Chapter 13
The monthly pub meetup was just the sort of earnest social gathering that Draco abhorred even as a child. It wasn’t that Draco disliked it for the, well, the bourgeoisie nature of it all. You know, the bright minded, mid level ministry staff who’d worked themselves up through the ranks, on their way to respectable, maybe even extraordinary, careers. The type of folk who never went to primary with high ranking officials, nor so much as seen an invitation to a Wizengamot member’s holiday ball. It was just that he had always enjoyed the scheming part of social activities, where everyone knew you were there to gain something. Power, influence, social standing. That sort of thing.
It was awkward to talk to so many people who just said friendly, baffling comments, even if it was in a refreshing sort of way. Like, a maybe-they-aren’t-lying-to-my-face sort of way, or with an I-don't-have-to-worry-about-casual-blood-supremacy approach. Plus, Draco had learned that should he ever get truly lost in a conversation he could buy his way out of it with an open ended question about work. Or, if talking to a Weasley, good natured ribbing about the Chudley Cannons. No one judged him for not being clever enough as long as it kept the conversation humming.
So he’d bought his way out of this awkward moment through painful cheer and a “So how ‘bout them plants, Neville?” For some reason he called him Neville now. It was horrific but it had to be done. Draco actually liked Hannah, who Draco had thought was too good for Neville, until Hannah reintroduced them one day when Neville stopped by the Leaky for lunch and Draco realized that the universe had done right by Neville and let him grow up spectacularly fit. Draco didn’t need to understand if Neville actually knew anything about plants, he could just watch how his enthusiasm for the subject enhanced the whole attractive face/body/extremely large muscles thing and figure that was worth marrying a bloke over. Spending time with Neville might have been a risk, seeing how Neville actually did go to the right primary school and remained on good terms with Wizengamot members and had quite the vault of old pure blood family gold, except there had never been a man of less personal ambition than Neville Longbottom.
It was the sort of thing that might still have put Draco off, because Draco knew he’d been a completely unmitigated git to Neville at school. A truly next level shithead. Only Neville didn’t even care. He’d moved past it and was all gracious and kind hearted and thought Draco had probably suffered enough, yeah? Draco felt like even more of a prat in comparison, and his guilt over it all left him here, at monthly pub night, listening to an impromptu lecture about wormwood or whatever, because Neville was happy talking about wormwood and Draco owed him too much to walk away in disinterest.
Or so Draco thought, until the pub door chimed as someone walked in far past fashionably late, and Neville stopped talking about his boring plant, and stood up to his full, post-Hogwarts height to wave and shout, “Harry! Harry over here.”
Draco turned round to look just in time to catch Harry Potter’s gaze as he turned at Neville’s shouting.
Maybe it was the whole either of them could technically be the chosen one who took down the dark lord bit, but Harry was also looking spectacularly fit. Somewhere in the nine months since Draco had seen him last Harry had managed a good night’s rest. The bags under his eyes had faded. He looked properly fed and well exercised. The sort of look someone “taking care of their health” managed. It made the wild hair and scruff of a beard look roguish instead of bedraggled. He still couldn’t manage to wear trousers that fit him properly, but the oversized jumper was nearly stylish. Everything looked new, recently bought. Which made sense, seeing how he’d abandoned his worldly possessions less than a year ago in what was now Draco’s flat.
Neville was still calling him over, pulling Harry’s focus away from Draco and to a friend who apparently expected him and hadn’t warned Draco at all about it. The only saving grace was Draco was certain he never again owed Neville shit should Neville try to share one unwanted factoid about plants.
Harry took a moment to look everywhere except at Neville and Draco. He saw friendly faces and waves of greeting, but no one offering half as enthusiastic a greeting to use as an excuse to walk somewhere else. So, Harry did the only thing he could and walked forward to where Draco was unfortunately standing.
Neville greeted Harry with the manly sort of half shoulder clasp not quite hug thing straight men who thought they were comfortable with touching other men but really weren’t did. “I’m so glad you were able to make it out this time,” Neville was saying.
This time. Meaning, Harry had been invited before. No one told Draco then, either.
Harry head bobbed a sort of nod that didn’t actually mean yes but did move the conversation along. “It’s good to see you, Neville.” He glanced at Draco as their not quite hug ended. “Good to see you, too, Draco,” he said. He was awkward a moment, as if wondering what greeting was expected that would be friendly but not awkward in a we-shagged-before-and-it-ended-badly way. In the end Harry offered a hand.
Draco smirked, but shook it gamely. He had nearly a year to practice how to be calm on the outside no matter the maelstrom within. “Hello, Harry.” He could say Harry. Just like he said Neville. Look at Draco, being friendly with all the right people. People good enough even for those Wizengamot fuckers who didn’t want to remember Draco existed.
Oh hell, now Neville was looking all chuffed about Harry and Draco being friendly. Like, maybe he thought they wouldn’t get on and the fact that his friends were friendly meant something to him. Draco couldn’t go and spoil it no matter how much his stomach churned from the effort.
Harnessing his budding talent for faking a cheery disposition, Draco asked, “How’s life, then?”
Harry literally tilted his head at that. His eyes flickered to Neville, as if to say, “Is this really Malfoy?” Yes, they had agreed to be on a first name basis now, but Harry’s skepticism was sending a different vibe. Neville, an equal opportunity traitor to the socially inept, grinned cheerfully in response.
“I’m doing mostly okay, I think,” Harry said.
“That’s great, Harry,” Neville said earnestly. Draco got that. Mostly okay did sound great, compared to any number of alternatives that were the best Draco could manage.
Harry turned back to Draco, “What brings you out to pub night?” he asked, visibly restraining some of the skepticism so as to be not quite rude.
“Oh, Draco’s been coming for months now, haven’t you Draco?” Neville said. Months. Many of which Harry had been invited to and Draco could have walked in on this long before he’d built the skills to grin and bear it.
Draco’s cheery disposition was feeling a bit strained, but he stuck with the effort as he agreed, “For months now.”
Harry’s eyes flickered inquiringly to Neville. “I thought this thing was for Hermonie’s coworkers at the ministry?” he asked.
Draco sighed heavily, his cheery disposition slipping.
“Harry, my boy! I heard you were back from Romania. It’s wonderful to see you!” said Arthur Weasley, somehow even more enthusiastic than Neville had been.
Draco tried to keep perspective in life, since it helped him to remember that while he might have been a royal fucking prat who tortured underserving children, he never actively instigated a war or murdered anyone. That was important for forgiving himself and rebuilding self esteem and things like that. It also helped him to understand that things like Harry being uncomfortable talking to him and carrying what was probably a reasonable level of skepticism about Draco’s redemption in society had almost no comparison to the actual terror on Harry’s face when confronted with a loving Arthur Weasley.
“Arthur,” Harry squeaked. Like a mouse.
Arthur pulled Harry into a hug. The sort of hug a father comfortable in sharing affection with their sons might do, that Draco imagined could leave you feeling warm and fuzzy and possibly even happy. Not that he knew from experience. It left Harry shooting darting gazes at Neville and Draco begging for someone to make it stop.
“It’s wonderful to see you, Arthur,” Draco lied loudly.
This led to Arthur releasing Harry from his clutches and turning his warmth and affection on Draco. Draco didn’t warrant a familiar hug, but in the last month Arthur had started doing an affectionate shoulder pat, which he demonstrated here and now in front of everybody. It wasn’t the straight-man-afraid-to-hug thing. More like, I’m-proud-of-you-for-giving-up-your-darking-wizarding-ways. “Draco, I’m so glad to see you’ve joined in on monthly pub night.”
“For months now,” Draco repeated, with oppressive cheer.
Arthur nudged Harry. “Draco here is one of my best employees. I told him he’d enjoy these little meetups, and it’s just like him to have followed up on that,” then to Draco, “Glad to see you making friends across all the departments.”
Harry was caught up on the first part. “Draco works for you? In Misuse of Muggle Artifacts?”
“For months now,” Draco said yet again, in what was beginning to feel like a cosmic joke.
“I thought you wanted to go into potions,” Harry said.
Draco shrugged as Arthur began to ramble about what a waste it would be for Malfoy to go into potions when he had such natural ability for charms. “And he knows everything about modern electrauknicks!”
Harry ignored the mispronunciation, staring straight at Draco. “So you’re doing charms, then?” his skepticism hadn’t slackened so much as honed in directly onto Draco like a slap in the face.
Draco gulped down yet another repetition, lest he squeak mouselike himself. Draco looked back at Neville and said, “So how ‘bout them plants?”
Turns out, Arthur thought talking about mandrake or whatever was all sorts of interesting and was perfectly willing to carry that conversation on with Neville. It gave time for Draco and Harry to not stare at each other, except for all the times they did. Then Arthur was saying, “Oh, would you look at the time!” and Neville was saying, “Quite right, I need to be getting back to Hannah,” and before you knew it there was no one else to stare at but each other. They tried hard not to, but then they were staring at all the old quidditch memorabilia on the pub’s walls without either of them finding suitable distraction.
“Well fuck, if this isn’t awkward,” Harry finally admitted.
Draco barked out a laugh. “Charming,” he said.
Harry shrugged. “Trying out not trying to be charming.”
For some reason Draco laughed again. “Is that suppose to be hard to pull off?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh shut up. You were caught up in my charm until…” then he made a big waving motion with both hands. It was ridiculously inadequate for all he was sincerely trying.
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Draco asked, the cheer less forced than any other time that evening.
Harry shrugged. “I usually call it ‘that big fuck up with Draco,’” he admitted.
Draco snickered. Fair enough, he supposed. “Who are you talking about that big fuck up with?”
It was Harry’s turn to sigh. He shoved his hands in his pockets and wouldn’t meet Draco’s eyes. “Whoever. The folks I was staying with for a while.”
“Staying with in… Romania, was it?” Draco prodded. Harry shrugged and nodded simultaneously but offered nothing else. Draco had no right to be annoyed but Harry's reticence to talk needled him anyway. It’s not that Draco wanted to have an actual conversation with him. Draco had been as close to enjoying the evening as was possible before Harry arrived. You know, for an evening with co-workers you didn’t want to get to know or talk to but who had the bad sense to want Draco to be part of their social group anyway. Like a house plant or a little fish in a tank. Draco did his best to be non offensive window dressing that reliably did the meager tasks assigned to him. When people talked at him he smiled and asked the sort of simple questions that made people feel like he cared what they said. It was… something. Something just real enough to make it that much more obvious that every time Draco had ever tried to actually talk to Harry it had stalled out. Seeing it happen again got under Draco’s skin. Draco had to stop himself from wrapping his arms protectively around himself to put up a barrier. He didn’t do that anymore. He didn’t break down in anxiety spirals. Not for months now. He was capable of having a conversation. He’d been practicing. For months now. He’d prove it. “What were you doing in Romania?”
It made sense how Harry had gone so long relying on his charm. He didn’t have to try for it to come out. Just one lopsided, self deprecating grin was enough to remind Draco that it hadn’t just been desperate loneliness that drew him to Harry. “Dragons.”
Draco felt his pulse jump in excitement. Maybe his eyes sparkled with interest. Maybe he leaned in, just a bit. But also he kept his face calm and only went as far as to quirk a brow as he said, “You were doing dragons?”
Harry barked out his own surprised laugh. It was boisterous and open in a way he rarely had been with Draco before. “No. Gods no. Gross. Get your mind out of the gutter.” Draco allowed his lips to quirk into a smile before waving for Harry to go on and explain himself. “Thought I’d be dragon taming. Only, turns out you don’t tame dragons. It was a wildlife refuge, and all we’re meant to do is preserve the land and ward off poachers. You have to be there years before they let you do any of the fun stuff. They just had me shovel stuff. Like, dig trenches. Clear out dragon dung. It kind of sucked.”
“Why’d you go?” It was the sort of question that came second nature to Draco these days. He’d practiced ways to let others talk because it made him look friendly. Even if Draco wanted to know the answer.
This next look from Harry was the achingly familiar polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I needed to get away for a while. Clear my head,” he said. Draco knew instinctively it was the kind of lie that Harry used to do. The sort carefully crafted to hold up in court.
It was nice, in a way, to see Harry fall into this old pattern. It made Draco think maybe the awkwardness settling over them wasn’t his fault. Maybe Draco didn’t need to hold the weight of social anxiety here. Not Draco, who had been practicing for months now, while Harry apparently hadn’t. Draco took a deep breath and let it out, along with any intention of proving anything to Harry.
“I should get going,” Draco said to break the silence. The crowd had thinned considerably seeing how everyone had work in the morning. Except for maybe Harry, who was looking around surprised to see how the room had cleared. Draco couldn’t tell if he was relieved the obligation to be social was over or a bit sad he’d missed most of the opportunity. He did look a bit puppy eyed at Draco as Draco gathered up his coat and scarf.
What right did Harry have to look forlorn? Draco was trying so hard to be an upstanding citizen and a good enough bloke, and Harry was the one who didn’t consider Draco might’ve managed a ministry job or bothered to talk straight about his travels. It made Draco so unbearably weary to think of it. He suddenly wished he could ensure he never had to see Harry again. He wished he didn’t have to live with the reminders of this man. Impulsively, Draco said, “You should come by the flat and pick up all your stuff.”
Harry was caught off guard. “Oh, I don’t know if I-”
Draco cut him off. “I can’t just throw your junk away, Harry. It’s taking up space in my room and if you’re being all respectable now do your part and get rid of it yourself.” His was terser than he’d meant to be but he wasn’t sorry.
“Right,” Harry said with only minor hesitation. “I’ll… set that up.”
Draco stared hard at Harry and his polite face that wasn’t at all charming. He told himself he couldn’t make himself care that Harry was lying to him, so he wouldn’t have to think about how it hurt more than a little. Maybe with a few months more practice he’d learn to get over the hurt. Draco didn’t bother with goodbyes before seeing himself out.
--
Draco had known, though. Harry had been lying through his teeth. Still, Harry’s junk filled an entire corner of his limited space and Draco wasn’t having it. So Draco got Arthur to convince Hermoine to have a meaningful conversation with Harry about how the next stage of the getting his head on straight journey was probably fulfilling that commitment to stop using your former flat as storage for your emotional baggage. Harry hadn’t had the decency to owl Draco himself, but Arthur stopped by Draco’s desk on a Friday afternoon and assured Draco that Harry would be stopping by sometime Sunday morning.
Harry showed up at six pm.
As the time dragged, Draco’s nerves had frayed. “Do you think I have nothing better to do with my day than wait around for you?” was what Draco managed by way of greeting.
Harry was wearing a dark sweater that looked incredibly soft to the touch and like it would definitely snag if he started moving things about. It looked good on his shoulders as he shrugged bashfully. “You could have just thrown out the stuff,” he said.
“Ugh!” Draco groaned, stomping back into the flat.
Harry followed him in, and was met with a chorus of cheers.
“Hey Harry!” said Ravi.
“Hiya Harry!” said Tish.
“Hello Potter,” said Greg.
“Goyle?” Harry asked, stopping in his tracks to stare at Greg, who was at that moment on the couch with the others pounding buttons on a controller as they raced through Super Smash Bros.
“Hello,” Goyle said again, not looking up from the game system since the race was close. He’d yet to rebuild the body mass he had before Azkaban, and honestly he probably wouldn’t, but he’d spent months refining his motor skills and was swiftly regaining the video game prowess he had before arrest. Ten seconds later the race ended with Greg in first, and he beamed as the other two groaned.
Harry was still staring, rudely. “What’re you doing here?” he asked.
“Tory moved out,” Draco answered for Greg, “we had an open room.”
Harry snapped and pointed at Draco triumphantly. “Tory!” he said.
Draco looked at him like he was thick. “Yeah,” he said. “You were invited to the wedding, but…” Draco picked up a basket holding a stack of letters that were spelled to stay upright despite the precarious height. He shoved it into Harry’s hands. “We still get most your post.” Draco left Harry holding the stack as he walked back towards his room.
Harry let the Greg thing go and followed along behind Draco, at least until he got to Draco’s room.
Gone was the untended squaller that Harry found acceptable, and in its place was a welcoming sanctuary for a single young professional who was capable of tending to a houseplant. Or seven, since Draco had reconfigured the windowsill to accommodate more greenery and liven up the room. It was silly. Draco didn’t like plants. He didn’t know how to tend to them and he didn’t like having to have purchased a cellular phone so he could take digital photographs so he could show Neville when tidbits were wilted and he especially did not like listening to a half hour diatribe on how to remedy the situation. But, also, Draco didn’t like remembering living in a lifeless attic barely furnished and he especially didn’t like everywhere worse he’d been forced to endure. So there were plants. And little sticky stars charmed to twinkle in constellations across the ceiling. Then a full bedroom set, a small desk, and artfully installed shelves all brought to life a place Harry had never really cared for.
The obvious blemish to the room was boxes stacked floor to ceiling in a corner, right up against a mattress lined straight up against that particular wall.
Draco pointed at it all. “I don’t care what you do with it, but make it go away.”
Harry stared hard for a moment at everything. The moment stretched. Draco wondered what he saw in the pile of things. Maybe all the things he’d appreciated not having to remember. Finally, after something between five minutes and a decade, Harry pulled out his wand and cast a steadying charm, then a quick, “Accio blue shoebox!” one of the boxes burst open at the side, and out flew an old shoebox straight to Harry. Harry caught it with his wand hand, then shoved it under the arm still holding the pile of mail. He looked a final time at everything else, then cast a vanishing spell at it all. Draco gasped to see it suddenly disappear.
“Seriously, Harry?” Draco snapped. “Some of that was probably useful.”
“It wasn’t worth the hassle,” Harry said without remorse. He looked at his letters stacked in the basket Draco had shoved at him as if he was considering vanishing them all as well.
“Don’t you dare vanish those letters! Tory’s wedding invite probably still has information on how you can send a gift, and since you’re bloody rich and didn’t bother to show you should probably get on that.”
Harry’s long suffering look was very long indeed. “I guess I can sort it.” Harry didn’t sound confident but, strangely, he also didn’t sound like he was lying.
Draco shook his head and walked back to the door. He opened it wide and held it for Harry to go. “Good luck with that.”
Harry hesitated. He looked to Draco a moment, as if expecting something more. Draco stared back blankly, giving nothing. Draco wished he could manage a bland smile but he lacked Harry’s skill. He’d have to practice that. Smiling when you didn’t care to in order to make people feel better about themselves. All he had presently was a blank face or reveal his aggravation. Harry frowned slightly as he hiked his belongings up into a better hold before carting them from the room. Draco stepped out into the hallway after Harry. It gave Draco a clear view of every time Harry glanced back at him. But never saying what it was he wanted.
Tish interrupted the procession once the men reached the main room. “You aren’t leaving already, are you Harry?”
Draco saw the moment Harry adopted his polite mask. His smile would have been friendly if it wasn’t hollow. “Got all my stuff,” Harry lifted his armful a bit for emphasis.
“You should stay and catch up,” It was Ravi this time. “We’ve got pizza on the way.”
Harry glanced over his shoulder at Draco. He paused there a beat, staring. Draco paused until he realized Harry was waiting for something from him, then Draco’s blank face slipped and he frowned. Harry looked away. “Got plans for tonight, sorry.”
Tish, the most mature of the group, blew a raspberry noise at Harry. “Yeah right you have plans you never have plans. You just don’t like us.” Ravi chortled, likely because he agreed with her but couldn’t believe she actually said it.
It was the laughter that rankled Harry. Draco could see his demeanor shift, revealing exasperation. “Why can’t I have plans?”
“Notice he didn’t say he liked us,” Ravi fake whispered to Tish.
“Probably wouldn’t hold up in court,” Draco drawled. He hadn’t meant to sound as bitter as he did, which is probably why Ravi’s and Tish’s chuckles were a bit reserved. They liked fun, but weren’t mean about it.
“I thought you’d quit the aurors,” Greg said from the couch. He’d set the controller down so he could turn around and stare at Harry.
Harry jumped on responding to Greg, as if it let him ignore everything else that had been said that he didn’t want to wrestle with. “I did. I mean, um, I’m not taking anyone to court. Not, um, being honest for, like, the sake of… court.” The more he talked the more miserable he looked and the harder everyone stared at him because… well, Draco at least wondered if he meant it.
Greg was just staring hard because that’s what he did when he focused on something. He focused all the way. Like if he stopped focusing it might disappear and he wouldn’t remember it had happened. Which, well, in Greg’s case was a little true. It also meant that he brought far too much gravity with him as he said, “that’s good. Draco said you were a very bad auror.” It sucked how everything Greg said would hold up in court because he was entirely incapable of lying. Like a small child who hadn’t learned what a lie was yet and couldn’t comprehend what social grace was and why you absolutely needed to use it when talking to your best friend’s ex… well. The man who manipulated your best friend into sleeping with him but never actually was in a real relationship so I suppose he wasn’t your best friend’s ex.
It was too much, is what Draco meant.
“I said being an auror was very bad for you,” Draco tried to correct. Tish and Ravi didn’t say anything, but they did continue to stare hard with ever widening eyes taking at the train wreck happening in front of them. They weren’t mean, but they loved drama.
Harry looked like he might bolt. Draco prayed he did so now. Instead Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot and worried a lip while looking very much like he might be gearing up to ask one minor clarifying question if only he’d muster the courage. Which was very much the wrong approach because it meant Greg had time to process what Draco said, and without realizing that Draco was entirely capable of lying, speak up to set the record straight. As if Draco just needed someone to remind him of what he actually had said. Because this was a train wreck. At least Tish and Ravi could gleefully have something to whisper about once Draco feld back to his own room.
“You remember, Draco. You said that Potter was one of the bad aurors, and he did bad things like pretending to be your friend, and arresting you, and letting you be sent to Azkaban.”
Yes, yes. Draco had said that. It had been a bad night while Draco had been having a little panic about how no one would ever love him and Greg was on the precipice of his own breakdown because Draco hadn’t at that moment been able to be the steady rock he needed so Draco had given him something concrete so he could understand why Draco was sad. He’d also explained that Harry had quit and wasn’t bad anymore, probably. He hadn’t said probably. Greg wasn’t good at understanding probably. There had been a lot of spell damage and anyway… now Harry was looking so fucking polite as if nothing Greg had said could possibly hurt him and nothing could have more clearly stated he was fucking devastated.
“I,” Harry had to pause to swallow. “I have plans,” Harry lied. “Really can’t stay.” And he didn’t.