Of course he hadn't planned on telling Pansy what had happened, but she got it out of him anyway. She laughed herself into hysterics, but at least she didn't pass it on.
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Nott knew that Draco had bought whiskey and had probably deduced part of the pathetic scene that naturally followed, but he was the sort of person who got more joy from hoarding secrets than spreading gossip, so he kept quiet too.
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Draco didn't tell either of them about his father. He ought to have told Pansy, but he couldn't stand the thought of that conversation. He didn't want to tell anyone.
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And Potter was avoiding him. Draco could have tried to explain that he had not broken the deal, since the scene in the tower should not count as "bothering Potter or his friends" just because Potter was oversensitive and had been raised by muggles, but it didn't seem like it would make a difference. Potter wouldn't even look at him. He shouldn't have cared about it, but he did. It even overshadowed the looming dread of Azkaban, at least in the daytime. Night was when the dementors came. He dreamt of meeting his father in endless, dark corridors, and then didn't dream because he didn't sleep. Sometimes he would lie awake tracing the Dark Mark on his skin. It was raised and uneven like scar-tissue.
He endured this for exactly one week, which was how long it took before Pansy casually mentioned that if it bothered him so much then he should go talk to Potter:
"A week is long enough to be embarrassed, but he won't snap out of it unless you tell him to. If you were really becoming such good friends, then I don't see why you can't just tell him to stop ignoring you."
"It's not that simple," he told her.
"Coward."
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So after potions when everyone else was packing up, he left his things by his desk and walked to the Gryffindor side of the classroom. The Weasley girl was the first one to notice him.
"What do you want?" she snapped with a command in her voice, a warning that he ought to stand to attention and state his purpose before coming any closer.
He had seen her throw quite a few nasty hexes by now and he remembered the unwavering defiance she had shown the Carrows last year. He stopped.
"I need to speak to Potter," he said calmly, as if he had all the right in the world to demand such a thing.
Her eyes flicked back to The Boy Who Lived (twice), who was just then very focused on wiping off his desk.
"Why?" asked the other Weasley aggressively, stepping up to his sister.
Thomas and Finnigan were a few tables over, but they were following the scene with interest and looked like they would jump in the second it turned ugly. Granger hadn't gotten up to join the wall of Gryffindors between him and Potter, but she was watching the scenario attentively. He couldn't tell from where he stood if she had her wand out, but he remembered the warning she had given him a while ago. He suddenly missed Crabbe and Goyle – everything had been so much easier with bodyguards. Draco turned his attention from Ginevra to Ronald.
"You don't have to worry about that, Weasley. I think Potter would agree that it is something we should keep just between the two of us."
"Oh, please-" said Granger, but Potter cut her off.
"It's fine. I'll talk to him."
Granger looked for a second like she was considering hexing him too, but then she just rolled her eyes at them and slung her bag over her shoulder.
"Fine."
He turned to the others.
"Just go ahead," he said. "I'll be there in a second."
"Do you know what this is about, mate?" asked Weasley.
"Yes, and it's okay."
Weasley nodded but didn't look very convinced. Granger was already at the door.
"If you say so…" he said reluctantly.
"Don't look so worried," said Draco. "You heard him, he trusts me, so do as you're told and run along now, will you?"
"Shut up, you prick," said Ginevra, pushing past him.
Her brother followed and Finnigan and Thomas joined them on the way out. Everyone else had already gone.
"I didn't realize you had turned them into your private militia," he said looking after them.
"I told you our deal was off," said Potter.
He had his arms crossed and looked very much like he would prefer to have left with his friends. Draco waved his protest off.
"I know," he said. "The truce is over, that's fine. I don't want you to spend time with me as some sort of charity event anyway. I just wanted to tell you – because it seems the message didn't sink in the last time – that nothing that happened in that tower mattered. So you can stop acting like you will die from shame just from being in the same room as me – because if you don't, I promise you this is going to be a very long year or both of us. You're making me feel embarrassed."
"Fine," said Potter with a shrug.
"That's not how it works. I know it's fine, but you're still not looking at me."
Potter looked at him.
"Fine," he repeated heavily.
Draco nodded.
"Good," he said.
Potter turned his back to him and picked up his things.
"Don't you need to clean up your station?" he asked without looking at Draco.
"Look, I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry," he said.
The apology came more easily to Draco than he had expected, and it wasn't nearly as humiliating as he had feared.
"I didn't mean to – I didn't mean for something like that to happen," he continued. "And I didn't know it would bother you so much, but of course I should have thought of that. I wasn't messing with you when I said that it's not a big deal in the wizardring world. I thought you'd know, but you can ask anyone, they will tell you the same thing."
"I know. I did."
Draco took another deep breath.
"I also think… Well, I think that it would be a shame if this was going to be the end of… this."
Potter stuffed his measuring scales into his bag.
"Because of your political plot?"
"No. Well, yes, I suppose you could say that, but not really. I like talking to you, I honestly do. I thought the feeling was mutual."
Potter hesitated.
"I suppose it is," he said.
Draco sat down on the edge of the table behind him and exhaled slowly. This was good. It was very good, but he was glad they didn't have an audience – usually that was what he wanted when he conversed with Potter, but this felt important in its own right. Potter still had his bag slung over his shoulder, but he looked like he had forgotten that he had been about to leave.
"So what are you doing for Christmas?" asked Draco.
"I'll be at Ron's house."
"Not with your muggle family?" he asked, before realizing that this was tactless because it was quite possible that they were dead.
But Potter just looked surprised.
"No, of course not. I haven't spent Christmas with them since I was 10."
"Right, you used to stay at the school, didn't you?"
Potter nodded.
"I thought about doing it this year too, but none of the other Gryffindors in our year are staying so…"
He shrugged.
"How about you, are you okay with going home?"
"I'm sure I'll manage. I try not to think too much about it."
"Have you told anyone?"
"Told them what?"
"That you're going to visit your father?"
"No. Do you mind if I clean up my station while we talk?"
Potter shrugged and they went back to Draco's desk, where his cauldron was still out and scalpels and leftover ingredients were scattered on the cutting board. He took out his wand and started cleaning up. Potter was leaning on one of the other desks, watching him, and Draco felt a tug at the knot of cramped, nervous happiness in his chest.
"Sp why haven't you?"
Draco shrugged.
"I already told you I'm not that close to people in Slytherin. And currently my agenda is to make them forget about my father as fast as possible, so mentioning that I am going on an outing to the prison of Azkaban for Christmas is not a very good strategy."
"So it's just me?" he said, halfway smiling as if he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the two of them confiding in each other.
And Draco thought for the first time since this whole thing had started, that there was a chance he would come to like Potter. He liked him right then, and not because he could use him or because his presence promised redemption, but just because he smiled that way.
"Yes," he said. "It's just you."
Draco put his wand away and picked up his things.
"We should get going," he said. "Your friends are waiting for you. They're probably worried I've killed you."
Potter scoffed.
"Yeah, probably."