Fire Whiskey
The Great Hall remained quieter than every past year at Hogwarts, even with a chamber full of students.
Finding a seat wasn’t too difficult, especially when your friends made sure to save one for you. Ron waved Harry down, and he joined them at the Gryffindor table. Hermione sat across from the two, busily working on her potions essay.
“Have either of you finished yours yet,” She asked without glancing up from her paper, referring to the essay.
Ron chuckled, “I haven’t even started mine yet.”
“Ronald, it’s due in less than a week, it’s worth ten percent of our grade,” Hermione protested. Ron burst into laughter.
“Then I guess I’ll be pulling a few all nighters for the next week.”
Harry had slipped out of the conversation, his eyes resting on Draco, who had found a seat at the end of the Slytherin table. He sat alone, nose deep in Little Women. Harry had retorted in Draco reading two books at the same time, but clearly he was more than capable.
His eyes were practically glued on Draco, unable to look away from the focused blonde.
“Mate, what’re you staring at?” Ron tugged him out of his daydreams, waving a hand in front of his face.
“Hm? Oh, nothing.”
He attempted to remain in the conversation, as Ron began talking about George’s suspected girlfriend, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling of Draco. Before the war, the boy was swarmed with friends, people on either side of him and fellow Slytherins shouting and laughing in his direction. But now he was alone, and he seemed so content with that feeling.
Yet sometimes he watched the blonde look over the other Slytherins, a frown upon his face.
“It’s bullshit.”
“What’s bullshit,” Ron asked through a mouthful of food. Harry groaned, which made Hermione look up from her writing. “It’s bullshit that we have to sit with our houses, we’ve been through a goddamn war and we still find it unnecessary to mix our tables.”
“You do have a point,” Hermione responded, twirling her quill between her fingers. Ron stared between the two, a little lost.
“We should invite Draco to sit with us.”
Ron let out a lightheaded chuckle, “I see you two’ve been getting along quite nicely,” He sent Hermione a wink from across the table. She smiled in return.
“It’s nothing like that! We’re just.. friends, I think at least,” Harry hesitantly stated, “But I feel awful seeing him by himself, please we need to ask him to join us.”
“Well I suppose-“Hermione, do you have the homework answers for the forgetfulness charm?” Seamus asked for across the table. The conversation was quickly dropped as Hermione began to argue with the boy, and Harry slumped his posture in defeat.
His eyes traveled back towards the Slytherin table, hoping to catch a glimpse of his roommate. But Draco was gone.
Why did he want to help him anyway?
The more time Harry spent with Draco, the less he thought about their past. The blonde had said some terrible things to him in those years before, yet so had he. It was strange that they just moved on the moment they returned to Hogwarts, as if it were all water under the bridge.
And maybe it was, maybe it was all unspokenly forgiven. Even after a month or two with him, Harry still hadn’t become used to this new Draco. He was so kind and modest, so gentle and patient. Maybe he was always that way, Harry just never took the time to notice.
“Harry, Ginny is coming back from Bulgaria next month. We were all gonna meet her at Hogsmeade, will you come too?” Ron asked. Oh right, Harry had almost forgotten Ginny accepted her offered position on the Chudney Cannons Quidditch team.
It was part of the reason for their uncoupling, so it was obvious why he’d push it so far out of his mind.
Ginny spent most of her time traveling with the team, yet the Quidditch Cup was being held in Bulgaria this year, so she had departed more than five months ago to live with her team.
“Sure, I’ll go,” Harry said reluctantly, knowing Ron would be upset if he declined.
Harry’s leg’s reluctantly carried him out the hall before his mind could argue a rebuttal, in search for the missing Slytherin.
He didn’t know why he bothered to find Draco, yet something in the pit of his stomach tugged him to look.
He knew he wouldn’t have to look long, assuming Draco would go to their one place of shared sanctuary, their safety dome.
Opening the door to his dorm room, his hunch was correct. Atop his neatly made bed, a bottle of fire whiskey in hand, was Draco. He’d clearly been swooned by half the bottle already, the top few buttons of his usually tidy collared shirt were unbuttoned, his pale toned chest on display. Briefly, Harry caught a glimpse of Draco’s scars, the scars he had imprinted onto him almost three years ago. It made him wince. Harry avoided the contact his eyes has made with it and scanned over the rest of Draco. His hair was jostled and messy, much different than how it was in the Great Hall.
“Hello Scarhead,” He slurred, a dingy smile arrayed across his face. He offered Harry a swig, who hesitantly drank it. The whiskey burned his tongue and boiled his throat, he struggled to swallow.
When he trusted his voice to carry for him, he asked, “What the hell are you doing?” It wasn’t stern, or upset. Harry was simply amused. He chuckled as Draco’s smile widened, “Just trying to relieve some stress, seems like you could do the same,” He grinned, offering another sip to Harry.
“Y’know we’d get flamed for getting caught with this,” Harry sighed, not truly caring, only pointing out the fact.
“Very true, my friend, only makes it all the more tempting,” The blonde raised the bottle, as if making a toast, before downing a long sip of the burning drink.
My friend. So the rumors were true. Draco considered him a friend.