XIV.
Harry was looking forward to Monday, though it meant that he was back to working night shifts and was not in the best of moods, sleep schedule disrupted.
"Draco."
"Harry."
They exchanged greetings stiffly, nodding before taking their respective seats. The whole scene was so formal that Harry wondered if Draco had missed him as much as Harry had missed Draco. Going back to the night shift hadn't been difficult and Hermione had picked up all of her work, but all of that made it so Harry had more time to start to doubt himself.
He should have worked harder with Draco. Sure, he had good insight into Draco's life and personal motives, but he feared that he hadn't done enough to remedy the reason for Draco's admittance in the first place.
They exchanged some light formalities, Harry noticing every second that ticked away before he had to wait another week to see Draco. Hermione would have done a better job than he, Harry was sure. He hadn't done Draco justice but was determined to make his mark in the four sessions that they had left.
"How have you been feeling?"
Draco thought for a moment. "I'm well. The dosage isn't noticeably reduced in this first week, so that's been all right."
"Have you tried thinking about some situations involving fire, as I suggested?"
Draco shook his head. "I didn't dare. I've had to adjust to my flat and it wasn't worth the stress after such a good few weeks."
"Hmm…" Harry said. "Perhaps we could start with something small. Can you imagine fire doing good?"
Draco cleared his throat, leaning back into the chair. His arms rested to his side and his legs were spread just slightly. Harry thought it was the most relaxed he had ever looked, which was definitely a good sign.
Then, Draco's eyes caught Harry's and any wayward thoughts were dispelled. The gravity of Draco's gaze stilled Harry's insides.
"Fire destroys, Harry," Draco said in a hushed tone. "Fire cleanses by ripping everything away."
Harry nodded. "But the first humans on this earth might have frozen—to death, I can safely guess—without fire to warm them."
Draco raised an eyebrow. He looked skeptical.
"Are you even qualified for this?" he asked.
Harry sighed.
As the sessions tended to go by faster than Harry thought possible, it seemed absurd that weeks were quite so long, everlasting and mind-numbing. For the first time in Harry's life, Mondays couldn't come fast enough. Harry distracted himself by planning what they were going to do, needing to do a good job with Draco. It was a matter of pride.
"Do you trust me?" he asked at their next session.
"Hm." A pause. "Why?"
"Today, we're going on something of a trip."
Draco looked unhappy with that suggestion.
"We've a meeting in Azkaban," Harry said, pushing back his chair and standing. "I'll apparate us. My wand has clearance."
The protests rose immediately. "I don't need to—"
Harry gave him a look. "It is my professional opinion that you need to go. I didn't warn you, though I've been planning this, because we need your reaction to be sincere and unique—this is one chance we have at confronting your family issues."
"I don't have family issues."
Harry ignored him. "I need your honest reaction, not for this meeting to be one of millions of situations constructed in your head."
"You're an idiot."
"An idiot who has helped you so far, isn't that right?"
"Don't gloat."
"Don't pout."
"You're insufferable. You know I don't have to be here."
"But you keep coming." The lighthearted taunting came naturally from Harry, though he had to admit that his childhood had given him ample practice. "And today, we're going to Azkaban. It's scheduled and cleared."
"Don't you have another patient after me? The 9:30?"
Harry was calm, though he allowed a small smirk to play at his lips. "What did I just say about clear schedules? I've freed mine for this outing. Granted, it is later than usual visiting hours in Azkaban, but—"
"But they wouldn't say no to their Saviour."
"Only you do that, these days." For a moment, Draco's eyes gleamed with triumph, as though he'd won. Sarcasm thick, Harry said, "That's why you're special to me. Think of tonight as my little treat."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Do you realize that you're not offering me anything that I'm not paying for?"
Harry let out a disappointed sound, casting his gaze to the floor. His fingertips tingled as though with magic or anger. It was neither, but he was almost breathless. Malfoy was so stubborn.
"Maybe it was a mistake. Perhaps you're not quite ready for what I had in mind. I did think this was a little ambitious." Harry tried to sound disappointed—hurt, even.
"Oh, fuck you, Potter," Malfoy snarled, eyes dark. "I know what you're doing." Another second went past. "Fuck!"
In a split second, Draco lunged for Harry's wand, still on the table. Harry didn't have time to react before he felt waves of power hit him, followed by the tight squeeze of Malfoy's hand around his forearm, and then they disappeared with a light pop.
It was Harry's turn to swear when they finally landed. He barely caught his breath before he started disentangling his limbs from Malfoy's.
Draco was pale.
"You could've splinched us!" Harry exclaimed after giving Draco a worried once-over. "That was stupid."
"I could say the same about your entire existence." The prim tone was in direct contrast to his indecorous position, sprawled out as he was.
He was like a child who'd lost an argument and wasn't taking it well. For some reason, the association tugged at some part of Harry, almost causing him to smile.
Harry started, unwilling to accept that he'd almost just found something about Draco Malfoy endearing.
"Get up!" Harry said sharply, and Draco took his sweet time stretching and turning and brushing and arranging before finally standing beside Harry.
At least they were in the right place. The room was a deceptive, light pink, soft and tiled and closed around them.
Harry pulled his robes around him to block out the chill. The apparition point was of a welcoming colour, but it was located in a prison, after all. Harry was familiar with the location but he noticed that Draco was looking around curiously.
"Is this Azkaban? It looks—decent." Harry noted some finality in Draco's tone, as though he wished that would be the end of their visit. Unfortunately for him, that was not the case.
"This is the apparition room. If we leave through that door—" Harry pointed, "we'll reach the security checkpoint. They'll take us to a visitation room, afterwards. We're here to see your father."
Draco swore under his breath, but Harry fancied that, in that moment, he caught a glimpse of a younger Malfoy. Draco's posture changed just slightly. He straightened up fully, back straight, and smoothed his robes out. The crease between his eyebrows stayed, however, and Harry wondered if it would go away if he swiped it away with his thumb.
Or if he slapped Malfoy.
That would probably work better and be less horrific for him to think about.
They went through security agonizingly slowly, despite Harry's status, though it all seemed to be too fast for Draco. His eyes darted around at every sound, as though Lucius Malfoy might turn a corner and find them before they were ready.
Harry's plan was to let Draco talk, to listen, and to watch the interactions through the glass. He hadn't expected Draco to clutch the material of his robes as they faced the entrance to the small room. The heat that Draco's hand passed onto his wrist through the fabric wiped all of Harry's thoughts from his mind.
The door opened mechanically, without a sound, and Harry was the one who pulled Draco forward. Once he was in motion, Draco seemed to know how to continue, how to paste a polite smile to his face and how to extend an arm in greeting to his father, who was seated in a small white chair in the centre of the room.
"Father," Draco said, voice so fragile that it seemed to waver in the air.
"Draco." There was disapproval in his tone such that Harry could pick up on it. By the way Draco's eyes narrowed, he noticed it as well.
"Harry Potter." There was something else. Something desperate and grating. Harry wanted to slam Malfoy's—the elder's—face into the floor.
"Good evening," Harry forced. "I'm here officially to oversee the proceedings."
He'd made up the story in his mind. He would tell Lucius Malfoy that he was an Auror, or imply that, and it would give Draco the room to share or withhold information about his mental state. He would also give himself the authority to end the meeting if it went poorly.
Draco looked like he'd been struck as he took the chair opposite his father. Harry stood, though he caught the look on Draco's face when he made to turn away. He stayed at Draco's side.
"How long has it been, Draco?" Malfoy asked, eyes searching his son's face. To Draco's credit, he didn't crack under the pressure—he froze, instead.
"Two years."
"Ah." Malfoy leaned back. "Have you visited your mother?"
"No."
"Hm." Malfoy's eyes moved to Harry, looking through him with such a piercing stare that Harry felt momentarily naked. "Have you been to the Manor?"
"No. It isn't allowed."
"Two years. Have you married?"
Draco looked embarrassed, if the way he was avoiding eye contact meant anything. Harry was intrigued and then shocked when Draco's words came out huffier than usual. "No. It isn't a priority."
"I thought not." Lucius was going to get punched right in the jaw if he continued making jabs at Draco. Harry would see to it. Malfoy had no clue what his son was going through just being in his father's presence. He couldn't value it. Harry knew.
"How's Azkaban?"
There was vague disapproval in the silence that followed the question, broken by a dignified cough from Malfoy. "Much improved." He looked at Harry. "Is there anything I can do about the food?"
Harry shook his head. "I am not in charge of anything here, Malfoy."
"Pity." Harry wished he could do what he was imagining. He wished he could tear the superiority from Lucius Malfoy's being. He wished he could show Malfoy just how deplorable his actions had been and continued to be. He wished he could make Malfoy regret it.
"I've been in France," Draco offered. Harry thought he could see through the flat tone to the hope Draco was clinging to. It was like a child showing an adult his first painting, expecting accolades and being heartbroken by the indifference with which he was met.
"Avoiding your affairs here, I see. Hm. Draco?" A pause. "A Slytherin doesn't run from his problems."
Draco's cheeks grew mottled, his eyes gleamed in the harsh light. Harry's chest started to hurt. It was hard for him to watch a patient get so discouraged. It wasn't supposed to go this way.
"I must ask, if you both refuse to come forth with it. What have you come to offer me?"
Harry raised his eyebrows. The nerve! "Nothing. I'm here to watch, not actively participate in the conversation."
It was neutral. Or was it? Harry was just trying not to fly forward and shake Lucius until one word—at least one—came out and did some good.
Lucius looked disappointed for a fraction of a second, then looked back to Draco. "Very well. I know exactly what it is, then. I told your mother that you'd spend all the money if left to your own devices. This couldn't have been helped. How much do you need?"
Harry found it very interesting that Malfoy thought that of his son.
Interesting in a I'm interested in how many times I could hex him before he apologized sort of way. His attention was, then, caught by the undignified and unexpected snort that Draco gave.
"I haven't spent all the money, Father." A shiver ran down Harry's spine as Draco stood. He started to pace, just a few steps one way before turning back. Harry hadn't ever seen him like this.
"I haven't even spent a tenth! Merlin." Draco's lip curled, so reminiscent of his sneers of old but somehow so different when they were directed not at Harry but at Lucius Malfoy. Harry's heart beat faster, in time with the bursts of energy that Malfoy was sending out.
A calm suddenly overtook the room. Like frost collecting the air, the very essence of the room seemed to come to a stop.
"I came here to ask you something—I'm trying over. Once, we were at the top—galas, dinners, guests, recognition. I miss it, too. But even if I can't get there by myself, I'll make decisions that will not put innocents in danger!" His voice rose, filling the room.
Lucius looked at him, cold.
"I just need to know, Father, if you ever—just once—looked back at the last twenty years of your life and thought, 'That was a bad idea.'"
"Your anger causes you to reveal too much, Draco."
Harry thought that was unfair, could see the way it riled Draco up further. But Malfoy couldn't know that Draco was weaning himself from calming draught, that his son had been forced into a hospital for there weeks after a breakdown, nor the extent of the impact he'd had on Draco.
Lucius leaned forward in his seat and Harry noticed, for the first time, the magical bonds that held his feet to the legs of the chair and the way his wrists couldn't separate more than half a metre.
He still looked like he thought he was in control, which Harry found maddening.
"I did what was right," he said, his tone like glass where Draco's had been red-hot lava. "I carried on with tradition."
"Why was that more important than Mother? Than me? Than the lives we built?"
"The life I built." Lucius looked disappointed, peering over his nose at Draco. "It was more important because we are here thanks to our predecessors, and the legacy of 15 generations of Malfoys will not die because my child is unhappy with my decisions."
"Unhappy?" Draco's voice cracked on the word. Harry could feel the anger, now, radiating from Draco. "I wasn't unhappy. I was nearly killed. I was tortured. I was forced to kill."
"You survived. You didn't cast that final spell."
Draco closed his eyes. When he reopened them, they were alive with emotion. Harry would have been ecstatic—should have been, really, at the problems they were exploring—but he was too preoccupied with the bullshit that Lucius Malfoy was spouting at his son.
Luckily, Draco said something before Harry could.
"I didn't survive." He gulped. "You killed a child—an innocent. You were the one responsible for teaching me how to survive, but you did exactly the opposite."
"I had to survive, myself!"
Draco spat at his father's feet. Harry froze in his place.
"You're disgusting. I looked up to you, once, Father. I thought you were the most powerful wizard in existence. You protected me. But it was all a fantasy. You never gave me a second thought. I was your heir and I would survive because of the family name, but I had to do it all alone."
"I—"
Draco didn't let his father speak. "You can't always think about yourself!"
Harry was struck with the difference between the sleeping Draco he'd seen all those days ago—coddled by the soft ignorance that sleep provides—and the rage he was seeing. There was a sharp tugging sensation in the pit of his stomach, a dull ache that captured his heart in its creeping takeover. He wanted to protect Draco, though nothing about the blond was showing that he was being negatively affected. In fact, he had a vigour to his usually pale face that told Harry that good things were happening.
"Who am I meant to think of? Harry Potter, the one that put me in here?"
"Again. You're in here again. That pattern would tell an idiot, a child, that there is something wrong with you."
Lucius sputtered. "You're insolent, just like you were as a child! You have no business being here."
"I came to see my father. I see now that my efforts were in vain. If you can't recognize that I've changed, Father, then I must tell you that you haven't. You're as clueless as ever."
"I should have put you in Durmstrang, because you seem to have forgotten all your lessons on discipline and respect."
"Oh, because being in Hogwarts and under your scrutiny gave me the chance to feel free? Father, I would have welcomed any way to get away from you. Don't you see?"
"See what?"
"I hate you. I have only bad memories of my childhood home. If that wasn't enough, the things you forced me to do in my own school. Though I hadn't the strength to kill Dumbledore, I could have killed you."
A sneer twisted Lucius' face so that half of it fell into the shade of its own shadow, his chin dipping lower. His wide, crazed eyes dropped their attention to the floor.
"I have more pressing things to do than exchange such empty sentiments with you, Draco. We both know you were never powerful enough to kill me."
Harry felt the air crackle with power, grow thick with the energy of a spell that wasn't exactly hot but burned nonetheless. Lucius, suddenly, was flying backward. His chair hit the floor with a clatter, and Harry had time to shout for Draco.
"Control!"
The air was liquid around them—alive, even. It twisted and churned.
With a heave, everything stopped. The door stopped rattling on its hinges, the one-way glass that Harry knew was there stopped vibrating. Lucius, hanging onto an invisible force, clawing with his hands as his face grew steadily redder. His legs, still connected to the chair, were ineffective and weighed down.
For a moment, choking sounds and the scraping of the chair against the cold floor were the only occupants of the room. Draco, Lucius, and Harry seemed disconnected completely.
The sound of skin falling to the ground came.
Harry's throat went dry as his eyes met the pile on the floor. His heart stopped. A lightning bolt of panic shot through him.
"Draco!"
He knelt down to press to fingers to Draco's temple, running a quick diagnostic that told him Draco was—unconscious, but thankfully alive.
He hadn't seen a spell, and Lucius was supposed to be subject to the damping spells on the island, but for a split second, he'd thought that perhaps—
Shock. A hand encircling his ankle, tugging. Harry couldn't react before Lucius Malfoy was kneeling half-beside him, half-on top of him. His forearms pressed Harry's chest to the floor, one knee pressing at his stomach.
"Harry Potter," whispered Malfoy, breath stale and moist against Harry's cheek. "My son doesn't deserve your attention or your time. You could get me out. I could help you rise to the top. I could give you anything you wanted."
Harry's stomach turned.
He let his head relax against the floor, though he wanted desperately to fight.
In one swift motion, Harry contracted his abdominal muscles, using the momentum to slam his head forward and into Malfoy's. Pain throbbed through him, though adrenaline caused him to overlook even the blurriness and the coppery taste of blood.
He twisted sharply, throwing Malfoy off balance. He had both arms free, then, and he was free.
Lucius Malfoy looked up at him from the ground, kneeling. His lips twitched.
"Potter, I always knew you had potential. Even the Dark Lord was wrong, but I was not. The world could be yours."
Harry pulled out his wand without another word. His emotions were blinding him, or perhaps those were tears—his head really hurt. He was out of breath, his throughs were scattered. It was cold, he thought. He was shaking. Something was shaking.
The world disappeared when he blinked, and then he couldn't open his eyes. He yearned for the taste of justice. Lucius Malfoy deserved no mercy.
He dropped the wand.
It didn't matter. Everything he was thinking suddenly burst forth in a surge of magical power. He'd never been able to do something so complex—wandlessly and wordlessly, at that.
Lucius Malfoy was bound, silenced, moved to the other end of the visitation room, stupefied, and leg-locked for good measure. Harry only realized it after the fact, when his heart stopped beating so frantically and when he remembered Draco on the ground.
His eyes fell on empty space, and Harry exploded.
The door flew open, Harry's magic causing it. The glass to his right let out a whine, a precursor to the symphony of tinkling that came after. When each little sliver hit the ground, the noise level grew.
White noise in Harry's head made it all the harder to realize he was being spoken to.
"There's no need to be dramatic."
Harry whirled around. Draco. Thank fuck.
"Are you all right?"
Draco's lips pursed and he gave Harry a funny look. "I'm not the one that just broke Confinement Glass."
Harry didn't answer.
"I'm sorry. My father isn't usually like that. He usually lets his guests drink a little before he starts in on the negotiating."
Harry didn't smile.
"You could've been hurt," he told Draco. "What happened?"
"You told me not to hurt him."
"Draco, you collapsed! You shut down completely."
"You did the opposite, I see." Harry followed Draco's line of sight to the bound Lucius, who looked murderous—but then, when didn't he?
"I was protecting you."
"Thanks, Potter."
Harry didn't know how to respond. "We should go."
"What, have we finally found a situation that Harry Potter could get in trouble for?"
"Sod off." Harry's mind raced as he recalled the events of the previous few minutes. It would probably be best to leave quickly. He'd speak to Shacklebolt soon enough. "I'm serious."
Draco didn't say another word, and they quickly left the visitation room and continued down the corridor. Harry, extremely nervous, could only manage a nod at the guards, thanking whatever deity had allowed him and Draco to get by without supervision from a guard.
Sometimes, he decided, his authority came in handy.
Not often enough.
They apparated, this time by Harry's wand and magic, both still shaken from the experience with Lucius.
"Where are we?" Draco asked, yanking his hand away from Harry's grip subtly. Harry noticed the effort and noted its ineffectiveness. He maintained his grip, taking hints form the way Draco stopped protesting soon after. "This isn't the hospital."
"We're going to have a drink," Harry said.
And, in that moment, it made sense. It occurred to him that Draco might need someone with whom to spend time. He probably got rather lonely.
It certainly didn't have to do with the fierce need to overlook Draco so that he wouldn't get himself into any more trouble. It certainly wasn't because the thought of parting ways for another long week was making him want to hex somebody.
It was simply late, they'd just been in a stressful situation, and Harry had free time.
"A drink?"
"That's what I said, Malfoy. Keep up."
"A drink. With you?"
Harry extended an arm. "The best company you could have asked for. After you."
The general noise of Lucky Felix, magical pub, spilled onto the street, wrapping around them and pulling them in. Draco didn't even protest, keeping his thin lips still. The beat pulsed through them upon their first steps over the threshold of the establishment, closing around their hearts and forcing them into motion.
"What is this place?" Draco's voice soared over the din. Harry's ears were fine-tuned to listen to his rich voice.
"Heaven," Harry returned, smiling back easily. He only had good memories of the small club.
They were obstructed by a rather large crowd, thick and moving as one. Harry's chest filled with the scent, known to him simply because of Dean and Seamus' exploration more than a year earlier, when Ginny had really rekindled things with Dean, when Harry had relaxed a little—when he'd first noticed himself noticing another man.
They weren't stopped, weren't noticed, and the dim lighting made it so that Draco's hand was wrapped in Harry's cloak, keeping him close. They emerged on the other side of the mass and Harry only nodded at the man blocking the door to the quiet lounge area.
His eyes widened slightly before he stepped aside, gaze lingering first on Harry's forehead and then on his choice of company—Draco Malfoy, probably a recognizable figure to some.
Before he knew it, they were seated in a small booth, the music a hazy memory that they could feel vibrating through the floor.
"I thought we could try something different," Harry said. To be truthful, he wasn't sure why this place had occurred to him. Surely it didn't make sense, not after Azkaban.
Somehow, in spite of Draco sitting across from him, giving him funny looks, Harry felt some of the stress from before melt away, the movement around them aiding him to relax. Malfoy looked, if possible, more worried than before. He didn't look calm, eyes darting around. He'd removed his outer cloak and had placed it beside him.
"Draco, are you all right?"
The gaze locked on him. Something tugged at Harry's heart. There was panic to be found in Draco's eyes, a nervous energy to the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Everything else fell away. If someone had asked, Harry wouldn't have been able to tell them his own name.
"I…" Draco looked frustrated, at that moment, eyes narrowing and scrutinizing Harry, who realized that he didn't have any good explanations. On second thought, it was probably completely inappropriate that he was at Lucky Felix with a patient—oh Merlin, Draco was his patient. Hermione would have a heart attack. She'd probably make him fill out some forms.
But she didn't know—Harry shook the thought from his mind. It wasn't even like they were on a date, perish the thought. It was Harry's treatment for Draco. For some reason that Harry couldn't remember anymore.
He was drawn back to reality. Draco was waving his arm in front of Harry's face.
"Hello?" The incredulous tone was more familiar to Harry. "Is that walnut you call a brain finished rattling around in there?"
Harry bristled. "Yours is a peanut." Despite his anger, it seemed his mouth did not know how to spout anything intelligent.
"Would you men like some nuts?"
They both swivelled to see the man who had approached their table. Harry knew there was food that could be ordered and a great deal of alcohol, but the server's presence irked him.
"Drinks?. Wait, you're—" The server began, but Harry cut him off.
"Harry Potter, yes. No, I simply must insist on paying." He fixed the man with a stern glare, inwardly pleased when he scurried, frightened at least for the moment.
"What's the problem?" Harry exclaimed after a moment of silence.
Draco considered his words for a second, tilting his head to the left. "I'm confused."
"About what?"
Grey met green for a second. Harry felt something twist inside of him. Draco looked away.
"I don't understand what you're gaining here."
Harry didn't understand. Then again, it was Draco, so that was pretty much a given. "I thought this would be a good break after what we did tonight."
"Don't you have work?" Draco spoke with a thoughtful tone to his words.
"I took the first few hours off," Harry lied. He'd taken the night off, agreeing to work some other hours to make up for it. "We're flexible, especially now that Hermione's back. We haven't as many patients as we sometimes have."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
Exasperation flickered across Draco's face. "Why did you take off time from work?"
"For you."
"Yes," Draco said, "but why?"
"So that you can get better faster."
"I'm not paying you."
Harry rolled his eyes. "It isn't about money."
"That's what I don't understand. Why are you doing it?"
"I want to help you." That wasn't the full truth, but Harry didn't understand the truth enough to even want to share something so complex. "I didn't think—"
"Do you ever?"
"I didn't think this through. Alcohol probably isn't professional of me, but it seemed right."
"Right."
"Right."
The awkward lull in their conversation was mitigated by the server's return. Draco asked for two fingers of Dragon's Breath, brought to him in a cloudy glass that he inspected rather critically before taking a small sip and nodding minutely.
Harry decidedly didn't order firewhiskey.
"You look much better than I feel after what just happened." Harry said.
"I'm feeling better in general," was Draco's simple reply.
Harry's lips twisted into a little smirk. "I actually think it's the change in robes. Those heavy ones rather washed you out."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Did I ask for your opinion on my fashion choices? You don't see me telling you your hair is a bird's nest."
Harry shook his head. "I suppose not." He inhaled deeply. "A toast, then? To feeling better."
"And to selective criticism. I'll drink to that."
Draco's glass clinked lightly against Harry's, the light tinkling just audible over the other noises of the crowded room. The lights, dim even in the lounge, cast a yellowish hue over everything in the room.
Draco's harsh features seemed softened, somehow.
The transformation probably happened somewhere after the fourth round. They kept talking, somehow leaning forwards towards one another as time ticked away. Harry's vision started getting shaky around the edges at some point, though the server learned to keep the alcohol flowing.
Some part of Harry wondered at how intelligent it was to be continuing, but Draco was smiling and staring at him in a way that made him feel like his job had been very—no, exceptionally—well done. It was success that pushed him forwards.
It had nothing to do with the way Draco's hand was resting on his at the centre of the table, a warm pressure that Harry couldn't stop thinking about but had to avoid staring at it or Draco might notice he'd noticed and move his hand and then he'd definitely be able to tell that Harry was far too interested for it to be justifiable or normal and that would just ruin everything and Harry thought he'd ruined too many things in his life not to bask in this little victory and Hermione was definitely going to kill him.
"Excuse me," someone said. Harry turned to the right, his eyes closing and then very slowly opening again.
He felt sluggish, as though he was falling.
He squinted, glasses on the table for some reason.
"Yes? I'm Harry Potter."
"I need to test you two. We have reason to believe there are two underage wizards here. Just the standard spell, please."
The impatience in his tone made Harry scowl, but he spoke the spell, emitting a puff of green smoke.
"Thank you. And you?" The man turned to Draco, who was staring at the wand he'd taken from his pocket and now held in his hand. He didn't look very sure of himself. "Sir? This is simple protocol."
A sick feeling rose in Harry, and not just from the drink. Draco's genuine nervousness shook him, at least slightly, from his self-induced haziness.
Draco whispered the spell.
Nothing happened.
"Sir!" The man said, sounding gleeful. "You know what that means. The magic doesn't li—"
"Shut up!" Draco snapped, shouting the words the second time. The sudden smoke made Harry and the man cough, and when it finally cleared, the man looked exceedingly disappointed.
"Perhaps," he said, nose wrinkled, "it's time for you two to go home."
"We don't live together!" The man was already gone.
"He's right!" Draco was just as far gone as he was, shaking a fist.
Harry was aware that he couldn't function as he normally did, the lack of control just disconcerting enough that he was reminded of it whenever he did anything. Still, he couldn't stop the way he swayed in spot some time later, standing finally with Draco looking just as exhausted and deliciously drunk.
"This was nice, Po-otter," Draco said, yawning as they dropped far too many galleons on the table and started to walk back to the door that led to the crowd. "Mr. Healer Potter the Saviour."
Harry snorted.
The music was deafening, the crowd thicker than ever. Harry could hardly balance, let alone manoeuvre around all the bodies, so he let Draco drag him until the cool night air enveloped them and cloaked them in the privacy of darkness.
"Malfoy?" Harry whispered, very careful not to disrupt the peace of the night with loud words.
"What is it?"
"I think I'm a little bit drunk," Harry confided.
"All right, Potter."
"No, it's true!"
"That's why you're leaning on me," Draco said, lips too close to Harry's and body so warm beside him. The sun's heat was gone, but it was to be replaced by Draco, it seemed. He was fiery.
"'M not leaning."
"Well you're not standing straight."
"'s 'cause I'm gay." Harry said, loose tongued and distracted by a small gust of wind. His mind hurt with the pressure of focusing on what he was saying.
"Really?" Why did Malfoy sound so sober?
Harry shook his head, but it didn't help anything. "Mh-mm."
"That makes sense."
Harry turned on him. "What makes sense?" Wait, had he just—he'd never told anybody… Draco Malfoy? His head hurt.
"Everything with Weasle—er, Ginny."
"You keep your nose in your own business," Harry said, rather ineffectively veering off to the left so that he almost collided with a wall. "It wasn't her fault that I didn't like her."
"That's fair," Malfoy said.
"Don't laugh at me!" Harry's indignation was out of place and too loud. Harry could hardly tell.
"I'm not laughing, Potter."
"Good."
Draco chuckled.
"I have to go," Harry said quickly, trying to be subtle that he didn't want to talk about it any longer. His brain was going to melt and bleed from his ears if he didn't get to sleep soon. It also had something to do with the fact that he couldn't properly remember what was so bad about telling Draco he was gay.
"Can you apparate?" Draco asked. Harry thought it was rather cruel that he was pretending to care.
"Can you?"
"Yes, but I usually don't when I'm this—"
Harry lurched forward, grabbing Draco by the shoulder with one hand. Before the sentence was even finished, he was already disappearing with a pop, interrupting Draco. Harry didn't think twice about Draco that night, falling directly onto his sofa and falling asleep on his front with nausea tightening in his stomach.