...
Author's Note:
TW on this chapter for implied/referenced abuse, alcoholism of secondary/tertiary characters, and heavy social drinking. Thanks for reading!
...
The next time they met, Potter appeared more disheveled than usual—if that was even possible. His jet black mop of hair stuck up in a cowlick on the back of his head, shooting out in divergent directions. His emerald eyes were bleary and a little bloodshot, appearing a dull seafoam rather than their usual shining cerulean.
"'M sorry, overslept," Potter offered by way of explanation, putting his things down on the desk next to Draco and running a hand through the front of his black waves. It did next to nothing, as the unruly tresses immediately popped back into place upon being flattened.
Draco found his mind fixed on the adorability of the motion until he snapped himself out of it, wiping the smile off of his face and clearing his throat. "Overslept at 7PM on a Wednesday?"
"Admittedly, my sleep schedule has been pretty messed up since the weekend," Potter explained, laying out their coursework on the desk and dipping his quill into a pot of ink. "And it's easier to sleep in the dormitories when nobody's there."
"Get it while you can, I suppose," Draco relented, striking through an edit on his parchment. "I take it you had a fun time this weekend?"
"Yeah, it was good." Potter grinned. "Much more fun now that we're all legal adults with free reign of the place. Not that we ever fully abided by most of those rules anyways."
"I saw that you went to Hogsmeade on Saturday, too," Potter added, pausing the motion of his quill to meet Draco's gaze as a prompt.
"Keeping tabs on me again, are you, Potter?" Draco smirked smugly, sneaking a look at Potter's face through the side of his eyes.
Potter blushed slightly. "Er, no, I—"
"Relax. I'm joking," he said, continuing to annotate a text on the history of memory alteration spells. "If you must know, I went to meet my mum for tea."
Potter nodded. "Oh. That's nice. How is your mum?"
Her husband and sister are both serving life sentences in Azkaban and her son has the mark of the century's most powerful dark wizard permanently burned into his flesh. How do you think she's doing? Draco wanted to say, but stopped himself.
"She's okay," was all that he said, hoping that Potter would change the subject.
Potter frowned. "Was it nice to see her?"
Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and reeling in the impulse to snap at Potter. His brain was torn between "no, seeing the one person who loves me more than life itself was terrible" and "please stop asking personal questions about my mother just because you don't have one" while his mouth had settled on "Mostly. It's complicated."
"Complicated how?"
Draco set his quill down and angled himself back towards Potter, who seemed blissfully unaware of potential intrusion on his end. Sensing that this conversation wasn't going to end without resolution, Draco elaborated. "I love my mother dearly—you know that—but I worry about her. She's so sad nowadays and I don't think she really speaks to anybody save for me and the house elf."
"You still keep house elves?" Potter's tone was curious, not condemning, but Draco felt his face flush with shame regardless.
"Well, just Mippy. She technically works for my mum." Draco elaborated, eyes resolutely focused on the floor.
"We've both gifted her dozens of clothing items over the years," he added quickly. "So she's not technically our House Elf, per se, but she absolutely refuses to leave—says the Manor is her home."
A look came over Potter's face, one of quiet curiosity and possibly burgeoning respect, but he didn't say anything more—just nodded and smiled softly.
"I'm glad my mum has someone to talk to. I quite worry that she would never speak to another soul again if not for me and Mippy," Draco admitted, feeling the words spill out with ease now that he had gotten himself started. "Plus, Mippy is the best. She was always extraordinarily kind to me. She'd snap in to take care of me whenever—well, whenever my father was in a mood. Which was pretty much all the time."
Potter faltered for a moment, hesitation apparent on his face. "She doesn't talk to her sister?"
Draco frowned, turning back to his work and starting to copy down a sentence from the textbook. "Bellatrix is in the high-security wing for even longer than Lucius."
"No, I meant Andromeda," Potter clarified, speaking the words in a tone more quiet and gentle than Draco had ever assumed possible from him.
"Andromeda?" Draco questioned out loud, suddenly remembering that his mother did have another sister. His frown deepened. "They don't speak, that I know of. I'd wager that my mum is embarrassed for rejecting and abandoning her with the rest of the family all those years ago. I'd wager a guess that Andromeda wouldn't take too kindly to that blast from the past showing up on her doorstep either."
"I wouldn't be so sure," Potter suggested, mouth spreading into a small smile.
"What would you know about that anyways?" Draco's lip curled in annoyance.
"Well, she is the grandma of my godson," Potter added casually.
Draco furrowed his brow. "Who?"
Potter looked amused. "Andromeda."
"What?"
"I swear, Malfoy, I thought you were second in our year. Do try to keep up." Potter was toying with him now, playful banter causing his lips to quirk. After a while of Draco staring at him, mouth agape as he attempted to piece together the puzzle, Potter must have decided to take mercy on him.
"Andromeda's daughter, Nymphadora Tonks, was part of the Order of the Phoenix. She was one of the coolest and most confidently individualistic people I've ever met. She was a metamorphmagus, too—but that's all a story for another time. Anyways, she ended up marrying Professor Lupin after our sixth year. They had Teddy shortly after and named me godfather."
Potter's eyes went a bit glassy when he spoke about them, drifting towards the opposite wall with a melancholy expression.
"Merlin, how did I not know that you had a godson?" was all that Draco managed to get out.
Potter let out a laugh. "You didn't really know the first thing about me until a month ago. And it's not something that would be plastered on the first page of the Prophet."
"Fair enough." Draco shrugged. He was starting to wonder just how many things he had never learned about Harry Potter, despite being borderline obsessed with making him miserable for the first five years of their interactions.
"Anyways, I try to do a quick visit with Teddy most weekends." Potter said, beaming at the memory of his godson. "Andromeda takes care of him right now, so I see her quite a bit too—at their house and in Hogsmeade. So I can say with relative certainty that she would be quite amicable to a reconciliatory owl from her sister."
Draco smiled and nodded in affirmation. "I'll mention it next time we speak."
The two worked in tandem for a few hours, breaking the quiet thrum of the Room of Requirement's instrumentals only to cross-reference documentation or add to their growing list of occlumency theories. Once their eyes were glazing over from reading and their fingers were aching from writing, Potter broke the silence.
"A bunch of us are grabbing drinks in Hogsmeade again this Saturday," he mentioned as he started to unceremoniously pack up his belongings. "Do you wanna join?"
"I don't drink much," Draco said, recalling the apparently riveting tales of a drunken Potter told at dinner the other night.
"That's alright. Neville and Theo don't drink much either. You can have butterbeer or pumpkin juice instead, if you want."
"Theo, huh?"
Potter chuckled. "Does that surprise you?"
"A bit, if I'm honest."
"Honestly, Malfoy, everybody's well forgotten about holding war grudges at this point unless someone is actively being a bigot. We all just want to get through this year as best as we can."
"No, it's not that. It's…" Draco trailed off. He had been to the Nott Manor several times throughout his childhood—it wasn't unusual for Tiberius Nott to stumble into the parlor at any hour of the day muttering obscenities and reeking of firewhiskey. Theo would pretend not to notice, of course, but Draco could still remember how he would flinch at heavy footsteps and slammed cabinets on those days. "Nevermind."
"His dad?" Potter guessed, green eyes suddenly piercing right through Draco. "Yeah, he mentioned that once. Didn't get the details, but it was enough."
Potter's eyes widened suddenly as he took a step back, almost as if to survey Draco from a better angle. "Oh. Did your…?"
Draco just made a quizzical expression before he realized what Potter was asking. "Oh! Oh—no, my father didn't drink much...my mum did—does, but she's not an angry drunk or anything. I don't have problems about it."
"I'd drink a lot too if I were married to Lucius," he added, chuckling.
"Right," Potter said, chuckling softly and stretching his arms awkwardly. "So you'll come then?"
"I'll think about it," said Draco, shrugging noncommittally.
"Merlin, you're worse than Hermione," Harry griped, opening the door back to the empty corridor. "Don't think about it; just say yes."
Draco rolled his eyes and feigned irritation, but he felt something light up in his chest. "Okay then, yes. Just for an hour or two."
The smile that beamed across Potter's face as he turned back was almost enough to make him feel good about his decision. Almost.
…
Draco walked alone through the winding road to Hogsmeade, the October wind whipping at his face and causing him to shiver despite his cloak. It hadn't been cool enough to snow just yet, but the mornings had started to leave a thin covering of icy frost along the grass.
As he walked, Draco recounted the restorative properties of vervain, which potions contain the herb as an ingredient, and the effects for which it serves as an antidote. He put his hands in his pockets as he walked, fingers instinctually clutching the hawthorn wood wand like his life depended on it. Shoulders tense, he worked his way meticulously through the small crowd of people that had started to populate Hogsmeade in the late morning.
Approaching the familiar building of Remitt's Tea Room, Draco ran his left hand through the front of his hair before entering the establishment. A small bell rang quietly as the door swung inwards, revealing a cozy shop with walls of old brick and high windows.
A few small groups were scattered among tables that traced the left side of the shop and couches gathered around coffee tables in the back, talking in hushed tones amongst themselves. The lighting was gentle and potted green plants seemed to frame each angle of the shop.
The woman at the counter, whom Draco recognized as Galina Remitt, wore flowing emerald robes and dangling gold earrings with her curly, black hair pulled loosely into a bun. She paused her brewing as Draco entered, eyes flickering his way as she gave a soft smile.
"The usual today, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked as he approached the counter, already grabbing a cup and placing a tea bag inside.
"Yes—thank you, Galina," he replied, returning her soft smile. "For my mother as well, please. And two scones, if you don't mind."
"Absolutely, Mr. Malfoy! That'll be three sickles. I'll bring them to your table when they're ready," the older witch said, already busying herself with the task.
Draco slid four sickles across the counter, thanked Galina again, and found a seat in one of the small black tables lining the opposite wall. It wasn't until his mother walked in that Draco felt his shoulders relax entirely.
Narcissa Malfoy stood in robes made entirely of black lace, her hair now dyed back to its natural platinum blonde as it cascaded down her shoulders. Her eyes scanned the tea room until they landed on her son and her shoulders visibly relaxed. Draco stood to greet her, and she smiled as she walked over and embraced him in a short hug.
"Oh, my darling boy, I'm so glad to see you—as always," she spoke tearfully, grabbing his hands gently. She looked his frame up and down and tutted quietly in disapproval. "My, I do hope they're feeding you at that school."
Draco sighed in faux annoyance as he sat back down, but he couldn't lie to himself—his mother's fussing was a wonderful thing, and nobody in the world could make you feel as fussed over as Narcissa Malfoy. Draco's back had hardly touched the seat when said fussing began anew.
"How are you holding up, sweetheart?" Narcissa asked, gloved hands wringing with worry. "Poor thing, you look exhausted. Have you been sleeping any better? Did you try the chamomile tea? It has a touch of calming draught in it."
"Mum, I'm quite alright," Draco said, flashing her a reassuring smile. "I've just been focusing on my studies. Up late in the library, that's all."
"That's excellent, Draco. Just make sure that you're taking care of yourself, too," his mother doted, placing a hand on his once again. "I'm so very proud of you—I hope you know that. How are your classes going?"
Before Draco could answer, Galina had returned with their drinks, placing an earl gray tea in front of Draco and a black tea with two sugars in front of Narcissa.
"Narcissa, it's lovely to see you again. How are the renovations on the Manor coming along?" Galina asked, placing a small plate of scones with jam on the table in front of the pair as well.
"Wonderfully, Galina. Thank you very much for asking," Narcissa answered fondly. "You know how home renovations are. I suspect it will have to be done one of these days," she added with a tone of theatrical exasperation, waving her hand for emphasis.
Galina giggled at the remark before bidding mother and son farewell, stating that she would just be over at the counter should they need anything else.
"What a wonderful young woman, that one—so friendly and polite. Beautiful, too. And a business owner!" Narcissa gushed. "Must be a passion project, as well. Her mother was a Prewett, so I'm sure that money is no object."
"Yes, Galina is incomparably kind," Draco agreed, taking a sip of his tea.
"She's not much older than you are, Draco," Narcissa went on, still smiling as she craned her neck to look at Galina once again. "Only a few years. And I don't see a ring."
"Mother…" Draco started, his tone tinged with a warning.
"Alright, alright…I'll stop," Narcissa conceded, putting her hands up in mock defeat. "Can't blame a mother for trying. So, how are your classes going then?"
Draco went on to tell his mother about the Outstanding he had received on his recent Astronomy assignment, the grueling problem set assigned by Professor Vector last week, and his biweekly senior project work sessions with Harry Potter.
His mother's eyes widened slightly in curiosity at the mention of his senior project—Draco had been incredibly sparing with the details, other than that it had to do with occlumency and he had been stuck working with Potter.
"And how is that going?" his mother prodded, taking a bit of her scone as she motioned for Draco to do the same. Draco almost rolled his eyes slightly but did as he was bid, washing the bite of scone down with another sip of his tea.
Narcissa nodded, pleased. "You seemed a bit exasperated the last time we spoke about it. Are you two still finding it difficult to work together?"
"We've come to see eye-to-eye on quite a few things recently. I'm starting to feel very optimistic about the direction our project is going," Draco said, truthfully. "Dare I say, I've actually found him significantly less difficult to engage with than some of my old 'friends'."
His mother was smiling a bit again. "That's excellent, sweetheart. Like I said, it will be important to let bygones be bygones whenever possible in the coming months. There's no room in the future for our old grudges to persist."
"Actually, there was something I wanted to mention to you," Draco started, suddenly feeling slightly apprehensive. "While we were studying, Potter mentioned your sister, Andromeda. She's apparently the primary caretaker of his godson, the child of Professor Lupin and Andromeda's daughter. Have you ever thought about reaching out to her?"
His mother's lips pursed at the mention of her estranged sister. She looked down and began stirring a spoon around the few drops of liquid left in her teacup. "I don't believe that my sister would benefit at all from my sudden re-emergence in her life," she nearly whispered. "We've ultimately done much more harm to each other than good."
Draco nodded contemplatively, then added, "I very much could have said the same about Potter."
A small smirk twinged at the corner of Narcissa's mouth before she raised her cup to get the last sip of tea. "I'll think about it," she promised.
Don't think about it; just say yes, Draco was tempted to say. The grin that had formed on his lips from that thought stayed present well after he had hugged his mother goodbye.
By the time that tea with his mother was over, it was well into the afternoon. Since Draco had for some reason agreed to meet half of the bloody eighth-year class at The Three Broomsticks around 6PM, he opted to walk around the village for a small while and see how many ionic charges he could list from alchemy class to keep his brain distracted.
Draco was surprised to find a small group already gathered around one of the long tables in the back of the pub. Granger, Weasley, Potter, Lovegood, Michael Corner, and Theo Nott sat scattered around the corner, seeming wrapped in conversation.
As Draco approached, Theo was the first to speak. "Well, would you look at that—Draco Malfoy finally graces us with his presence!"
"Come on, have a seat," Theo said, patting the part of the bench next to him. "The table got baskets of chips and the craft beer special all around. Fair warning, they're 12%—Harry mentioned you don't drink much, so be careful with those."
"Potter's been talking about me, has he?" Draco smirked in his direction, causing Potter to roll his eyes and take a long sip of his own drink.
"Oh, Potter gets quite chatty when he has a few brews in him," Theo laughed.
"That's an understatement," Weasley confirmed from beside Potter, snorting a laugh and nudging him with his elbow.
"Can't wait to see that," Draco snickered, taking a long sip of his own drink. It was surprisingly good, with notes of amber and honey.
Dean Thomas, Longbottom, and Hannah Abbott all arrived together a bit later, causing another round of welcomes and jesting. As last time, the conversation went by with much more ease than Draco had anticipated—he actually found himself laughing and enjoying himself as he finished off his second drink.
"I've gotta say," Theo began, turning to Draco with a more serious expression on his face, "as chatty as Harry is when drinking, he'll hardly say anything about how your senior thesis project is panning out. Maybe it's the Slytherin in me, but not having that information is killing me."
Draco hummed in consideration and looked over at Potter, who seemed to have tuned into their conversation at just the right time. "It's nothing fancy," Draco reassured Theo. "We're mostly focusing on Occlumency. Stuff I learned from Severus."
"That's interesting," Theo said. "Any idea what you're trying to do when you graduate? Something related to that?"
Draco sighed. "Honestly, I've mostly been trying to just get through the year first. Why? Do you have something planned out?"
"Well actually," Theo started, looking a bit sheepish. "I was hoping you'd come tonight so that I could talk to you about it in particular."
"Talk to me about it?" Draco repeated, taken aback. "What is it?"
"Well, Michael and I have been doing some really interesting work on media coverage of magical events throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and the nature of the first-person sources cited in that media coverage." Theo's cheeks started to color a bit as he spoke more quickly. "And, well—I always wanted to be a journalist or a historian, ever since I was a little kid, but I would've been terrified to even bring that topic up with my father. You speaking up this summer, it was incredibly brave and I'm sure that what you went through was horrific but I wanted you to know that things are a lot better for a lot of people because of it. I finally feel okay—hell, I feel hopeful, for the first time in a long time. And I wanted to thank you for that."
"Theo, I—that is so incredibly cool," Draco said earnestly. He could feel himself starting to tear up at the words and wondered for a moment if the liquor was somehow attached to his tear ducts. "Seriously. It's awesome that you were able to rekindle a childhood dream. And you're welcome, but I didn't do anything to get you there—that's all you."
"Thanks, Draco," he said, taking a chip from the center of the table. "I'm glad you came out tonight."
"Me too," Draco said, also grabbing a chip. "Maybe I'll have my own big career revelation tonight."
"Well, what did you wanna be when you were little?" Potter asked from across the table. "No holds barred. Minister of Magic? Auror? Potions Professor?"
Draco paused to think on that for a moment, but couldn't for the life of him come up with a real answer. "I don't think that I really wanted to be anything in particular, to be honest…" he trailed off. "I guess I didn't really think that I would make it long enough to decide on that."
Draco cringed, not anticipating how completely angsty and depressing that would sound. He took a sip of his drink and looked away, hoping for a change in conversation topic soon.
"That's so real," Potter reassured him. And the tension in Draco's shoulders melted a little.
"Honestly, I don't even know what I'm meant to be doing now," Potter admitted. "It's like my whole life up until this point has been painstakingly planned for me by other people. And I couldn't diverge from that path, not without everybody dying. But now that I have some time to do what I want to do, I'm realizing that I have no idea what that even is. Or who I even am."
"Could be kind of fun to not know who you are, I think," Draco chimed in. "I mean, think about it: You get to fill that space with whatever you want. Certainly better than knowing who you are, hating it, and feeling powerless to change it."
"Oof. Felt that," Theo said from the side.
Potter seemed to stew on that as he took another sip of his cider. "I'm gonna run to the loo," he announced, starting to scoot out of the bench.
"Me too!" Draco declared, scooting out after him. As he stood, the world suddenly felt very dizzy and he realized that he needed to grip the hightop behind them for balance—only it wasn't the hightop; it was Potter's shoulders.
"Merlin, he's a lightweight!" Weasley quipped, causing a few giggles. "Maybe slow down a bit, mate."
"Right, yeah," Draco said, not bothering to remove his hands from Potter's shoulders as they made their way to the lavatory at the back of the pub.
As they entered the loo, Potter turned around and let out a laugh after looking at Draco. He assumed he must look terrible, because he felt so incredibly good and so incredibly dizzy at the same time. "Seriously, you doing okay?" Potter asked. "You look like you might be sick."
"Did Weasley just call me mate?" Draco asked, brow knitted in confusion.
Potter laughed more at that.
"Sorry," Draco apologized, unsure for what, still leaning against the wall with one hand.
"Don't be," Potter asserted, slurring slightly as he gave a lopsided grin. "We fought in a war. We deserve to let loose."
"You fought in a war," Draco clarified, suddenly feeling very solemn. "I spent most of those years cowering under the Dark Lord's wanding and wishing I were dead."
"Malfoy, you forget that I've seen your memories of the time. You were fighting a war just as much as anybody else—one that was inescapable and in your own home. And you didn't have any more say in the matter than I did," Potter spoke, then chuckled. "Actually, you might've had even less. I literally started an army; you weren't even willingly conscripted."
Potter was incredibly chatty when drunk, Draco was beginning to realize.
"Even with everything you've shown me and everything we've talked about, I can't imagine what that was like." Potter kept talking as he used the loo, as if they were chatting about last week's Quidditch match rather than the most powerful dark wizard of the last century. "I mean Voldemort was in my head, but the potential for him to be lurking in any corner of your house is a whole different thing."
"It's easier to relate on the family stuff," he continued. "At least the stuff with your dad, I mean. It's actually been really nice to talk with somebody who gets it. My Uncle Vernon was a massive dickhead. I don't think we'll even have time to go through all the memories of him being a violent piece of shit towards me for things I couldn't control."
"He did seem like a real arsehole," Draco said, moving to wash his hands.
"For sure," Potter agreed, joining Draco at the sink. "He used to lock me in my bloody cupboard bedroom whenever I accidentally did magic—which was super often, cause I was so scared and angry all the time."
"Yeah, my father used to dig his knee into the center of my back while forcing my shoulders back and say 'slouching is for mudbloods'," Draco recalled bitterly. "Eventually, I guess that was too much effort and he'd just jab me with his cane instead."
"At least I have impeccable posture, though," he added, straightening up in an overly formal way and chuckling to himself.
Potter didn't laugh, pausing as he opened the lavatory door to assess Draco in that way that he does.
"It's fine, really," Draco placated, waving a hand dismissively as they made their way back to the table. "No hate like Pureblood love and all that."
"That's funny," Potter mused. "The muggles have a very similar saying."
As the evening went on, Draco realized that he had stayed in The Three Broomsticks well beyond the hour or two that he had promised. Small groups kept branching off to go back to the castle until it was just Draco and the Golden Trio left, each nursing the very last remnants of their drinks and gulping down water simultaneously.
"Well, beautiful," Weasley garbled out, swinging an arm drunkenly around Granger's shoulders. "What do you say we head back to my place?"
Potter gagged exaggeratedly. "Get a room," he jested, rolling his eyes at the romantics.
"Maybe we will," Granger grinned, only seeming egged on by Potter's disgusted reactions. "You two will be alright getting back on your own?"
"Yep, we'll be fine. See you two tomorrow," Potter said. The two of them nodded and walked out of the pub hand-in-hand, looking like it was taking effort not to shag each other right there on the bartop.
"Here," Potter said, nudging the remaining basket of chips closer to Draco. "You should eat the last of these—you'll be less hungover tomorrow."
"Merlin, you and my mother are in cahoots to be constantly feeding me," Draco groaned, but the liquor made him realize how empty his stomach really was and he happily put away the last couple chips in the basket.
"Ah, well, we've worked well together in the past," Potter joked, starting to exit the pub. Draco followed, feeling only slightly more stable than he did an hour ago.
"Are you alright to walk back?" Potter asked as Draco stumbled a bit, grabbing his arm.
"Right as rain!" Draco pressed on. "I could apparate us back, if that's easier?"
Potter nearly giggled. "I don't think you're in the right state of mind to be apparating anywhere, Malfoy."
"I'm taking N.E.W.T.-level apparition; it'll be fine," Draco hiccuped. "Can't go inside the castle, though."
"You didn't get ward clearance to apparate inside the castle?" Potter asked, making his own way clumsily back towards the castle with Draco in tow. "How are you practicing for the N.E.W.T.?"
Draco chuckled darkly, stumbling a bit. "You really thought they'd let the Death Eater kid who let several adult Death Eaters into the school have access to apparating on school grounds? I only get to practice when I go off-campus. Otherwise, I just do the written coursework."
"But that's…" Harry had stopped walking and was just staring at him now, incredulous. "That's so unfair! How are you supposed to do well on the practical portion of the test?"
"Well, Potter, you may not have noticed," Draco's lips curled into a grin and his chin raised slightly as he spoke. "But sometimes things are unfair. This is one of those things that doesn't matter very much—I can apparate circles around most of the kids in class anyways."
He took on a bit of a pompous tone at the end that set something alight in Harry. He hadn't heard Draco speak like that in ages, the self-important countenance of his younger self having been replaced by the charade of cool indifference. He found himself grinning like a fool and chuckling a bit, sticking his hands into his pockets to warm them.
Draco didn't realize that Potter had successfully distracted him from attempting drunken apparition until they arrived at the castle gates. He let out a small huff at the epiphany and Potter chuckled in acknowledgement—which would have immensely irritated Draco if instant karma didn't hit Potter in the form of nearly tripping up the front steps.
"Do you want to go back to the Room of Requirement for a bit?" Potter suggested after he had regained his footing. "There might be a lot of people in the common room and I just don't feel like dealing with them yet. Plus Crabbe looks like he wants to murder me every time I breathe in his direction.
"The Room of Requirement sounds nice," Draco said honestly, shaking his head to clear the thought of Crabbe and Goyle from his otherwise temporarily euphoric mental state. The truth was that Vincent Crabbe probably wanted to murder Draco, too—every scar on his face evidence that he had been abandoned in fiendfyre flames. And that was before Draco's testimony against Crabbe Sr.
When they got into the Room of Requirement, there was an extra long couch by the fireplace and square glass cups on the coffee table. Potter immediately crashed onto the couch, pulling his cloak off and removing his shoes. Draco followed suit, sitting haphazardly next to him and loosening his emerald tie.
"Odd addition from the room with the whiskey glasses," Draco pointed out, amused. He turned to Potter, who was holding up a flask of firewhiskey with a toothy grin.
Draco laughed at the proud expression on his face. "Of course you have that. Screw it, then, go ahead," he said, motioning to the glasses.
Potter poured a shot or two into each glass and they gave each other a cheers, sipping the dark auburn liquid. Draco nearly gagged on the burning liquor, so distracted by the bitter taste that he almost didn't notice the triumphant smirk on Potter's face.
"I love firewhiskey," Potter hummed contentedly, reclining more and taking another sip. "This shite slaps harder than my uncle."
Draco snorted in shock, almost causing his own second sip to come out through his nose as he choked out a laugh. "What is wrong with you?"
"Probably less than should be wrong with me, given the circumstances." Potter shrugged innocently.
"That's true. You are remarkably un-fucked-up, all things considered."
The pair of them laughed until the sound faded away into the thrumming melodies of the Room of Requirement that had become the soundtrack to their conversations together.
"Careful, Malfoy." Potter took another sip of his drink, grimacing slightly at the burn that accompanied it. "That almost sounded like a compliment."
"Maybe I meant it as one," Draco said, looking at Potter tentatively through long lashes.
Draco thought that Potter would look surprised, or start laughing at him, but instead he just smiled and leaned lazily into Draco's gaze. Draco leaned in too and scooched himself a bit closer to Potter, getting so close that he could barely see the smile on his face and only feel himself lost in the deep green of Potter's eyes.
So close now that their faces were almost touching, Draco could nearly taste Potter's breath and could feel his own chest heaving with heavy breaths. Tentatively, he moved a hand to gently rest on Potter's thigh and started to angle his neck.
"Stop," Potter said suddenly, pulling away.
Draco recoiled, taken aback by the unanticipated rejection. "What? What's wrong?"
"I just—I want to. Trust me. Just—not like this. Not while you're this drunk."
"I'm not even that drunk," Draco asserted, rolling his eyes. He leaned forward a bit so that his face was just inches from Potter's. "I like when you get all righteous Gryffindor on me, though. That's fine; I can wait. I'm very good at waiting; you'll see."
For a moment, Potter licked his lips as his eyes trailed down to Draco's chest and he almost looked as if he'd go back on his word. He ended up shaking his head in disbelief. "Now I know that you're drunk," he chuckled.
"Merlin, you act like we almost fucked each other," Draco complained. "It was just a silly drunken kiss. Get over yourself, Potter."
Potter furrowed his brow, seeming more curious than hurt or frustrated. "Why do you do that?" he asked uncertainly.
"Do what?" Draco returned.
"Refer to everyone by their surname in that condescending tone," Potter clarified.
Draco paused and then sighed heavily, leaning back on his palms. "My surname is all anybody will ever think of me as," he admitted quietly. "Why would I afford them the grace of being an individual when it will never be afforded to me?"
Potter hesitated for a moment, seeming to contemplate that response.
"I'll call you Draco," he said definitively.
"What?"
"You're right," Potter affirmed, shrugging. "It's not fair that everybody only calls you by your family name. I think a lot of them assumed you wanted that, didn't realize how much it was hurting you. But I do—now. So you can be Draco to me."
Draco swallowed hard and blinked back a bit of wetness that appeared in the corner of his eyes.
"Thank you, Harry."