Draco was more confident this time, having seen the riotous diversity of muggle fashions. He was certain that he would fit in. He'd sent a request off to a Hogsmeade tailor earlier in the week, one who specialized in muggle styles. The tailor had sent back a perfectly fitted pinstriped light blue button down and strategically worn-in jeans, both of which fit like they were made for him. He topped it with a whisper soft slim-fitted black leather jacket. Potter arrived in a deep burgundy sweater over a gray collared shirt. His matching gray wool trousers were neatly cuffed. They didn't waste any time and Apparated to the same alley as before.
The November air was crisp and they wasted no time heading up the street and a block over to the tattoo removal shop. The doctor was pleased with Draco's progress, in spite of the fact that Draco wasn't. The mark hadn't budged much, just blurred and blotched at the edges. It looked like a messier rendition of what he'd started with. The doctor reassured him that it was exactly as expected and had the nurse apply a coating of anesthetic.
Draco laid in the padded recliner, staring at the ceiling with his shirt cuff rolled up to his bicep. Potter sat in the rolling chair, spinning himself slowly in circles and staring at his feet. They hadn't spoken much since Apparating. Potter had seemed self-conscious and introspective since admitting his sexual inexperience. As the doctor reentered the room, Draco braced himself for the pain he knew was coming.
"After this treatment you should really start to see some progress," the doctor said in his rolling, round accent. "Shall we proceed?"
"Yes," Draco balled up his fist and set his jaw.
The doctor passed around the dark goggles and repeated his warning from last time. He then hefted his muggle laser wand.
"Fucking hell," Draco squeezed his eyes shut as the laser slapped his skin. Involuntary tears immediately welled in his eyes. But before he could curse again Potter was at his side, grasping his right hand. His face was impossible to read with those goofy goggles on his face, but he squeezed reassuringly. He raised his other hand and touched Draco's head, pulling his fingers gently through his hair. Draco closed his eyes, trying to focus on the comforting strokes as the doctor worked. The doctor didn't seem to notice Potter's intimate gesture. He kept working, zapping away at the Dark Mark.
As with the first treatment, it only took a few minutes. When he was done Draco's arm looked like it was pinpricked all over. Tiny dots of blood rose to the surface and the surrounding skin was red like a sunburn. Harry held his hand and stroked his hair and told him it would be okay. The nurse applied ointment and a large adhesive bandage, then handed him a stack of supplies to take home with him.
The doctor and nurse gave him a few minutes to recover in private and pulled the door shut behind them. Potter was still holding his hand and teasing his hair. Draco looked up wonderingly, reluctant to say anything that would make the lovely feeling in his scalp stop. But he had to say something.
"You can take those goggles off now, you git," he said, unable to prevent the warm affectionate tone in his voice.
Potter released his hand and removed the goggles, then reseated his glasses on the bridge of his nose. He grinned lopsidedly, his fingers still threaded through Draco's hair.
"Better?"
"You're still a git," Draco replied.
"I meant you," Potter nudged Draco's head.
"Yeah," Draco reluctantly sat up. "We should probably go."
Potter stood and straightened his sweater, then handed Draco his jacket. They stopped at the receptionist's desk to make another appointment for early December, then a moment later they were back out on the sidewalk in the brisk late autumn air.
Potter led the way to the restaurant, pausing here and there to mutter to himself about street names. They had to double back once before he finally realized where he needed to go. Draco didn't mind, the sun was bright and the sky was brilliant blue in that way that only happens in the fall. Each time Potter needed to turn or pause or change direction his hand bumped Draco's for attention. It was so close to holding hands that Draco didn't know what to make of it. He considered latching on himself to see what would happen, but thought better of it. If Potter wanted that, he would just do it.
When Potter finally spotted the small diner his face lit up triumphantly. His hand bumped Dracos, his pinkie curling briefly around the other boy's finger. "There it is, I knew it was down here."
"Wanky chicken, here we come," Draco steeled his stomach, concerned that it would be too spicy for him.
It did turn out to be too spicy for him. The waiter offered him a sample of the jerk chicken before he ordered, and it took every bit of grace not to spit it out when the slow heat set in on him. He guzzled his water, shaking his head emphatically. No, he did not want to order some.
Fortunately there were other options, and he ended up with a nice plate of mild roasted garlic chicken with yellow rice and fried plantains. Potter, on the other hand, tore ravenously into his spicy meal, and had no shame about sniffing and wiping his nose as the hot pepper burned through him. Draco glanced up and saw beads of sweat on Potter's brow, and marvelled that anyone would voluntarily consume a food that caused such a reaction. He sat back in his chair and shook his head.
"It's brilliant!" Potter gave him his signature lopsided, goofy grin as he mopped his upper lip with his napkin.
"You're mad," Draco corrected him.
At the end of the meal they each ordered mango ice cream, which seemed to calm the fire inside Potter's mouth. Draco ate his dessert quietly, trying to figure out how to start a conversation that he really didn't want to have.
"Is something wrong?" Potter scooped a large chunk of tropical fruit into his mouth. "You're quiet today."
Draco cleared his throat and set his spoon down. "I need to ask you for a favor," he began stiffly. "You don't owe me anything, so I understand if you want to say no."
"I'm not here because I feel like I owe you," Potter pointed out.
"Right," Draco clasped his hands together and stared at his intertwined, pale fingers. "I got a letter from the Ministry yesterday." He stopped short. His voice had threatened to crack and it wouldn't do to show such emotion in public. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. "They have decided to release my parents'..." he took another deep breath, "remains."
"They've been holding them all this time?" Potter set down his spoon now, too. "Why?"
"There was some concern about their affiliation with the Dark Lord," Malfoy said to the ice cream, unable to look up and meet Potter's eyes. "Some concern about the way he resurrected himself in the past. They wanted to keep the," he couldn't say bodies, he couldn't talk about them like that. "They kept them for observation to ensure there was no lingering enchantment."
"And?"
"Well it's like you said," Draco fiddled with his utensils. "The Dark Lord really is gone this time. His enchantments are gone, too. There was nothing for them to have worried about after all."
"And they're being released back to you," Potter nodded, understanding now.
"I have obligations," Draco continued. "I need to have them interred in the family cemetery. I need to be there when it happens and pay my final respects." He flipped the spoon over a few times and swallowed hard, willing himself to keep it together. "I can't do it alone."
Potter leaned forward slowly. Draco could feel him gazing at the top of his head. He knew if he looked up he would see that deep empathy that only Potter had ever offered him. He also knew he would break if he looked up into those green eyes. Not here, not in public. Potter slipped his hand across the table and covered Draco's. He held it silently, gently stroking his thumb across the back of Draco's fingers. He moved his other hand across the table and slipped it under Draco's palm, holding it tightly.
"Of course I'll come," Potter said in a near-whisper.
"I haven't decided when," Draco told the table, miserable at the prospect. "When could you do it?"
"Anytime," Potter squeezed his hand again. "You decide when, I'll be there anytime."
Draco bowed his head as tears welled in his eyes. He pressed his free hand to his face, trying to conceal the embarrassing upwelling of emotion. Potter said nothing, just held his hand and let him compose himself.
