The Martini
Harry felt fury well up in him as he glared at Draco.
“You set me up?”
“Of course not,” said Draco, appearing genuinely surprised at the accusation. “Why ever would I do that?”
“I can think of a few reasons,” said Harry.
“No need to give him so much credit, darling,” said Tom.
“Charming as this has been,” said Harry, still not looking up, “I’ve work to do before I turn in, so I’ve got to be going now.”
Tom did not move to let Harry out. Instead, he touched Harry’s hand where it wrapped around his glass. One touch, and Harry was back in his cupboard. Tom’s words fell like spiders on his head.
“Better to keep a clear head, don’t you think?” Tom said, and began to slide the drink away from Harry. Harry let his hand fall out from under Tom’s, quickly moving it out of his reach when he could.
Harry wanted his drink, but that hardly mattered now. He wanted to say something cruel to Tom, but he couldn’t speak.
“Let him drink if he wants,” said Draco casually. “He’s got no one to annoy with it.”
Harry didn’t need to be looking at Tom to see his eyes flash, to see the way his lips tightened in warning to Draco. He knew that, if he played it right, he could allow Draco to distract Tom until Harry was able to make his escape. He also knew that he didn’t want to do that to Draco. But what were his other options? Would he even be able to act with this malignant presence looming over him, with his throat choked with rage and fear? Harry had never been a coward. He was Harry Potter. It was known across London that a home visit from Harry Potter meant a child in safe hands and an abusive guardian jailed. A magazine local to his own neighborhood had dubbed Harry the “Defender of London’s Innocent.” Well, Draco was hardly innocent, but that was the thing about Harry. He’d defend pretty much anyone. It was the principle of the thing; abuse wouldn’t be allowed to stand. He couldn’t let it, couldn’t let himself be like his primary school teachers or even Uncle Albus. And so Harry swallowed hard, and tried to convince himself he could handle Tom.
“All right,” Harry said. “You want to talk to me, Tom? Let’s step outside. You can talk to me freely then.”
Before Tom could respond, Draco jumped in. He looked right at Harry. “Don’t be ridiculous, love. You have a date to keep with me tonight. Tom can always find another time for a chat with you, can’t you, Tom?”
Harry was so flabbergasted by Draco’s kamikaze move that it was only with his peripheral Tom-sense that he saw Tom’s dreaded calm expression.
“I thought you had work?’ Tom said to Harry.
“He was just trying to be polite,” said Draco, “but I decided there was no need for that, as the courtesy was not returned.”
Tom’s eyes were cold and dead, reminding Harry of the times when he’d genuinely feared Tom would kill him.
“All right,” said Tom, “I can see you two are occupied. Harry, I’ll be in touch, all right?” Harry couldn’t react. He could only stare as Tom stood and walked out of the pub.
“You can thank me any time,” said Draco after a moment.
“Thank you,” said Harry.
“He really did hurt you, didn’t he?”
Harry finally looked up. “He’s going to hurt you, too.”
“Probably.” Draco sighed and stood. “I think I could use a drink after all.”
“All right,” said Harry, standing and looking toward the bar, “I’ll get it. What do you want?”
“Not here.”
“Sorry?”
“Come to mine,” said Draco, trying to sound matter-of-fact but coming off awkward.
“Why?” Harry asked.
“Never mind.”
“No.” Harry caught Draco’s shoulder as he turned away. “No, I’ll come.”
Draco caught his gaze, held it for a moment, and then nodded. Without a word, he led Harry out of the pub. They walked in silence to Draco’s flat, which was quite close. The building was gorgeous, and the doorman greeted Draco warmly as they swept inside and moved to the elevator. When they finally stepped into the flat itself, Harry couldn’t hold back a chuckle.
“What?” Draco demanded.
“It’s a mess,” said Harry. When he saw Draco bristle, he added, “Not that I mind. Really. It’s just a bit funny. Not what I expected from you.”
“You don’t know me,” Draco pointed out.
“No,” Harry agreed. Draco gestured for Harry to hand over his coat, then hung it in the hall closet. He went to a marble-topped bar cart that rested against the wall.
“I don’t keep whiskey. Will a martini suit? I believe I’ve also got some brandy…”
“Whatever you’re having,” Harry said quietly. Draco made two martinis. Harry watched his back as he measured and poured and shook, and he found his gaze drifting to Draco’s arse. No. He had sworn off anything of the sort for at least a few months. After Tom…
The martinis being poured, Draco turned around and handed Harry his. To his surprise, Harry found that when he took the glass, liquid sloshed over the edge. His hands were trembling. Draco took hold of Harry’s hand to steady the glass and tipped it to Harry’s mouth. He was never a fan of vodka, but it was a good martini.
“Cheers,” said Harry hoarsely.
“Indeed,” said Draco, taking a sip of his own drink. “To this nightmare we’ve gotten ourselves into.”
Harry sipped again, then slumped against the wall and sighed. “Fuck, Draco. I probably shouldn’t...I mean, it shouldn’t be you I tell this to, but, fuck it, you’re here. I mean I’m here.”
“The famed eloquence of Harry Potter.”
“Fuck off.” Harry looked up, caught Draco’s gaze, held it. “I’m really frightened.”
“Yes,” said Draco, “I’m beginning to see that.”
“I just... I don’t know what I’m going to do. How I’m going to get through this, or escape or...whatever it is that’s done. I feel like he’ll be at my back forever.”
“He’s like that,” Draco said.
Harry took a gulp of his drink and continued. “I lie awake thinking about it. What would it take for Tom to be out of my life? A restraining order wouldn’t do it. He’s too slippery for that. Maybe if he seriously hurts someone and goes to prison. But he’s so cautious. How do I lose him? London’s a big place, but people know me. They notice where I go. They’d notice if I left. I wonder, sometimes, if I’ll never be free of him, not until he finally kills me. Sometimes I wish he’d just get it overwith, truth be told.”
Draco stared at Harry, his expression an insulting mix of pity and disbelief. Harry knew where Draco was coming from, though. It was hard, when one was in Tom’s clutches, to believe anything that was said against him.
“Get out, Draco,” Harry said. “Get the fuck out of this while you still can.”
“And go where?” Draco asked.
Harry almost laughed in amazement. “Anywhere! You have everything. Stay right where you are.”
Draco’s eyes flashed. Harry gulped. He wished he weren’t being bombarded with reminders of this berk’s attractiveness at a time like this.
“You don’t know me,” said Draco.
Harry ran a hand through his hair nervously. “Then let me.”
“What?” said Draco, taken aback. “Why? You don’t like me.”
“True,” said Harry, “But in this we’re friends. Or...comrades of a sort, at least. I’ll admit there are things we did in school I’m reluctant to forgive you for, and I’m sure it’s the same for you. But we’re in similar positions at the moment. I think we should try not to be enemies.”
“We’re not in similar positions,” Draco pointed out. “Rather, we’re in opposite positions, I should think.”
“How d’you figure?” said Harry, confused.
“Tom wants you, even though you don’t want him,” said Draco quietly.
“Ah. That’s...that was how it started out for me, as well.”
“Not true,” Draco responded instantly.
“It is, rather,” said Harry irritably. “I was there.”
“So was I,” said Draco. “I’ve been Tom’s friend since Uni, same as you. We talked. We talked about you.”
“Oh.” Harry swallowed, suddenly feeling queasy. “I don’t think I want to know about this.”
“I thought you wanted to get to know me,” said Draco. “I thought you’d want to know how it cut me every time Tom texted me about the beautiful green-eyed boy whom he’d like to--”
“What’s your favorite colour?” Harry blurted out. His palms were sweating, and he would do anything to get Draco to stop.
“Is the subject getting a bit tense for you, Potter?”
“I should go,” said Harry. He shouldn’t have been there in the first place, he realized all at once, though he couldn’t just leave the pub at the time. He had needed--
“Blue,” said Draco. Harry stopped; he hadn’t even realized he’d been walking toward the door, not really.
“Blue,” Harry repeated.
“All shades. Well, except that dreadful generic dress shirt shade. You know the one. You wear it most days.”
“I buy them in bulk at Primark,” said Harry.
“I honestly can’t tell whether you’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Thank you for informing me.” Draco took a drink.
Harry ran a hand through his hair. “D’you have to turn everything into an insult?”
“I wasn’t aware--”
“I asked you your favorite color and you responded by mocking my wardrobe.”
“It was relevant,” said Draco.
“Mine’s green,” said Harry with a sigh.
“Your what?”
“Favorite color.”
“You never wear it,” Draco said with apparent surprise.
“No,” Harry agreed. “When I do, everyone always comments on how it brings out my eyes. It’s bloody annoying.”
“You know,” said Draco consideringly, swirling his half-empty glass, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody else who actively avoids looking even remotely attractive.”
“I never wanted to stand out,” said Harry. The conversation was making him increasingly uncomfortable. He took a gulp of martini, trying to focus on the burn of it in his throat. But Draco’s poncy vodka was so smooth it wasn’t much distraction. Bastard.
“You can’t help that,” said Draco. “People are drawn to you.”
“Nah,” said Harry. “Not me. The idea of me. They like my dramatic sob story. They like my work, some of them. The older ones, they liked my parents, or Uncle Albus. Ain’t me.”
“You just said ‘ain’t,’” Draco responded stupidly, in apparent shock.
“Yeah, that’s the part of me most don’t like. The part that grew up abused and neglected and dreadfully middle-class. The part that struggled to learn to read. The part that got into common physical scraps with the other lordlings at public school. D’you remember that bit in The Sun after our altercation on the rugby field in sixth form?”
“Ah yes,” said Draco. “What did they call you? ‘The aristocracy’s own feral child.’”
“I can’t believe you still remember that word for word,” said Harry, even though he absolutely could believe it. Draco had the grace to blush a little bit at that.
“I only thought it was a good turn of phrase,” he mumbled.
“Sure,” said Harry. He drained his glass.
“Another?” Draco offered with an arched brow.
Harry stalled out for a moment. He should probably go. He had work in the morning, and he didn't really know why he was here in the first place. Well, yes he did. He hadn’t felt safe alone. He could have called Hermione perhaps, but she would have taken forever to get there and would Draco have stayed and would Tom have snuck back in and would Harry have had a panic attack in front of Draco’s posh barman? Couldn’t be done. Nor could walking home alone. So he was here.
“I should go home,” Harry said.
“Not an answer,” said Draco.
“I…” Harry looked at Draco and his brain fuzzed out. “I don’t know.”
Draco sighed. “I’ll call you a car.”
“You will.”
“Yes, Potter, I will. It’s clear you need rest but are terrified to walk home.”
“I…” Harry wanted to deny it, but found he couldn’t. “Thanks.”
“Just a mo.” Draco tapped his phone a few times and had a brief conversation. He looked at Harry after hanging up. “It’ll be fifteen minutes,” he said.
“Harry,” said Harry.
“Sorry?”
“Not ‘Potter.’ It’s...we don’t need that, on top of it.”
“Ah,” said Draco.
“I know it’s easy to slip.”
“You’ve done so yourself,” Draco agreed.
“But we should try to present a united front, if only because--” Harry choked a little. “What are we going to do about Tom?”
“Let me handle it,” said Draco. Harry fixed him with a piercing look. He’d been told by many that he had a good one, learned from Uncle Albus and later, he supposed, from Moody, the grizzled old caseworker who had been his mentor.
“Well, really, Potter,” huffed Draco, exasperated, “What exactly did you think you were going to do about it? Weep on him?”
A smile was creeping onto Harry’s face before he could stop it. “You’ve met him. That just might work. Stun him temporarily, at least.”
And then, incredibly, both of them were laughing. Laughing until they couldn’t breathe. Laughing until their terror shriveled, at least for the moment.