a gay bar together?" Pansy asked, leaning across the table towards Theodore and Daphne now rather than Draco. He felt a little relieved by the fact; Pansy was always a little overwhelming.
"Funny that, seeing as Daphne has a girlfriend," Draco informed his friend. Just about everyone at the table rolled their eyes.
Pansy sighed. "How did I manage to surround myself with predominantly homosexual friends?" She wondered aloud.
"It's a Slytherin trait," Theodore quipped.
"And hardly 'surround'," Blaise added. "What am I, to so escape your notice?"
"I doubt 'escape her notice' is exactly what you share with Pansy, Blaise," Millicent snickered. "And what part of me exactly is homosexual?"
"Yes, but you don't like anyone, Millicent," Pansy huffed. "Draco's gay, Daphne's gay, Theodore is… I don't even know –"
"I'm impartial," Theodore informed her.
"Whatever. Greg hasn't had a girlfriend since that disaster with that tart Yvonne, and I'm pretty sure he's been turned off relationships for life. It's only me!"
"And me," Blaise emphasised. Not that it appeared to do much good. Pansy had already settled into her moping.
"I have no one to commiserate with over the woes of finding a man –"
"Except Draco," Millicent offered.
"- and it makes me feel so woebegone."
Regarding his friend in her apparently disconsolate state, Draco fought the urge to reach across the table and flick her in the middle of her wrinkling forehead. Brushing aside the thought, he turned instead to Theodore and Daphne. "So, a new girlfriend, Daphne. Is she the translator you mentioned from the Swedish Ministry?"
Daphne nodded, but it was, naturally, Theodore who replied for her. "They decided to tentatively try last time she went over, and correspondence seems to work well for them. I'm personally not particularly fond of Floo messaging in terms of intimacy, but for you it seems to work?" He half-turned towards Daphne for confirmation and she shrugged then nodded.
"I'm sure you'll be very happy together," Draco offered, sipping his whisky. "Do provide a review of the Falcon's Nest for me, would you?"
Theodore nodded obligingly, interpreting the thinly veiled request beneath his words. "Are you scouting again, Draco?"
"Draco's always scouting," Blaise grinned, winking at Draco.
Draco ignored him. "Merely looking for another suitable establishment to spend a solitary evening. Solitarily." He ignored Millicent's snicker into Greg's shoulder. The big man hardly seemed to notice.
Theodore, to his credit, similarly ignored the snide interruptions of their friends. "As it happens, I've actually been there before."
"Really? And your verdict?"
Theodore shrugged. "Better than the Leaky Cauldron by far. Not quite the Royal, but it's not far off. I do believe the bar tenders are actually acquainted with their wares, and it appears the cleaners do know how to work a Scourgify."
"That's always a benefit to the establishment," Draco agreed. He'd been in his fair share of pubs, 'scouting' as Theodore put it, and knew there was a vast difference between those with a general sense for hygiene and those without. "And the clients?"
"Are you asking for a rundown on the available meat, Draco?" Blaise's grin widened further, which Draco once again ignored. Pansy rolled her eyes and set about attempting – and failing – to harvest details of Daphne's new relationship from the silent young woman.
Theodore adopted a thoughtful expression. "Well… certainly better than the Leaky Cauldron –"
"That's not exactly difficult to achieve."
"- and likely better that the Spring Changeling –"
"Less difficult, but still nothing particularly exceptional."
"- not to mention they charge extra with increasing alcoholic purchases, so there are certainly less wayward drunks filling the booths."
Draco's eyebrows rose incredulously at word of the new, upstanding trend that was making its rounds through Wizarding clubs, but it was Pansy who spoke first. "Really? How interesting. So they're striving for clean and minimalistic? An atmosphere of camaraderie and conversation rather than intoxication?" She hummed thoughtfully. "Do they have frequent additional entertainment?"
"They do. Bands, speakers –"
"Cultists?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Pansy. Motivational speakers."
Pansy pulled a face. "How boring. This is sounding less like a club and more like a self-help rec centre." Blaise nodded in emphatic agreement and though Draco didn't openly express the same he couldn't help but feel mutually.
Theodore shot Pansy a cold glare. "How you ever manage to publish a single article with the intensity of your assuming bias will forever confound me."
"People love bias, Theodore. That's what they read Witch Weekly for."
"An ounce of truth may be appreciated," Theodore continued. "Or at least the foundations of such."
"How boring," Pansy repeated, dropping her chin onto a hand and sipping at the last of her wine. She held out the glass to her side a second later and Blaise jumped to his feet, accepting it and hastening to the bar. Millicent called her own orders after his scurrying retreat.
Theodore, for his part, ignored Pansy entirely, turning his attention to Draco. "Personally, Draco, I believe you'd find it quite to your liking."
"Is that so?" Draco took a sip of his own drink, arching an eyebrow over the rim of his glass. "And why is that?"
"Only that I have seen some somewhat favourable patrons in attendance."
Pansy hummed appreciatively, leaning once more towards Theodore. She ignored the pointed glare Daphne spared her; Draco didn't quite understand where Daphne's discontent arose from anyway so could hardly blame Pansy for disregarding it. "I smell a rumour on the horizon," she purred.
"Dear Merlin, Pansy's got her teeth sunk in," Millicent sighed, elbowing Greg as though he were partaking of the conversation with avid attentiveness. Greg started distractedly with a 'hmm?' "Nothing, Gregory, go back to your Butterbeer." Greg obliged.
Fixing Draco with a meaningful stare, Theodore gestured towards him with his own glass. "I happened to witness the choice arrival of one youngest Weasel."
Draco's felt his eyebrows creep higher still. "What, Ginevra Weasley?"
"No, fool, the boy."
That drew a snort from Millicent that Draco echoed in a less explosive fashion. Pansy was literally rubbing her hands together in evident glee. "Is that so? Do we have potential infidelity of the upstanding Elite Auror on the cards?"
"Hardly," Theodore replied with a small snort of his own. "I believe Weasley is about as faithful to his Muggleborn bride as is physically possible."
"Perhaps he's harbouring some repressed homosexual tendencies, then? It is a gay bar after all."
"You're really caught up on the whole 'gay' thing tonight, aren't you, Pansy?" Millicent frowned, shaking her head and rolling her eyes in exasperation.
"I doubt it's that either," Theodore continued. "Weasley wasn't exactly fishing for kappas, if you understand my meaning." He smirked suggestively, only to receive an elbow to the ribs by a scowling Daphne. He had the presence of mind to look contrite; Draco thought him wise to appear as such given that had he avoided such contrition Daphne would likely have had his balls on a platter before the night was out. Entirely without breathing a word, at that.
Settling thoughtfully back in his seat with a slight frown, Draco folded his arms across his chest. "You do realise, Theodore, that there are few people in the world I'm less interested in than Weasley. Why you thought such information would be of concern to me is beyond my ken."
"That is because," Theodore leant forward in his seat, uncharacteristically conspiratorial. Draco felt his lip curl. "It isn't Weasley that is of interest but his companion."
"Leave us not in suspense, Theodore. Who, oh, who was with him?" Millicent asked in a dull monotone, but there was a definite spark of interest in her sidelong glance.
Theodore smirked. "Who else? Potter, of course."
There was silence at the table for a moment. Then, like a lioness crouching on her haunches, Pansy sunk her elbows into the table and leant even further towards Theodore. Her lips stretched in a predatory smile. "Is that so?"
Keeping a damper on the rising flood of… something in his gut, Draco very deliberately reached for his glass and took a sip. Only to find it empty. He sighed heavily and turned nonchalant, hooded eyes towards Theodore. "Is this supposed to be interesting? Why do you believe such a tale is of any note at all?"
"Only because it's Potter," Pansy emphasised, as though that answered the question.
"Yes, thank you, I did hear that."
"Potter. In a gay bar."
"Again, get over your 'gay bar' fixation, Pansy." Millicent clicked her tongue with undue savageness.
"What, it's interesting!" Pansy cast a glance around the table, almost imploringly. "He broke up with the Weaslette what, a year ago now? And reputedly no partners since? And those two just happen to have remained wonderfully close friends, as though there were no ill intentions in the break up? As though it was for an unavoidable and purely innocent reason?" She paused expectantly. "Does no one else think this is suspicious? A very clear indicator?"
"Pansy, if this ends up in Witch Weekly, I will smother you in your sleep," Draco said casually.
"Are those protective inclinations I detect, Draco? Does it distress you that I might offend Potter?" Pansy smiled her lioness grin once more.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
But Pansy had started it, and like the heinous fiends they were, Draco's friends leapt at the chance to tease him. Theodore adopted a smirk almost identical to Pansy's. "You mean to tell me that you wouldn't be the slightest bit intrigued should Potter announce a profound discovery of his sexuality."
"I most certainly would not. Harry and I have a purely professional relationship."
"Not your 'more-than-friends-but-not-as-much-as-I'd-like-it-to-be' status, then?" Pansy asked. A glance she shared with a deceptively blank-faced Daphne was a clear indication of where she'd gotten such suspicion. Daphne was oddly perceptive with such things.
Draco glared at her. "I have no inclination towards furthering any sort of relationship with Harry."
Millicent chuckled dangerously. "Oh, so your tendency to gravitate towards horrendously messy black hair and spectacles is just a coincidence, is it?"
"I am not partial to the bespectacled in the slightest," Draco scowled, pointedly ignoring the other half of the comment. Millicent's continued chuckle suggested she saw right through him. "It is foolish to continue to outfit oneself in eyewear when there are perfectly acceptable magical procedures for fixing optical issues."
"Experimental procedures."
"You're not helping my argument, Theodore."
"I wasn't trying to."
Blaise chose that moment to return, another bottle of Kelpie beer and a glass of blood red wine in each hand. He eased himself with natural grace back into his seat and relinquished the wine glass to Pansy's greedy fingers. "What are we talking about?"
"Draco's obvious and continued obsession with Potter," Pansy gurgled around a sip. Millicent and Daphne both assumed expressions of disgust.
"Ah, always a much loved topic."
"I will hex you all," Draco warned, skimming a narrow-eyed glance around his circle of friends. With the exception of Greg – who had actually raised his eyes curiously from his bottle in that moment – they were all fighting back snickers with little success. Even Daphne trembled slightly in silent mirth.
The biggest problem was that, though he may deny it, Draco's friends were entirely correct. Draco didn't know exactly when he had become infatuated with Harry Potter. He knew when he realised it, and it was in the exact moment that he fully realised he had been – and would continue to – address Harry on a first name basis.
It was a very, very serious problem. And was likely the main reason that, while Harry appeared to have developed something of a marked comfort in their not-quite-friendship, Draco still struggled to take that extra step. Not that he would ever admit to being anyone's 'friend', exactly, but… how could he? Allowing himself to acknowledge a semblance of greater fondness for Harry would only catalyse an increasingly threatening downward spiral.
Draco couldn't see the bottom of that spiral, didn't know what awaited him in those murky depths, but it couldn't be good. Not for Harry and certainly not for Draco. A sexual relationship? Or even better than that, a romantic one? Draco was hardly a romantic person, had barely dated for more than a month and such dating could only loosely be describes as such, but if it was Harry…
No. No, it wouldn't happen. Draco had become very accomplished at shutting down the train of such thoughts. Very accomplished indeed.
There was every time Harry spared him a moment for sarcastic banter, to joke companionably.
Every time Draco caught a glimpse of his half smile that he'd somehow grown so fond of.
Every time he ran his hand through his hair and caused it to be just that little bit messier, something that had vexed Draco to no end in their schooling years but he now found absolutely engrossing.
Every time Harry was in the room. Or looked at Draco. Or breathed near him.
Infatuated didn't really begin to cover it. Draco was in deep, and he very studiously did not allow himself to admit to the fact. It would never happen, and not because they were at different ends of the societal spectrum, despite what Harry might intend. Harry was straight.
Or he was supposed to be. Damn Theodore for putting the thought into his head.
Theodore had continued on something of a spellbinding retelling of exactly what he had seen at the Falcon's Nest. Pansy and Blaise, even Daphne and Millicent, were captivated by his words, by his almost derogatory speculations as to "what Potter could possibly be doing there?" that Draco found instantly infuriating. Theodore had always seemed like an amicable fellow, but in that moment, when he once more repeated the words "saint like and goodly Potter might not be so predictable after all", Draco was tempted to punch him. Right in the face. Hard.
Rising to his feet, Draco edged around the table once more to make for the bar. He shuttered his ears to Theodore's words and schooled his expression into careful passivity. As he rounded the table, however, a hand grabbed at his elbow. He jolted in step and looked down with a glare.
Had it been anyone but Greg, Draco would likely have hexed their arm off. As it was, he couldn't find it in him to even shrug off the bleary-eyed attention of the dopey man. Greg blinked up at him slowly for a moment before leaning forwards as though to relay a secret. Despite himself and his still simmering vexation, Draco found himself unconsciously straining his ears to hear.
"You know, I kind of like Potter." Greg blinked in a rapid stutter, flinching slightly as though slightly astounded by his own words. He steadied himself a moment later, however. "He's nice."
And that was it. That was the extent of Greg's contribution. Nodding in satisfaction, he turned once more to his half-finished bottle of Butterbeer. Their exchange and his recent resurfacing from the pool of drunkenness went completely unnoticed by the rest of their peers. Draco stared down at him in surprise for a moment at the unexpectedness of the statement before turning once more towards the bar.
"Oh, Draco, get me another, would you? Blaise was an idiot and forgot."
Millicent's words went unacknowledged; Draco didn't even pause in step as he made his way towards Geoffrey as the barman laughed at a comment from another client. He wouldn't get her one – Millicent was in a bitch of a mood that night; she didn't deserve it – but he'd ensure he spared a moment to get a cleansing glass of water for Greg.
At least someone else at the table wasn't a complete and utter idiot.