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The music was so much quieter in the bar that Draco could hear himself think again. He relaxed on his barstool musing at his advancing age if he now found club music too loud. The dancing was good, but he had needed a break. It looked like he wouldn’t be taking anyone home tonight. That had been the plan earlier, but he hadn't seen anyone he couldn't forget so maybe not.
Suddenly a hot arm landed around his shoulder and Draco reached for his wand cursing his assumption that he was safe after all this time. The war was several years over and he was in Muggle London, but he was still a Malfoy and Malfoys had enemies. Before he could draw his wand – he was going back to the wand arm holster immediately – he heard a voice above him drunkenly slur, “Wow! You look like a guy I knew at school!”
Draco’s head spun around to look at the person draped over him. It couldn't be. But that voice wasn't one Draco could forget. He had tried. Oh, how he had tried. What the hell was Harry bloody Potter doing wrapping his arm around Draco and leaning in like a long-lost friend? Well, whatever The Savior was playing at, Draco would end to it.
“That guy was gorgeous! Breathtaking platinum hair, smooth as silk pale skin, and legs that went on for days! And his ass. I used to dream about his ass.” Draco barely breathed as Harry giggled. “Well, more than dream about it.” Harry lowered his voice and leaned closer to tell his new friend his secret. “Got myself off to thoughts of that ass more than a few times… And his mouth. Got myself off to that too.” Draco stared at Potter in shock. Potter got off to thoughts of him?
Obviously, Potter was drunk. Beyond drunk. But being drunk didn’t cause you to make up things, did it? Clearly, this wasn't Potter. He looked like the git, though older of course. There was no way in this reality these words were coming out of Potter’s mouth. Potter shook his head laughing at the memory and Draco saw the lightning scar under his fringe. So much for that theory. So, maybe Potter wasn't talking about him? Draco knew his ass was amazing, but blonde hair wasn't that unusual. Maybe Potter had the hots for another amazing ass?
Harry leaned back, still draped over Draco, but no longer close in conspiracy. “Shh.” Potter clumsily put his finger up to his lips, nearly missing his own mouth. “Don’t tell him, okay? But you know what I liked best?” Harry gazed beatifically at his memories. “His smile. He had the sweetest, shy smile.” Harry laughed again. “He would kill me if he heard that. He would kill me if he heard any of this. Gorgeous as he was, I couldn’t forget how much he acted like my Uncle Vernon, the bigot.” Harry shook his head, suddenly sad. “Eventually I realized that he had as many problems at home as I did. Very different, but that was what made him like he was. Over the years, I wished Draco and I could have had another chance. I really wanted him to like me, y'know?”
So much for that theory. Draco couldn’t understand it, but Harry was talking about him. He thought Potter had hated him. He had KNOWN that Potter hated him. He admitted to himself that he had given Potter many reasons. Harry sagged, exhausted, calling Draco’s attention back. He barely caught Potter before he could sink to the ground. Draco led him to a nearby sofa and sat down next to him. Potter leaned sideways until he rested against Draco’s side, head on Draco’s shoulder, smiling the mindless smile of the very drunk. Looking around Draco saw not a single familiar face. How was it possible in this sea of people that he and Potter had bumped into each other? It would increase the likelihood if the whole happy band of Gryffindorks were here too. Much more likely to meet someone you know if there were many gathered than just Draco and Potter. Draco didn’t see a single familiar face.
Draco wondered if Potter let himself get this drunk while alone in bars often? Merlin, if so Potter was lucky not to have stumbled onto a serial killer. Draco spared a moment to wonder that he knew the Muggle term serial killer. What would his Slytherin housemates think of that? Draco suddenly had a disturbing thought. He looked around the crowd again more carefully. His interest in Potter had never been as secret in Slytherin as Draco had wished. Pansy and Blaise, among others, told him - right before it all went completely to shit - that it wasn't a secret at all and that he “wore his heart on his sleeve for any snake to see.” He’d lashed back at that comment violently, but they both danced out of reach as if they’d expected his reaction. No doubt they did. They had laughed. Laughed!
He’d been pulled down into the insanity that was his father’s plan immediately after. He’d had no time to get revenge on Pansy and Blaise or erase Slytherin memories in case they were right. He’d had no need after to hide his expressions. Soon his face wore a constant look of terror and resignation. School crushes were no longer a concern, much less his biggest concern. Except, of course, that he was being forced to work toward the eventual murder of his school crush.
Draco shook his head. Focus, dammit. Now that The Savior currently draped across him had rid the world of Vol-he who shall not be named, people had relaxed. Draco took small pride in not capitalizing the letters in his head even as he mentally kicked himself for the inability to say the actual name. Anyway, it would be just like his friends to set this up as a practical joke. Was Potter even drunk? The things that he said… He wasn't drunk was he! He was in on the joke. Even Saint Potter wanted to humiliate him.
Draco slid out his wand so that it was hidden between their seated bodies. He had several wandless spells perfected, but only those that he’d needed to stay alive during the war. Mumbling the spell, Draco looked for the glow… and it was decidedly red. Very strong red. Yes, Potter was drunk. Ridiculously so. Draco spared another thought for Potter’s luck in avoiding serial killers. Potter wasn't in on it. That had just been Draco’s paranoia. Still, just because you're not paranoid… something. He couldn't remember the Muggle saying. He searched every bit of the crowd he could see and then realized he was being stupid. Again waving his hidden wand and mumbling the spell he closed his eyes looking at the result. No glow besides the one next to him. Other than Potter there were no people in the club or near it that he knew.
So not a trick then. Or probably not a trick. He still couldn't forgive himself for lowering his guard such that a stumbling drunk nearly landed in his lap. Not that he didn't want this particular drunk in his lap. He did. He definitely did. And had for a very long time. To think that Potter said he had thought about Draco too. Thought about Draco while getting off… Oh, hell. Now he had quite something else in his lap.
Firmly he ordered himself to think non-arousing thoughts. Umbridge. Umbridge in a sexy night gown. Yes. That did it. Foolproof that one. It worked every time and quickly. He carefully returned his thoughts to what Potter had said. The safe parts of what Potter had said. Potter liked his smile. Potter said he’d wanted to see more of his smile. Unbelievable. Potter had wanted them to be friends. He had wanted a second chance. That was something Draco had dreamt about for years. His first year at Hogwarts he would lay awake in the Slytherin dorm night after night reenacting the disastrous handshake attempt. He could never get it right because he had never known exactly what he had done wrong.
Now he did. Of course he had known instantly that insulting the Weasels had been part of it. Who could guess that Harry Potter, from one the most respected Wizarding families, would be best bloody friends with a Weasel? Draco knew the story now having read it after the war, but then he figured Potter and Weasley had been friends when Potter’s parents were killed and they had just stayed in touch and kept it quiet. He had pieced together over the years at school and in the years after that Potter hated his Muggle relatives. Now that he knew Potter thought Draco sounded like his uncle it was clear there had been no chance for them to be friends in school, Wease-- Weasley or not. Draco had been raised a bigot. Draco had been trained to be judgmental and mean his entire life. Back then he knew no other way. With Ha… Harry’s loathing of his uncle and Draco’s sheltered upbringing preventing him from seeing any other manner of behavior, they were doomed. Back then. That didn't mean they had to remain doomed.
Mind made up, Draco held Harry while he stood and then helped the sleeping man to his feet. Since the war Draco had owned his mistakes. This might not turn out as he hoped, but at the very least it would offer a chance to clear a very big mistake. Draco led Harry to the back club exit.
Apparating with a drunk passenger was always a little tricky. You had to keep them safe, keep their arms and legs inside the ride, as his Muggle-born boss joked. When they arrived, Draco was impressed to see that even drunk Apparating didn't go to Harry’s stomach. He hoped that waking up in Draco’s home after a spectacular drunk was no more of a shock.
Draco flicked his wand to light the dark room and settled Harry on the sofa covering him with a blanket. He didn't know how long it might take him to sleep it off. Draco gathered a few things to make his vigil more comfortable and help ease the inevitable hangover. That done, Draco sat back to wait.
The morning sun glowed on the carpet when Harry blinked his eyes open. Weak sunlight told him, through the pain, that it was still early. The floor told him that he was not at home. He had hardwoods. Apparently he had gone home with someone again. Jeez he was such a slag. He kept hoping to meet his perfect One, and instead he kept meeting many Okay, Almost, and Very Wrong ones. Shifting he let out a moan as his head exploded in pain. He had a hangover of epic proportions. Since he had been in a Muggle club he had no hope of hangover potion. Hopefully his Prince Charming had aspirin. Movement nearby startled him and gingerly he looked toward it. He saw the last thing he ever expected to see followed immediately by a memory of him babbling at someone. Babbling close guarded secrets. Secrets he had managed to protect for years. In his mind he could hear himself spilling every single one. He moaned again.
“Har—Potter, here take this potion. It will help.”
Harry felt a bottle pressed to his lips and leaned back to see hangover potion. Thank Merlin. This was going to be excruciating enough. Working to keep the potion down Harry closed his eyes and tried to think of a way out of this mess. How did he do these things? These stupid, ridiculous things like spilling his drunken guts about his Hogwarts crush to his Hogwarts crush. Merlin…
“Better?” Malfoy asked from above him.
“Yes, much. Thank you.” Harry said quietly. “Now… Tell me I didn't.”
“Didn't what?” Draco asked.
Harry sat up and took stock. He was fully clothed. Glancing quickly up he noted that Malfoy was too. That seemed to eliminate the most distressful possibility: he and Malfoy had fucked and Harry had been too out of it to remember. But it opened up a new and nearly as distressing possibility. Malfoy had taken him home from the club to watch over him while he was too drunk to function or watch over himself. Harry dropped his head into his hands. He would trade this misery for the hangover misery. At least he managed to suppress the moan this time. “So… no need to tell me I didn't. I remember that I did.” Harry took a deep breath. “I don't know what to say Malfoy. I'm sorry for the confessions and ending up your problem last night. Thank you for taking care of me.” Harry refused to let his voice crack, but his guts trembled so strongly he thought he might be sick regardless of the hangover potion. “If you could keep what I said--”
Draco interrupted before Harry could say anything more. “Potter… Harry. I'd like talk to you about that if we could.”
Hearing Malfoy use his first name, which Harry didn't think had ever happened before, made it even worse. “Malfoy, please don't make this anymore mortifying than it already is. Maybe you could pull out the memory and store it so I know you only see it on special occasions like Humiliate Potter Day? Better, maybe you could let me have it? I'll pay you.”
“Harry-” Draco tried to interrupt.
Harry kept on. “You’ll be free of what I am sure are disgusting memories of me mentioning your ass and I'll be able to show my face in public… which is unlikely if you keep that memory.” Harry hung his head clearly not able to even look at Draco. Which is why he missed the first real smile Draco had ever given Harry when Draco knew Harry could see it.
Draco wanted to kiss Harry badly, but knew it was not the right time yet. Harry was at a severe disadvantage and the sooner Draco resolved that, the better for them both. “Harry, please let me say one thing. Then if you don't want to talk any longer today I’ll agree to it.”
Harry took a deep shaky breath, curled his shoulders defensively, and nodded his head. Draco noted Harry’s body language. Though he was, he didn't need to be a mind healer to spot indications of childhood abuse. First though, he needed to fix this. “Harry, the first time I met you I wanted to impress you. Well, I wanted to impress everyone… everyone my father told me was worthy.” Draco saw Harry flinch and quickly added “I’ve grown past that now. I have. It took therapy, a lot of education, and a lot of effort, but I swear I'm not the same bigoted tosser that offered you his hand on the steps of Hogwarts.”
Draco looked at Harry hesitantly waiting for permission to continue. Harry nodded almost imperceptibly. “I wanted to impress you specifically because you… You were the first person I'd ever met that my father hadn't made be my friend.” This time Draco was the one looking at the floor. “It was that same desire to impress that messed everything up when we met at Hogwarts.” Draco looked up at Harry again. “My father made it clear that to fail to impress people meant that you humiliated yourself. I know that isn't true now, but then it was either or. I knew you came from an old wizarding it family. Not as old as mine,” Draco grinned self-deprecatingly hoping to lighten the mood, “but old and therefore no doubt traditional. You would think exactly like my father and exactly like me.” Draco paused to see how Harry was taking the confession. He was listening and clearly more open now so Draco continued, “I was stunned when you didn't… didn't think like us. When you… well, back then I thought of it as disrespecting me.” Another grin, sheepish this time. “Now I realize it was standing up to me. I didn't have much experience with that back then.”
“I bet.” Harry smiled to soften the comment.
“So… that is what launched five years of a nasty attitude.”
Harry smirked, “Five? What about sixth form? You had a pretty nasty attitude then too.”
Draco sobered. “I did. No doubt, but that wasn't due to you ‘disrespecting’ me. That was terror. Sheer, unadulterated terror… “
“Oh… I” Harry could have kicked himself. They’d been getting on, in a fragile way, but still getting on until he had to stick his foot in his mouth. Of course Draco’s sixth year had nothing to do with Harry.
“No, don't worry about it. You lived every year with that terror. You can be forgiven for thinking we could all multitask as well as you did.” Draco grinned showing he knew that he’d excused Harry’s comment graciously and given Harry a compliment in the process.
Harry laughed. “It was a highly developed skill set. It took more than one year to develop.” Harry grinned back, wordlessly thanking Draco.
Before they could get too far away from the original topic Draco drew up his courage preparing for the final, and irrevocable, confession. “Do you remember what you said at the end last night?”
Harry paused looking both frightened and confused. “I’m… I'm not sure.”
“I didn't know if you would be able to remember or not, so I have it here.” Draco indicated the Pensieve Harry hadn't noticed. Before Harry could stop him or run away in embarrassed terror Draco nudged the memory sitting inside. Harry’s image rose from the bowl. The image was heartbreakingly sad as it said “I really wanted him to like me, y'know?” Draco turned to Harry who again was looking at the floor. Gently tilting Harry's head up to face him Draco whispered, “I did. I really, really did.”
Harry blushed adorably and Draco hope this wasn't the only time he’d get to see it. He wasn't sure what to do next. He hadn't planned beyond this point figuring that, unlike Harry, he’d put himself fairly far out there by doing this sober. Before going any further he wanted the security of a positive response from Harry. Draco did have time to get uncomfortable because Harry, stereotypical Gryffindork that he was, saved him by slipping a hand behind Draco’s head and pulling them together in a chaste kiss.
Pulling back Draco grinned in joy. “Just so we’re I’m keeping that memory. Now, you know what I thought at our first and second meeting. Let’s talk more about your exact thoughts on my ass.”
The End