Chapter 6
As much as he hated himself for it, Draco did end up taking a hot bath when he got home. Scorpius was away for the day at Pansy's for a playdate with her daughter, Seraphina, and Astoria was working in her shop, so he had the whole house to himself. He was currently lazing away in his tub feeling very sorry for himself, wine bottle in hand, and the scent of vanilla and green apples surrounding him.
With a sudden pop, his house-elf Beepy appeared at the foot of the bathtub. She didn't bother to bow, and only looked at him with her arms crossed and a deep frown on her face. Draco didn't know how old she was, but he assumed she was as old as Kreacher was, the last time he was in the service of Harry.
"Master is in the bath too long. Master is pruning, and he need to get out." Her high-pitched voice was stern, a funny thing considering she was sporting one of Scorpius' old shirts, little snitches and brooms zooming around the words "Daddy's Little Star". It was big enough to reach her knees, and the only other thing she was wearing were black and shiny mary janes, which Draco had spelled to fit her.
"Beepy," he whined, "no one else is here. I'm not going to die if you let me soak ten more minutes. I need this, Beepy, you have no idea." He took a swig of the wine and kept the bottle cradled to his chest, tilting his head back. He sighed heavily, barely flinching at the sharp crack of apparition as Beepy left him to his misery.
The combination of the bath and the wine made Draco feel soft. He remembered, years ago, Harry sitting behind him, wet bodies pressed together. Harry would wash his hair and massage his scalp while they talked about their day, which usually meant Draco gushing about James and Harry whining about his coworkers. They would soak and cuddle for as long as they could, until the water turned cold. Of course, they could've spelled the water hot again, but they never could get it right. After so many times of Draco yelping because Harry, over-powered bastard that he is, would get the water to an almost boiling point, they stopped trying at all. After their shared a bath, they would slip into bed without bothering to get dressed, and continue cuddling there. Harry, specifically, would become soft and pliant, all warm gazes and loving touches.
Here, alone in the bath, Draco wondered what he was to do next. He couldn't abandon Astoria and Scorpius-what kind of man would that make him, to turn his back on his wife and son the second someone else came into the picture? Harry was his first choice; indeed, his first love. Harry made him feel things he never felt with anyone, made him say things he never would've been capable to utter to any other living soul. His relationship with Astoria is not half as powerful as the one he had with Harry, and not half as meaningful, or beautiful.
Draco frowned in misery and turned his body in the bath, curling into himself and trying his best to gulb down his wine while sideways. A drop slowly made its way down to his neck, but he was already feeling dizzy and did not bother to wipe it off.
If only Father could see me now, Draco thought half-hysterically. He made a pitying picture; drunk, laying in a now cold bath, moping over Harry Potter and feeling very sorry for himself. Gone was the man Lucius hoped Draco would become; Draco had made a name for himself, and in doing so, had doomed himself to a life of phantom disappointment from a dead man.
Every bone in his body was aching to go back to Harry, to kiss him senseless and beg him to take him back. He fantasized for a few minutes about a life with Harry, James and Scorpius. They would move back to Grimmauld's Place, and Draco is certain he could find a job that would accept the likes of him-this way, Harry could stay home, and not have to worry about going back to being an auror.
But the fantasy vanished soon enough, and in its stead, reality appeared. He could not abandon Astoria this way, after making a promise to be a faithful husband. He could not turn Scorpius' life around so abruptly, either.
But Astoria knew what she was getting into when she married him, they had a strictly platonic relationship, and Scorpius already knew about James' father. With a few hard and uncomfortable conversations, Draco technically could go back to Harry...
With a moan of frustration, Draco pulled himself up and stepped out of the bath. He left the now empty bottle of wine on the floor and he picked up the towel Beepy left for him, wrapping it around himself like a blanket. He walked, dripping all over the floor, over to his bedroom and collapsed on his bed. It felt horrible, to be wet and cold on it, but Draco was too in his own head to pay much attention to it. He stared up at the ceiling, but quickly closed his eyes against the spinning room. His whole body was tingling from the alcohol, and Draco reached into his bedside table to grab his wand.
To use magic while intoxicated was a very dangerous thing to do, but Draco did not care one bit. Would they put him in a room next to Harry's if he was sent to St-Mungo's?
Draco Summoned the only muggle thing he owned, and clumsily did the lubricating spell. Being drunk made him terribly horny, and having seen Harry today did not help one bit. Did he feel bad, pleasuring himself while thinking of his ex-husband in his marital bed? Of course he did. He was quite ashamed, in fact. But his needs overpowered his sensibility, and Draco closed his eyes to envision how Harry looked today; sweaty from his exercises, tank top showing off his muscled arms, alive and awake. Warm, present, and romantic.
As much as Draco's brain told him it was a bad idea to go back to Harry, his body was missing him terribly and had other things in mind. His sex drive, which had been put in a coma along with Harry, was suddenly waking up again, and Draco embraced it; the wine had loosened him up consideringly.