Chapter Text
─── ༺☽◯☾༻ ───
Monday morning, Draco entered Slug and Jiggers with his arms full of, frankly, too many potions. He’d been busy making a lot in the week before, a distraction from the upcoming date. It was either that or he would spend all day thinking about it.
“Hi Draco!” Aimee chirped with far too much energy, a look on her face similar to one Pansy would have when she knew there would be gossip. “How’s the sex? Surely you’ve slept together by now.”
Draco glared at her as he slammed down the potion crates on the front desk. “There is no sex.”
“What?!” Aimee gasped, reaching out to grip Draco’s wrists. “What do you mean?”
Draco shook his head and pulled his arms out of her grasp, hoping his flinch at the content wasn’t noticeable. “Exactly what I said.”
“This is so disappointing, that’s the second date you’ve fumbled now,” Aimee muttered quietly as she started looking through the crate in front of her. “Woah, this is so much pepperup.”
Draco shrugged. “I had help powdering the bicorn horn.”
Aimee smirked at him. “Oh yeah?”
“Well, might as well put his muscles to good use if they’re not being used for sex.”
“So you do want to have sex with him!” Aimee exclaimed, like it was a big gotcha moment.
“That is not what I said.” And Draco really didn’t want to make himself think of the truth of that. He was scared the answer would be quite embarrassing.
“Uh huh.” That was all Aimee said, a knowing look on her face as she started her usual work of unpacking and signing off all the potions.
There was something niggling at Draco though, so he followed Aimee to the back room, leaning against the door frame. “So…”
“So?” She asked back, not even turning to look at him as she popped potions on the shelf.
“How long was Potter a customer here for?”
“Oh, I’m not sure exactly,” Aimee said. “He was one of our regulars for a while, always dreamless sleep and sometimes something else to help similarly, like elixir to induce euphoria.”
“Do you know why?”
Aimee paused and turned to look at Draco. “He always seemed so lost. He mentioned the war once, so I assume it’s that. A lot of people have been affected long term.” There was something pointed in her words and Draco chose to ignore it.
“I guess,” he replied instead. From how Potter had mentioned his godfather, it was possible that the loss of him during the war could be the reason. However, Draco knew there was more to it, and he also knew there was a slim chance of Potter opening up about it any time soon. He should respect Potter not wanting to talk about it, but his curiosity was frustrating him.
“Why do you call him Potter? Isn’t his name, uh, Harvey or something?”
“Harry,” Draco corrected without a beat.
Aimee raised her eyebrow. “You know his name, why not use it?”
“Doesn’t feel right,” Draco answered with a wave of his hand. He had no other explanation for it.
“Whatever kinks you’re into,” Aimee giggled quietly under her breath.
That was the point Draco had decided he was done with her teasing. “See you next week,” he said to her offhandedly before walking straight to the door, not waiting for her response but knowing she wouldn’t find him rude.
Draco busied himself with whatever would keep his mind occupied until the date the next day. The closer it got, the more Draco could feel the excitement buzzing under his skin. He loved a competition, he loved quidditch, and, well, it was Potter.
Avoiding thinking about Potter had probably made Draco the most productive he’s ever been. He finally reorganised his book collection, a task he’d been putting off for months, he’d brewed multiple large batches of potions and then, he’d tidied the entire house. The last one wasn’t necessary but there was nothing else for him to do.
In the last half an hour of waiting for Potter to arrive, Draco was dressed and ready, pacing in the living room. It wasn’t like it was dinner at his home anymore, with the safety and familiarity that that offered, it was going somewhere to play quidditch and then going to Potter’s. He wondered what type of home Potter had, whether it would be neat or messy, bright or neutral, modern or traditional. He had his suspicions, and the wait to confirm them was killing him.
A knock at the door startled Draco, and a quick check of the time revealed Potter was around twenty minutes earlier than the usual time he arrived. If Draco was feeling petty, he would’ve made Potter wait outside until their usual time. Not that they had actually agreed that time.
Draco opened the door to see Potter smiling at him, two helmets in his hands. Instead of the usual t-shirts he wore, he had a deep plum jumper under his leather jacket, bringing out his bright green eyes even more. Draco had had a similar thought process, trading his thinner silk shirts with a black wool jumper, remembering how cold it could get when flying.
“Sorry, I’m early, I wanted to make the most of the sun whilst it’s still up.”
Draco eyed the two helmets suspiciously.
“Come on, let’s get going.” Potter seemed very excited, and he held out one of the helmets towards Draco.
Draco glanced at the motorbike behind him then back at the helmet. “You expect me to ride with you?”
Potter stifled a laugh. “I could go get the side cart if you would prefer?”
“Can you even drive safely?” Draco glared back. He was not going to let himself die on the back of Potter’s motorcycle. How embarrassing would that be?
“If I can ride a broom, I can ride a bike. Besides, I have a proper muggle driving licence, got it legally and everything.”
Draco hummed to himself and, ignoring all his instincts and the voice of his parents telling him to not be so recklessly stupid, he took the helmet from Potter. “It’s going to mess up my hair.”
“And I want your hair safe in the unlikely event that we crash.”
Draco sneered at him lightheartedly, which only made Potter laugh and he had to quickly put the helmet on just in case the sound of it had made him blush. Though, if he did, he was sure he would have blushed before that, so any dignity was already long gone.
Potter put his helmet on too and got himself ready on the motorcycle. There wasn’t much room behind him for Draco to sit, and it was dawning on him how close they would actually be on the muggle contraption.
“You’ll have to hold onto me,” Potter added, which really didn’t help with Draco’s current thought process.
He must’ve taken too long to get onto the motorbike, as Potter then reached out to grab Draco’s arm to pull him closer.
“We haven’t got all day,” Potter told him, but he didn’t sound mad at the hesitation.
“Okay,” Draco replied quietly and got on behind Potter, finding his chest almost pressed against his back. He did his best to avoid any contact there, and placed his hands just above Potter’s hips.
Draco did some silent breathing exercises as he heard Potter start up the engine, his senses filled with noise and vibrations, then movement. His eyes were screwed shut and his hands tightened onto Potter’s waist as they travelled.
He thought he was doing rather well at completely ignoring the situation he was in, until about five minutes of travelling it all crumbled. Potter slammed on the brakes harder than normal and the momentum sent Draco into Potter’s back, the minimal space between them, something he had been doing so well at maintaining, now completely gone.
“Sorry, the lights suddenly changed!”
Draco simply nodded, accepting the explanation. However, now that he was against Potter’s back, he couldn’t will himself to move back. Instead, he allowed the contact to remain, and his hands stayed gripped tight. Potter’s torso moved in a way that indicated he was laughing, and Draco couldn’t wait to find an insult for him later, but for now, he was busy focusing on pretending he wasn’t on a muggle death trap.
Maybe half an hour of riding later, Potter had finally stopped and turned the engine off.
Draco took a deep breath, pushed himself off of Potter and the motorbike, and then removed his helmet.
“I take it you enjoyed that?” Potter teased as he took a small bag out of the seat compartment of the bike.
“Shut up, Potty.” It was the only insult Draco could think of, and it only made Potter laugh more.
“Bet you can’t wait to travel on that again later?” Potter laughed more as Draco visibly shuddered. “Come on, I’m sure you’ll enjoy riding a broom better.”
Potter grabbed Draco’s wrist to move the two of them to the park’s entrance. It was a large park from what Draco could see, trees lining parts of it and a nice pond in the middle. It must’ve been at least two miles to the other side of the park. The main part that stood out though was that it was a muggle park, with muggles in it, and he was pretty sure muggles didn’t play quidditch.
“This way!” Potter was almost skipping with how excited he was as he led them both to one of the group of trees. “Barely anyone knows there’s a Wizard park here.” Potter went over to two trees abnormally close to each other, almost like they had become one, and tapped his wand on them in a specific pattern. The trees then separated from each other more, revealing an entrance.
Draco followed Potter through to find themselves in an identical park as the one before, almost like they had stepped through a mirror, with the only difference being that he could feel the aura of magic in the air. The grass and trees looked greener and the pond was clearer, the magic enhancing nature's existing beauty. No one else was there, they had the park entirely to themselves.
“How did you find out about this place?”
“When I was an auror, I had found a really old book listing all the magic locations in the country,” Potter explained simply and walked ahead, like he didn’t want to talk about it further. Draco only wondered what other hidden magical places he knew of.
They made their way to a good open clearing for playing and, before Draco could ask about brooms or a snitch, Potter was pulling out two brooms from the small bag which must have had an undetectable extension charm on. Potter gave Draco one of the brooms and it wasn’t until Draco had taken it that he realised what broom he was holding.
“Nimbus 2001?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry, it was the only one I could pick up second hand.” Potter spoke like he was trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, and it wasn’t, it shouldn’t be anyway, it was just a broom. “Sorry if it’s too old for you, you’re welcome to swap with mine.” Potter held out his firebolt to trade. Firebolt?!
“I used to own one of these, is all,” Draco explained, motioning to the broom in his hand, and, as much as he wanted to try out a Firebolt (why would Potter even have such a good broom in the first place?), the comfort of the broom he used to own was too tempting.
“What happened to it?”
“It got damaged.” Draco had been living in a house full of death eaters, of course one of them had deliberately broken it. He could still remember when he found it snapped in two, feeling like the last of his childhood innocence had been snapped along with it.
“Keep that one if you like, I got it for you and I really don’t need two. And it suits you.”
The way Potter had the ability to say and do the kindest, most thoughtful things without making it sound like it was anything special was something that Draco found similar to a crushing hug. It didn’t feel like a forceful kindness, or a kindness where the other person wanted something back, it was genuine and with no strings attached. It tugged at Draco’s heart.
“No, that’s alright. I don’t need it.”
Potter chuckled. “A Malfoy turning something down? Woah.”
“Hurry up and get the snitch up so I can beat you,” Draco bit back.
With a roll of his eyes, Potter retrieved the snitch from the bag before discarding the bag on the ground, along with their jackets and the two helmets. There was no worry of leaving them unattended with no one else around.
“Ready?”
Draco mounted his broom and nodded. He positioned himself ready to kick off, eyes only on the snitch in Potter’s hand.
“Alright, let the best seeker win. That’s me, by the way,” Potter said with a smug grin.
“I can’t wait to prove you wrong.” And wipe that stupid grin off of his face.
And a second later, Potter released the snitch into the air. It instantly zipped off, leaving the two of them to quickly fly off after it.
As they flew, Draco took glances at Potter on his Firebolt. He thought his confidence before would be all talk, but no, he was a natural, that was very clear, and he looked right on the broom too, almost familiar. The way he flew was unique, with a mixture of ease, self-assurance and dominance, plus the tricks and showing off he added all felt so Potter. He couldn’t picture him flying any other way.
Draco was getting the highest adrenaline rush he’d had in years. The snitch was almost forgotten to him as he flew around with Potter, feeling second nature to be up here flying circles around each other.
He also couldn’t help but admire how good the other looked on the broom, his hair all over the place and almost glowing in the golden light of the evening sun. He was too busy admiring that he would have completely missed the flash of gold zoom past him, if not for Potter’s fast reaction to it.
Potter matched his competitiveness completely, both of them now completely focused on catching the snitch first and it was enough to confirm that Potter was good, really good. It was one thing to look confident on the broom and know a few tricks, but the amount of control he had over the broom when following the snitch zipping around was not the skill of an amateur. Most people would end up thrown off their broom at the whiplash, but Potter controlled the sudden change of directions perfectly, like they were nothing.
They were shoulder to shoulder with the snitch in front of them. Draco could almost reach it, his fingertips brushing against the cool metal, but then in the next second, Potter was lurching forwards, flipping himself around in a loop. When he had righted himself, he was grinning with the snitch in his hand.
“Beginner's luck,” Draco bit out, both of them knowing full well it wasn’t just beginners luck.
Potter laughed. “Alright, we’ll go again.”
And play again they did, multiple times. Draco had lost track of how many times they had played, but every single one of those times Potter had won. If he was honest, really honest, Potter was up there with some of the best seekers in the world. It made him wonder why he never played for Gryffindor if he was this good, let alone professionally?
Draco was not sulking at all that he hadn’t won once. He was not. He was not getting desperate either.
The two of them were shoulder to shoulder yet again, the snitch in front of them, and Draco had a plan. He was going to win this time.
“Holy shit,” Draco gasped, looking behind Potter towards the ground beneath them.
“What?” Potter asked back, whipping his head around to see what it was that made Draco react like that, playing right into his hands. Draco took his distraction as an opportunity to push forward and finally catch the snitch for himself.
“Oh, you cheat!” Potter yelled after him once he had realised what had happened.
Draco, however, was quite pleased with himself and flew a circle around Potter. “I’m just better,” he told him with cockiness that could have them believing he’d won every game.
Potter raised his eyebrow. “How many times did I win?”
Draco shrugged. “I was letting you win.”
“Oh, of course.” Potter’s words were laced with sarcasm and Draco ignored them. It wasn’t his fault Potter was a sore loser.
Now that he had won, he flew back to the ground, with Potter joining him a moment after. They were both completely windswept from the speeds they’d been flying, and Draco still felt light on his feet from the high of playing with Potter. He slipped the snitch into the pocket of his trousers and found himself walking towards the pond, until he sat down on the grass near the water's edge.
“A Malfoy sitting on grass, what would people think?” Potter said lightheartedly as he joined Draco on the grass, their brooms discarded on the ground nearby.
Draco smiled sadly at his words. “I used to sit by the Great Lake at Hogwarts a lot, during my last two years. It was quiet. Peaceful.”
Potter hummed quietly. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” It really was. With the sun setting, there was a warm glow shimmering on the water. The blues, oranges and pinks of the sky were a perfect blend behind the golden sun.
And above all else, Potter looked breathtaking. He was leaning back on his elbows, the light the perfect colour to bring out the tan colours of his skin. And even with the glasses in the way, his eyes were hypnotising, sparkling in the light. With the way he was sitting, one leg knee up and the other leg out flat, it made his trousers tighter on his thighs, and his perfectly toned chest was clear even with a jumper over the top.
Draco imagined what he’d look like under those clothes and swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he replied quietly when he realised he should probably say something, his mind still distracted.
And of course, the natural conclusion of Draco’s appreciation led him to staring at Potter’s lips, his head filled with reckless thoughts of kisses. He wondered how his lips would feel against his own, strong but gentle he considered, with his short beard scratching against his own clean shaven face. He’d taste good too, he wasn’t sure what exactly, but it would be good, addicting even. He could see himself getting lost in it, drowned by every sensation of Potter, and it made him crave it even more.
However, his thoughts were forced away the moment Potter’s eyes moved from the sunset to Draco instead, a soft smile on his lips.
Draco looked away, leaning forward so he could not look at Potter even accidentally. He hoped he wasn’t red from being caught out staring. Potter simply chuckled lightly, but said nothing.
Draco was quite happy with the silence that fell over the both of them. He watched the sunset and looked for any wildlife in the pond, and from the sounds of it, Potter was plucking strands of grass from the ground next to him. Ordinarily, Draco would make a comment, but not now. No, the silence was like a mutual agreement, a pack to not be broken.
Two men that had been through too many things too young, healing themselves in silence and enjoying each other’s presence whilst they did so. Draco didn’t know the exact things Potter had gone through, and he doubted Potter knew everything he had experienced either, but he knew similar trauma when he saw it.
He wondered, with Draco’s own horrors of the war, where Potter fit into everything. He knew he had experienced the war too, but whilst Draco was Voldemort’s and his father’s puppet, where was Potter? Was he in the midst of the war too, far too young yet in the middle of the action like so many of them? Or did he have some innocence left, unaware of what was to come? Something inside him told him he should know, but he was completely blank.
It wasn’t until the sun was almost set and it was considerably darker around them that Draco felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked at Potter kneeling next to him, soft smile still on his lips.
“You looked lost in your thoughts. I didn’t want to interrupt you but we should probably head off.”
Draco nodded. “Sure.” He stood up, brushing off his legs of any grass or dirt that might’ve stuck.
Potter was busy packing the brooms back into his extended bag, sliding them in with only a little difficulty. He then started patting his pockets and looking around the grass, like he’d lost something. “Have you seen the snitch?”
Draco could feel the weight of the snitch in his pocket as he shook his head. “Nope. Why don’t you put those seeker skills to the test and find it?” He gave Potter a little smirk and walked past him towards the trees. “Be quick with it, Potter, I’m hungry.”
He heard Potter do a little run behind him to catch up. “Do you think you’re funny Malfoy?”
Draco tilted his head slightly to the side in thought. “Hmm. Yeah, I do.”
“Ha,” Potter bit back with the fake laugh, but with one glance at his face, Draco could see genuine amusement behind his smile.
Draco would never admit to it, but it felt good that someone enjoyed his company as much as Potter did. At least, he assumed he did. It would be rather embarrassing if after all this, Potter didn’t enjoy his company, but, well, Draco had picked up that Potter wasn’t very good at hiding his feelings. Draco could read him like a book – a well loved book with the pages marked with folds to read again and again for years.
They returned to the muggle version of the park, where there were still a couple of people wandering around. It was just as peaceful as the magical version though, the remaining muggles respecting the quiet sanctuary of the park.
After flying on a broom for ages, the prospect of riding Potter’s motorbike was less daunting and so Draco found himself enjoying it far more than before. The same controlled yet hectic style Potter has when riding a broom translated into his driving too, and seeing how good he could fly, it was slightly reassuring to know that Draco wouldn’t be the first Malfoy to die by muggle transport.
Draco had assumed Potter was taking them to his home, that was the plan after all — or so he thought. Potter stopped on a street of shops and for a moment, Draco thought that perhaps he lived above one of them, he was aware that people did live above shops like that.
“I don’t have much food at home, so thought we could pick something up?” Potter explained as he climbed off his motorbike, taking the helmet off and resting it on the seat he was just sitting on. “Is chippy too below your standards?”
Draco glanced at the shop they were outside, the smell of greasy food overwhelming. “I can cope.” He could try.
Evidently, Draco’s dislike was written all over his face as Potter laughed at him. “It won’t kill you.”
“It might.” Draco had no idea what muggles put in their food, it could react badly with his delicate palate.
“Fine, if you don’t want to eat…”
“I didn’t say that.” Draco was acutely aware of how hungry he was.
“Then trust me, you won’t die.” Potter reached forward and patted Draco’s shoulder before practically skipping into the shop next to them, the chippy he had called it. Draco hoped they didn’t just sell chips, that would be quite a sad meal.
Perhaps five minutes later, Potter was exiting the shop with a bag swinging in his hand, and as he approached, the smell of salt and vinegar was strong enough to overtake the constant fried food one.
“Hold that.” Potter placed the bag into his hands and he peered inside to see two packages wrapped in beige paper. A second later, Draco felt the tingling of magic on the bag. Potter had just cast a wandless, wordless stasis charm on the food, in the middle of a muggle neighbourhood, in front of many muggles. Draco was glad his helmet was still on to hide the shock on his face – Potter was powerful.
“Merlin, I’m going to speed to mine, I'm that hungry.”
Draco was shaken out of his shock by his fight or flight mode kicking in. “Please do not speed.”
Potter smirked at him. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Wherever my will to live isn’t.”
Potter climbed onto the bike in front of him and looked over his shoulder to speak. “Trust me, you won’t die,” he reiterated, the tone in his voice far more sincere this time, but still with a hint of mischievousness present.
“If I die, I will haunt you and that is a promise.”
Potter laughed. “Noted.” And then, with his helmet on, he was starting his bike ready to actually go to his home.
Considering it was quite a built up area, Draco didn’t think Potter would go that fast, but he was quickly shown how wrong he was.
Potter’s hand had twisted almost as far as it could go on one of the handles and, just like his flying style, it didn’t take them long at all to pick up speed. Draco had no option but to grip onto Potter’s back like his life depended on it, scared he’d fall off the back of the bike.
Potter kept his speed incredibly high, or at least it felt like it to Draco, with them weaving in and out of the other vehicles on the road like they were mere obstacles. It reminded Draco of how the knight bus travelled.
Draco was aware of the muggle version of aurors, and he would not be surprised if they stopped Potter from how reckless he was being. However, Draco had to admit, the adrenaline it caused was amazing. If he closed his eyes and ignored the noise, it could feel like flying. Draco always viewed muggles’ lives as extremely dull without the thrills that magic could offer, but clearly, they had their own ways.
Potter had a near miss when swerving around a car, causing Draco’s arms to tighten around Potter in panic. The food was definitely going to be a little crushed from how it was squished between their bodies.
Thankfully, a few minutes later, they pulled into a small car park behind some houses and stopped in one of the spaces labelled with a number. Potter hopped off the motorcycle almost instantly after stopping, but Draco needed a few moments to gather his composure.
“Enjoy yourself?” Potter laughed. He seemed to enjoy laughing a lot at Draco’s suffering.
“You’re a suicidal maniac,” Draco muttered, forcing himself to step off the motorbike and willing his legs to not shake.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Potter murmured a quiet spell towards his bike, wandless again, then was walking off out of the car park. “Come on, we’ve got food to eat and music to listen to.”
Sometimes, Potter really reminded Draco of an excitable child.
He rolled his eyes fondly and followed Potter back out to the street of houses. They walked a little distance before Potter walked up the steps to one of the doors. The houses looked rather big, far bigger than Draco’s place, and he was about to comment on the fact that Potter had done very well for himself when he realised that the inside actually contained multiple residences.
Potter’s flat was on the top floor, it wasn’t a large flat but it was very Potter. To start, it was extremely cluttered in a way that Draco would expect it to be, and the large windows with an open plan kitchen and living room area made it feel more spacious than it probably was. He imagined the lighting was amazing when it was bright outside, but considering the darkness outside, Potter had to turn on a few warm coloured lights and light some candles (wandless and wordlessly, of course).
Potter took the food from Draco’s hand to start unwrapping it on the kitchen counter. “You have no idea how hard it was to find a flat in London with a fireplace for the floo. Not that anyone actually uses it.”
Draco wanted to ask why no one used it, but sensed it would be another question he would not get an answer to. Instead, he opted for something else. “Well, now we can use it.”
Potter looked at him and his surprise was visible in his expression. “Really?”
“Yes, anything to avoid that death trap vehicle of yours.”
Potter laughed at that. “You do that a lot,” he commented.
Draco furrowed his brow. “What?”
“Hide your vulnerability with insults.”
Draco let his mouth hang open slightly, in pure shock at Potter words. He let them sink in and he realised that yes, he does that. Merlin, he hated feeling so seen.
“Here, I’m starving.” Potter handed Draco one of the paper bundles, now unwrapped to reveal a piece of battered fish and chips with a wooden knife and fork stabbed into it. Potter practically fell onto the sofa with his food, using his own wooden fork to stab into far too many chips and shove them into his mouth.
“Clearly no one taught you manners,” Draco told him, unwilling to eat on the sofa and not at a nice dining table.
“I was brought up living under the stairs, so it makes sense,” Potter said with his mouth full and Draco simply blinked at him. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
“Stop looking so shocked, it’s fine.”
“Potter, I–” It was rare that Draco found himself struggling for words. He sat himself down on the sofa next to him and looked at him seriously. “What do you mean you lived under the stairs?”
“Just that. Stop fretting.” Potter waved him off with his fork in his hand and then reached for some black stick, pressing a few buttons on it and then the box placed on a small cupboard came to life with pictures and noise. Oh, it was a television.
Potter clearly didn’t want to talk about the comment he just made so Draco left it, opting to poke the fork around his food and watch the television suspiciously. Potter had put on what seemed like a muggle drama and Draco found himself easily intrigued with the storyline. From what he could guess, the woman was having an affair with her husband's brother, and was about to be caught in the act.
He glanced at Potter’s food, different to his own. His own food was plain, only with tomato sauce in the corner, but in contrast, the entirety of Potter’s food was drenched in some sort of yellowy brown sauce.
Potter noticed him looking and chuckled. “Curry sauce,” he explained before continuing. “This feels highly insulting to my ancestors but it tastes so good. Not as good as the originals, but still. Try some?” Potter offered his food to him and Draco hesitantly tried one of the drenched chips, scrunching his face up afterwards in a way that made Potter laugh. “Maybe one day I’ll show you what authentic Indian food is like.”
“I’d like that,” Draco replied with a smile. To be honest, any excuse to get to know Potter more and Draco will be taking it.
After Potter had finished his meal rather quickly and Draco had picked at his food for as much as he could (which, really, he ate a good amount but he will not be admitting that he enjoyed it), Potter vanished the papers then summoned two glasses and some firewhiskey.
“Do you enjoy showing off?” Draco asked, an eyebrow raised.
“What?” Potter asked back, having the audacity to act surprised.
“The wandless wordless magic.”
“Oh, it’s just habit, I guess,” Potter replied with a shrug. He filled up the two glasses generously, then passed Draco one. “Right, what shall we start with?” He stood up to walk over to his record player and started to flick through his much larger and well loved collection of records.
Draco joined him at his side, taking a sip of his drink as he watched Potter trying to find what he assumed were the best ones. He had pulled out at least five now, piling them on the floor next to him.
Draco leaned down to pick up one of the records, turning it over to see that someone had written on the cardboard sleeve.
Property of Sirius Black. Keep your thieving hands off, Prongs!
“Oh, Queen, they’re good, I think everyone–” Potter started when he saw the cover of the record he was holding.
“Sirius Black?” Draco cut off whatever else Potter was going to say, staring at the words. Potter had said his records were his godfather’s, and his godfather had ever so kindly written who he was on them.
“Oh.” Potter’s voice was extremely quiet, and he reached out to gently take the record out of Draco’s hand, thumb brushing over the writing. “Yeah. He was my godfather.”
“He was my cousin, on my mother’s side,” Draco added, just in case Potter didn’t know.
“Hmm. He was disowned. He didn’t like his family.”
Draco hummed back. “From what I’ve heard, I wouldn’t entirely blame him.” His mother had always spoken highly of her family, but after the war, she sometimes opened up to him that perhaps her family weren’t the perfect image she constantly forced herself to see them as.
“Who is Prongs?”
“My father. He died when I was a baby,” Potter spoke quietly and kept his eyes forward.
Draco stepped closer, their shoulders touching. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s just one of those things,” Potter practically forced out, clearly trying to pretend that it didn’t upset him as he also forced a smile. “Let’s see if we can find some things you like!” Changing the subject, he quickly bent down to pick up the collection he had picked out. “I’ll make a muggle music fan of you yet, Draco Malfoy.”
Draco raised his glass to him. “Give it your best shot.” He took a sip of his drink as Potter picked out his first record to start playing, and Draco took this moment to do what comes naturally to him – snoop.
He started with the shelves near the record. There was a collection of photos framed there, one of them being a couple with a baby, presumably Potter when he was younger, and another of three friends with a jagged edge, like a fourth person had been torn off. The long black haired man in the second photo definitely was Sirius Black, the family resemblance was clear. The Asian man must be Potter’s father, again with the family resemblance.
The sound of rock music filled the flat, Potter informing him he had put Queen on because, apparently, everyone should know at least one Queen song. Draco had expected to hear a female voice from the name, and was pleasantly surprised by the male voice that Potter told him was Freddie Mercury, whoever that was.
Draco’s attention slowly went back to the shelf, and couldn’t help but notice that there were no recent photos. They were pretty much all Potter’s parents and godfather, and that DADA Professor Lupin from Draco’s third year at Hogwarts, but there was absolutely nothing from Potter’s present life.
Even though he didn’t see many people much anymore, Draco still had some photos of his friends around his house. Placed in Draco’s bedroom, there was one of the whole group of them taken a few years ago, when the trauma from the war was still fresh but they had come together and tried their best to remain strong.
It dawned on Draco how lonely Potter truly was.
“Oh, I love this song,” Potter had said mainly to himself and started singing along quietly.
Draco chuckled at him. “Is your entire music taste just inherited from your godfather?”
Potter shook his head. “No. Come here.” He reached out to take Draco’s hand and drag him closer to the records, this time getting out some newer looking ones. “These are mine.”
Draco looked through them. He recognised the group Nirvana, he remembered his ex Julien once trying to explain the concept of a ‘27 Club’ and how Nirvana were linked somehow. Julien had joked about it as he had just turned 27 and said about the risks of him joining the club. Draco never really understood. Another record had a camouflaged car with the word 'Gorillaz' written beside it. Weird.
“Which is your favourite out of them all?” Draco asked.
“Oh, that’s unfair. It’s so hard to pick just one, they all are good for different reasons.”
Draco couldn’t help but smile at Potter. “Go through them all, then.”
“Okay,” Potter said with a nod, sitting down cross legged on the floor with the records. “Okay,” he repeated, waiting for Draco to sit down next to him before continuing. “Obviously Queen are amazing, any of their albums are great. Bowie’s ‘The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars’ is great too.”
“That’s the name? What a mouthful.”
“Yeah?” Potter said with a cheeky look.
“Mind out of the gutter, Potter.”
“I said nothing at all,” Potter feigned innocence and continued going through the albums. “My collection of every Beatles album, they had such an influence on muggle music, and maybe even our music too, I’m not quite sure. London’s Burning by The Clash. Oh, Merlin, the ABBA albums.”
“Is ABBA bad?”
“Cheesy? Yes. Bad? No. They’re my guilty pleasure, and Sirius’ too, clearly. Do you know, muggles have this thing called Eurovision, where all these artists compete for their countries to see who has the best song? ABBA won for Sweden.”
“Muggles are really peculiar things. A music battle? What happens to the losers?”
“Oh, I guess they just go home? They get fame out of it to boost their careers.”
“Boring.” Draco expected more at stake for a contest. Where’s the fun and excitement if there’s no consequences of losing?
“Ah, Fleetwood Mac too. The 70’s and 80’s had such good music.”
Draco could tell that Potter genuinely loved his music, felt passionate about it, and whilst Draco didn’t really care much when others spoke about muggle music, he found that with Potter, he wanted to learn as much as possible.
“Do you have anything more recent? I saw the Nirvana and Gorillaz ones.”
“Yes!” Potter flicked through them more to show him more. “Radiohead, The Cranberries, ah, The White Stripes! I bought this album recently, I haven’t gotten around to listening to it yet.”
Draco went to take a sip of his drink and frowned when he realised the glass was already empty. Noticing this, Potter put his records to the side and stood up.
“What a bad host I am.” He summoned the firewhiskey bottle and filled Draco’s glass up, then his own. “You can choose what we listen to now.”
“Very well.” After finally taking another swig of the firewhiskey, he grabbed the vinyl he was most intrigued by and replaced the one that was playing in the background.
As soon as the music started, Potter chuckled. “ABBA it is.”
It turned out to be very upbeat music. Draco could admit that it wasn’t the worst, and Potter seemed to be enjoying it which was a bonus.
By the time the second song had come on, Potter had downed his drink and held his hand out for Draco to take. “Come on. We can’t listen without a dance.”
“I think our concepts of dancing are very different.” Draco’s dancing was a nice Waltz to some good classical music, whatever Potter was suggesting would definitely not be that. He followed suit in downing his drink, knowing he’ll need all the help he could get and then took Potter’s hand.
Potter instantly pulled him closer, his shoulders moving back and forth along with the beat and as he was holding onto Draco, it was forcing him to do the same. Potter was singing along loudly, and Draco could pick out French words amongst them.
It was quite a catchy song, and when the chorus arrived, Potter started spinning him around, and Draco let him. Every time they turned, they would get closer to each other, and at some point, Potter’s other hand found its way to Draco’s lower back, keeping him close. In return, Draco’s arms found their natural place around his neck.
Draco could feel Potter’s breath on his face, could see the flecks of different colours of green in his eyes, could see the subtle freckles on his cheeks, and his chapped lips…
The song ending plunged them into a brief silence that made Potter let go of Draco, stepping back and clearing his throat.
“It’s hot in here,” Potter announced awkwardly.
That was one way to put it.
Potter grabbed something from the side table and headed towards a glass door, behind it a little balcony. Draco followed, the cool air that suddenly hit him refreshing and grounding. Potter sat down on the stone ground and took a cigarette out, lighting it wandless and wordlessly. He really had to stop doing that, it wasn’t good for Draco’s heart.
“Give me one,” Draco said as he sat down next to him.
“Didn’t have you down as a smoker,” Potter said, but he still held the packet out for Draco to take one and also did the courtesy of lighting it too.
Draco shrugged. “I don’t smoke much.” Not anymore.
“Wish I could say the same.”
Draco watched Potter as he smoked – how his hand held the cigarette, how his lips wrapped around it then blew out the smoke. He was too busy watching that he barely smoked his own.
“You’re intriguing, Harry Potter.”
Draco had let it slip accidentally and now Potter was staring right at him, face unreadable.
The music from inside could still be heard from where they were sitting. Draco could hear the lyrics mentioning something about angel eyes and he thought that was a perfect way to describe Potter’s eyes.
“You never call me Harry.”
“You never call me Draco.”
Potter shook his head at that, the corner of his lips turning up. “You got me there.”
Draco finally managed to pull his eyes away from Potter to look up at the sky. From the top floor they were on, there was a pretty uninterrupted view of the sky from other houses and, despite the city light, Draco could see stars in the dark blue and subtle purple. It was beautiful.
“This view…”
“Yeah,” Potter breathed out. “It was one of the things that made me get this place. It took a while to master the charms to make the sky out here clearer, but I think it’s worth it.”
“It’s worth it,” Draco agreed quietly. He’d have to find out what spells Potter used and try to learn them himself. He didn’t have a balcony though, so he didn’t know exactly where he would want to use them, maybe just his garden?
“It’s good to sit out here. The cool air, the sky, a cigarette, music… It’s calming.” Potter sighed and took another deep inhale of his cigarette. “After the war, after… It helps. To be out here.”
Draco hummed quietly. “After the war, I drank a lot to cope,” he admitted, keeping his eyes on the sky to avoid looking at Potter's reaction. “Drowning out the emotions only worked for so long. I think having somewhere like this would’ve helped.”
Potter made a noise of agreement but said nothing. Draco ignored all impulses to look at him.
“Do you ever think about them?” He asked instead.
“About who?” Potter asked back.
“The people we lost.”
After a sigh, Potter replied, “All the time.”
Draco sighed too and brought his knees closer to his chest. “Vince died because of me. Him and Greg used to follow every word I said without a single question, and I led him on a path to his death.”
“That’s not true.”
Draco caved and turned his head to look at Potter, grey eyes meeting green. Draco opened his mouth to argue back, yet didn’t have the chance.
“It’s not true,” Potter repeated, sounding so sure of himself. “Yes, you had an influence on him, but you did not have him under an Imperio.”
“If I hadn’t gone down the path I did, they wouldn’t have followed,” Draco said.
“He still had his own thoughts and opinions. He made the choices he did, he cast that Fiendfyre,” Potter told him firmly, leaning forward to rest his hand on Draco’s.
Draco avoided narrowing his eyes. Not because of the hand contact, but because he knew exactly how Vince had died. It wasn’t exactly knowledge that many people would care to learn.
Draco thought back to that day. The room of requirement and the heat of the Fiendfyre that he could still feel now. Granger and Weasley had been there, and Draco had forced Vince and Greg there, yet he couldn’t figure out why. There was a reason. He remembered how the flames licked him as he flew out of the room on the broom, holding onto… onto…
Draco winced and frowned, rubbing at his temple that suddenly started aching. In the process, it forced Potter’s hand to move away, and so he shuffled closer.
“Are you okay?” Potter’s hand had now decided the side of Draco’s face was a better place to be. The warmth of it comforting against his cheek.
Draco nodded. “I’m okay, just…” He couldn’t explain it. Had he drank too much? “Sorry.”
Potter chuckled softly. “Now I definitely know something is wrong if you’re apologising to me.”
“Oh fuck off,” Draco laughed back, the mood lightening. He looked up at Potter, realising how close their faces were in this new position. Draco could smell the alcohol and smoke on him, along with his cologne, his whole aura was just warm. Warm enough to melt Draco entirely.
Draco’s eyeline slowly moved down to Potter’s lips again. With how close they were, it would only take one small move. A small glance back up to Potter’s eyes confirmed the other was also looking at Draco’s lips. Perhaps… Perhaps Draco could move forward. And he did, slightly, shifting up and feeling Potter’s messy hair brush against his forehead.
But then, with a gasp, Potter was moving back and out of Draco’s space. He had to ignore the disappointment growing in his chest.
“This song!” Potter excitedly vanished both of their cigarettes then took Draco by the wrist to forcibly pull him back into the flat.
Potter was grinning widely as he went back to forcing Draco to dance with him, singing along loudly to the lyrics. Draco could only allow himself to be pulled around, though that did not mean he wasn’t enjoying himself. It still definitely wasn’t proper dancing, but it was fun. Plus, Potter singing about wanting a man after midnight was definitely making him feel things.
When the song ended, no more music followed and Potter stepped back from him.
“You know, nothing beats listening to music live.”
“Really?” Draco questioned.
“Godric, yeah.” Potter raised his eyebrow when he must’ve spotted the sceptical on Draco’s face. “Did you ever go out with that muggle guy? Any bars?”
Draco shrugged. “Sometimes. Only some high end bars that did not play music like this, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I know a place that does live music. Would you like to come with me on Saturday?” Nervousness was the best way to describe the emotion written on Potter’s face.
Draco smiled softly and that nervousness vanished. “I’d like that.”
Draco thought he might just about say yes to anything Potter suggested if it meant spending more time with him, and that terrified him. Not because spending time with Potter was bad, but because it meant allowing Potter to get closer to him. Draco already had a feeling that Potter saw deeply into him more than others would have, and it wasn’t like Draco was trying to keep himself closed like he usually does. But even then, when Draco really thought about it, Potter knew him, it seemed like he always has.
“Great!” Potter beamed. “I’ll meet you at yours at six?”
“Sure.”
“It’s late now, and we’ve been drinking. How are you getting home? Not that I’m trying to force you out or anything.”
Draco walked over to where he’d put his coat when he had entered the flat and reached into the front pocket to grab the vial of sobering potion, one that he had brought just in case, and smugly showed it off to Potter.
“Oh, you thought ahead.”
Draco smirked. “You have to be prepared for anything. Plus, we do end up drinking every time we see each other.”
“We do, don’t we?” Potter pondered on that for a moment. “Is that a bad thing?”
With a shake of his head, Draco spoke. “No, I don’t think so.”
The two of them made their way to Potter’s front door, stopping before opening it.
“I had fun tonight. Thank you.”
“Nothing to say thank you for,” Draco replied and took a step closer to Potter. “I had fun too.”
Potter smiled, and after what seemed like a second of hesitation, stepped closer to wrap his arms around Draco in a hug. Surprised, Draco didn’t even have the chance to hug back before Potter let go and cleared his throat.
“I, uh, see you Saturday? I’ll pick you up?”
Draco had to hold down his chuckle at Potter’s clear nervousness. “Sure. See you Saturday.” With a smile goodbye, Draco opened the door and made his way out of the building.
Once he reached a discrete location, he took the sobering potion, grimacing at the taste, then apparated back to his house to find a pillow to scream into.
Potter.
─── ༺☽◯☾༻ ───