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“Draco!”
Draco groaned, wishing his head wasn’t throbbing. Merlin, how much did he drink last night? The night had started out decent, but soon went to shit when he caught sight of his ex-boyfriend at the Ministry charity gala. The twat was a temporary foreign exchange transfer from France, the exchange program was supposed to unite the wizard community as a whole and welcome the idea of unity between all societies of wizards and witches no matter the country.
Christophe had been charming in the beginning. Dinners, dates and nights out on the town had been refreshing, especially considering the lack of people wanting to date Draco. Not too many ‘respectable’ people wanted much to do with him. The six years since the war showed him how long people could hold a grudge, not that he blamed them.
With his reputation shattered, it was nice coming across someone who didn’t seem to care. It was nice having someone be there. At least for a while.
Draco should have known it was too good to be true. After six months of dating, he thought they were really going somewhere. Christophe had decided to leave the exchange program in favor of applying for a position in the Wizengamot Administration Services. Normally, that wouldn’t be allowed, the Wizengamot had rules against those who were not citizens of the United Kingdom holding a seat in the Wizengamot. But the Malfoy line had several unused seats, and with Draco giving up his own, it opened opportunities for Christophe.
Only… Draco hadn’t counted on Christophe leaving him too.
“I got what I wanted, Draco. You are only useful in what you can do for me, not the other way around.”
Christophe had chosen him because of his tarnished name. It had never been about love, or attraction. With the seat already being given to Christophe, there wasn’t anything Draco could do. All that was left was waiting for the Wizengamot to make a decision. And why wouldn’t they choose Christophe? The man was a spineless git that sucked up to everyone. They wouldn’t see his true intentions until it was too late. Just like Draco.
What stung the most was that Draco knew that there was something off about Christophe. His lonely heart had ignored the warning bells and chose companionship over logic and common sense.
Maybe karma was meant to hit him socially and emotionally. Perhaps he was destined to spend the rest of his life making up for his actions but be alone and miserable at the same time.
“Draco!”
Draco groaned, shutting out the sound of whoever was disturbing his sleep. Really, how much did he drink? It was hard to piece the night together; a lot of his memories were clouded in alcohol. When he had caught sight of Christophe trying to charm his way into a discussion with members of the Wizengamot, Draco ended up summoning a bottle of Firewhiskey from his bag—propriety be damned.
If there wasn’t love involved, or even if there had been fights, Draco would have been hurt, but he would have at least understood. But to use someone like that? Only seek them out for personal gain? It was cruel, and Draco wished he could say that he didn’t deserve it.
“Draco Abraxas Malfoy, if I have to dismantle your wards, you are getting nothing from my will.”
The sound of his father’s voice had Draco leaping up, only to groan miserably when his head throbbed, and his balance had him clutching the nearest thing to keep him steady. What he hoped was the wall was actually thin air—Draco crashed to the floor, wondering if this was his destiny. To be a fucking mess.
Draco shot out his hand, grateful that his wand came instantly. At least his wand loved him, that was something.
With his wards lowered, he heard the door to his flat open, and braced himself for the commentary he knew would come.
“For the love of—really Draco? Artificial leather? You have money, use it. And what’s with the color scheme? Is that—oh Merlin it is—floral print? This is worse than I thought. You need to move back home. Clearly allowing you to venture out on your own was a mistake.”
“I’m an adult,” Draco yelled, still laying on the ground, not bothering to care enough to move. He had chosen his furniture knowing it would haunt his parents. Petty spite did wonders for the soul.
“Are you? Because your actions prove otherwise.”
Draco sighed, not ready for another lecture. It was too early for this—he squinted at the clock, wincing when it showed it was six in the evening. It was too late for this.
“I was woken up this morning by six firecalls. Six. Draco do you realize how influential you are to getting the Malfoy name back into a proper standing?”
The sound of cleaning charms had Draco huffing. It wasn’t that dirty. Sure, the dishes could be done, and perhaps the trash was a week overdue, but he didn’t need his father cleaning up after him.
“Nothing will get the Malfoy name to be respectable,” Draco mumbled low enough that his father wouldn’t hear it. That would just make the lecture longer.
“You caused a scene at the gala. So much so, that they called in Aurors.”
Draco winced, trying to recall that. There were flashes of fancy robes, horrified faces and then green eyes. He groaned when he realized that Potter must have been the Auror on duty. Lovely.
“Do you—” An incredulous noise left his father’s mouth as he stopped at the entrance to Draco’s room.
“What the fuck did you do to your hair?”
Draco would have been impressed with the expletive, since his father was too proper to do anything common like swearing, but he was too distracted by the question.
“What? Is it a mess? I just need to brush it.” Not that he could remember where exactly his brush was. Did he own a brush? Goodness, much more of that and he could be Potter’s twin.
When his father continued to stare, Draco summoned a mirror.
A squeak left his mouth when he caught sight of his reflection. The sides of his head were shaved, and he had a choppy wild mane on the top. The hair on the top was randomly cut in places, and he wondered if someone had done the haircut blind.
Draco bit his lip, forcing himself to think back. After leaving the gala, he flooed to Greg and Neville’s flat. Which is never a promising idea, the two were the worst friends possible—always convincing him into stupid endeavors.
“I want it gone,” Draco remembered telling that to an equally drunk Greg.
“I can cut it, but I’ve only got Nev’s hedge trimmers.”
Another once-over had Draco biting his lip. “It’s not bad,” he hedged hesitantly. “I can pull it off.”
“That’s not the point,” his father drawled, impatience heightening the harsh tone. “Why did you cut it?”
“He loved my hair long,” Draco whispered, eyes on the ceiling as he refused to look at his father.
“Draco, it’s just a breakup.”
Draco scoffed. Easy for him to say. It wasn’t his father’s broken heart. He wasn’t the one left a mess, he wasn’t the one who had to come home to an empty flat every night wondering where it all went wrong, or how simple naivety had clouded all common sense.
“You need to start acting like the respectable pureblood that you are.” Draco closed his eyes, tired of the disappointment in his father’s voice. “Appearances are everything. It doesn’t matter what fickle emotion you feel, what matters is how you look. Hide all of this behind a glamour and move on. I raised you better than this. Malfoy’s don’t fall apart.”
“I can’t do that.” Draco sat up, fighting a wave of nausea. “I’ve spent my whole life hiding everything. Malfoy’s aren’t supposed to be kind, Malfoy’s aren’t supposed to associate with lower classes, Malfoy’s are supposed to be regal at all times, Malfoy’s don’t show emotions, Malfoy’s save face at all costs—”
Draco took a deep breath, air coming in as a gasp. “Well, fuck being a Malfoy.” A quick glance showed his father’s mouth open a few centimeters, the closest thing to gaping as his father could get.
“Father,” Draco ran his fingers through his hair, reveling in the difference between the sides and the top. “I’m not okay. He broke my heart, and I don’t know how to emulate it any other way than destructive. Malfoy’s aren’t supposed to be like this, but I’ve repressed so much for so long that I need to express myself. I need to be someone other than just a Malfoy.”
They stared at each other, neither wanting to give in. “It’s just a breakup.”
Disappointment filled Draco as he stood up, gesturing for his father to leave. “No, it’s more than that. It’s an uprising—an emotional uprising where I find myself again.”
“Let’s get revenge.”
Draco looked at Neville, surprised that he was the first one drunk, not that he wasn’t on his way there himself. “Revenge? How so?”
He knew that no matter what Neville said, there was no way he was listening. Neville would never stop being a Gryffindor. If it wasn’t for Greg’s relationship with Neville, he would wonder how they could be friends. But only a few times around him was enough to show how loyal he could be.
“We could set his house on fire.”
Draco threw an alarmed look to Greg, silently demanding his friend fix this. Were all Gryffindors this crazy?
Greg huffed in amusement. “Neville, love, that’s too adventurous. How about we tone it down?”
“Oh,” Neville whispered, voice in awe as he blinked rapidly, alcohol dimming his normally kind aura. “We could send him a howler?”
“Too tame,” Draco countered, shaking his head. Revenge didn’t actually sound so bad.
“I don’t know what you want from me!” Neville cried, arms reaching out for Greg.
Draco raised his hands placatingly when Greg glared at him, as if drunk Neville was somehow his fault.
“Maybe we could set his house on fire,” Draco said, a shot of Firewhiskey and two large gulps of Elvish wine making the decision for him.
“What?” Greg asked incredulously as Neville cheered loudly.
“Maybe just his lawn?” The offer had Neville frowning, but at least he wasn’t crying.
“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Greg whispered, exasperation bleeding through.
Neville grabbed the Firewhiskey off the table. “I can fix that!”
“That’s not what I mea—” Greg sighed as Neville smiled earnestly, eyes wide and hopeful. “Thank you, Neville.”
Even in his intoxicated state, Draco knew that Greg was smitten.
“Let’s make bad decisions.” Greg lifted his glass in a toast.
“Already did that,” Draco jeered, joke falling flat as his mind went back to Christophe.
“Fire, fire, fire,” Neville chanted, hands hitting the table as they all took one more round of shots.
In hindsight, being caught wands out and no alibis as Aurors showed up, really wasn’t the best decision. How were they supposed to know Christophe had backup wards? Honestly, it was a miracle they managed to tear down the original in their state.
The fire was still going, and that was Draco’s greatest accomplishment to date. He watched Weasley attempt to wrangle it in with difficulty. Revenge on Christophe and manage to annoy Weasley? It was a great end to the day.
Well, other than being caught.
“What were you three thinking?” Potter looked between them, brows arched when they all looked at each other.
Neville huffed, hands coming to his hips. “Harry, Draco is worth twelve of Christophe!” An angry finger was pointed to where Christophe was being questioned by an Auror.
Draco wasn’t sure what exactly that meant. Why 12? Oddly specific? Only 12? Why not 50? Or a 100?
By the way Potter softened, eyes glancing towards Draco, it was clear that he understood the reference. “Is he now?”
Neville nodded fiercely, hiccup escaping. “He hurt Draco and that’s not okay.”
When Greg nodded along, warmth filled Draco as he stared at his friends. He could honestly cry.
A familiar harsh scoff had Draco tensing. “This just proves how imbalanced Draco is.” The accented tone had Draco clenching his fists tightly. “Always knew you were mad, if only I could have ended the relationship sooner.”
Draco closed his eyes, wishing that a confrontation didn’t have to happen while he wasn’t sober.
“I almost had your Wizengamot seat a month earlier, but you were holding out, wanting to mean something to me.” When Christophe snorted, light brown hair falling into his face, Draco took a step forward.
“As if you could mean something to—" Draco punched Christophe in the face, hard enough to have him taking several steps back.
Draco wrung out his hand as the sound of Neville and Greg cheering could be heard. “I am worth 12 of you. I may be tarnished, and not whole, but I didn’t deserve what you did.”
The truth of his own words had Draco pausing, a revelation taking place. He hadn’t deserved it. “I deserve someone who wants me for me. I deserve love just as much as the next person. And I deserve to love myself.” By hell, he was going to. Draco was done caring what other people thought. If society wouldn’t forgive him, then he would forgive himself and go from there. Fuck everyone else.
Christophe clutched his face, breath coming out in quick successions before he rounded on Potter. “Aren’t you going to do something about this? They come to my home and set fire to my lawn. I then am physically attacked, with witnesses.”
“Witnesses?” Potter asked, eyes narrowed and voice hard. “Goyle, Neville, did you happen to see anything out of the ordinary?”
“No,” Goyle grunted, smirking when Christophe made an indignant noise.
“Only a Nargle,” Neville offered grin on his face and eyes tracking what Draco assumed was a Nargle, whatever that was. They may be friends, but Neville wasn’t exactly normal—a symptom of spending too much time around Lovegood.
Potter snorted, shoulders shaking with barely concealed mirth. “Unfortunately, the fire is still going and therefore not something that can be explained away.”
Christophe made a noise of triumph, hands folding over his chest.
“I am afraid you three will have to pay a fine.”
“Yeah,” Christophe nodded in agreement. “Wait, a fine? They set my lawn on fire.”
Potter bit his lip, something Draco was keenly aware of. “As negligent as their accidental magic was, it was still just an accident. Right guys?”
“Absolutely,” Greg spoke up, hand not so subtly covering Neville’s mouth when he started to shake his head.
“What?” Christophe’s tone was becoming increasingly louder. “You can’t just let them get away with it!”
“Everything alright over here?” Weasley asked as he walked over, eyes looking around closely. His robes were singed, and Draco was pretty sure part of his right eyebrow was burned off. It really was a lovely night.
“Yes,” Potter turned to Weasley, eyes shifting slightly, probably expressing something Draco couldn’t read. “The fire was a result of accidental magic. They are being charged with property damage due to negligent magic.”
Weasley arched his brows incredulously as he looked down to his ruined robes. “Alright. Less paperwork for me. I buy it.”
Draco grinned when Christophe gaped. His smile grew when the arse stormed away, angrily cursing in French.
Neville whooped loudly, pulling Draco and Greg into a group hug. “I love you guys.”
“I love you too,” Draco whispered, holding them tightly. “Both of you.” He knew that Potter and Weasley were watching them, probably not understanding their friendship, but that was alright.
Neville was the adventurous one, Greg was the voice of reason and Draco was along for the ride. He didn’t need romance to form bonds. Friends helped emotionally, and it was already a fact that Greg and Neville were the best friends he could have.
Romance wasn’t something he wanted to settle on. He was going to love himself first.
When Neville and Greg began making out, Draco hastily took several steps back. Their friendship wasn’t that close.
As Draco caught sight of Potter staring at him, he could see interest in those beautiful eyes. A wink had his cheeks heating up. Despite this, Draco knew it wouldn’t be fair to Potter if they began anything with Draco still needing to sort himself out.
Draco walked towards Potter, aware of the way Weasley made a hasty retreat. “Thank you.”
Potter grinned slowly, eyes traveling Draco’s face. “It was my pleasure.”
The urge to forget his new restraint was prominent, but Draco knew he had to remain strong. “Potter, once I gain some emotional stability and become less of a mess, do you think I could—that we could—” Draco huffed as he closed his eyes. “When I find myself again, would you want to go out with me?”
Potter’s grin became goofy, something that clearly hadn’t changed since their school years. “I’d love to.”
Draco’s eyes closed again as Potter leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“As long as you don’t start any more fires.”
A startled laugh left Draco as he watched a sparkling shine in Potter’s eyes manifest.
Draco continued to watch Potter, even long after he left to talk to co-workers.
“Looks like the fire was a great plan.” There was a smugness to Neville’s voice that hadn’t been there when he was first introduced to their duo that quickly became a trio. Draco couldn’t be prouder.
When Potter paused at the gate, sparing one last smile for Draco, he couldn’t help but agree with Neville.
“It sure was.”
Draco paused at Potter’s office, unsure if he could do this. It had been a few months since the night on the lawn, and he wasn’t sure if Potter was still interested. They had maintained contact, mainly letters, but that was all friendly, never straying into anything that could be considered romance.
The door opened instantly when Draco knocked. Potter was poring over folders and parchments. When he cleared his throat, and Potter glanced up, Draco smiled at the way Potter’s eyes widened.
“Draco,” Potter sounded breathless and that had Draco’s heart racing.
“I wanted to say thank you,” Draco said, wishing Potter’s robes didn’t fit him so tightly. Merlin, it was a distraction.
“For what?” Potter’s head was cocked to the side endearingly.
“Getting my seat on the Wizengamot back.” Draco had received several howlers from Christophe blaming him for an internal investigation that ended with an expulsion from the foreign exchange program.
“I don’t know why you are thanking me.” There was a mischievous twinkle in Potter’s eyes and it had Draco biting back a grin.
“Word around the Ministry is that you have an in with the Wizengamot Administration Services. Granger just happens to be the next in line to become head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Interesting coincidence?”
Potter laughed, before shrugging. “I may have talked to her. It was the least I could do.”
“Thank you,” Draco said, conviction thick. “The least you could have done was nothing, but you didn’t, and that means a lot to me.”
Draco wanted to squirm when Potter regarded him warmly, chin resting on his palms. “Is that all you came here for? A simple thank you could have been put into a letter.”
Whoever said Potter wasn’t observant was a liar. Draco shifted on the soles of his feet. He took a deep breath before locking eyes with Potter.
“I’m still kind of a mess,” Draco began, fingers twisting the sides of his robes. “My house is still in need of several cleaning charms, my furniture has grown on me, I even like the floral print—Merlin knows that will give my father a heart attack.” Potter tilted his head to the side as Draco rambled, and he knew he was rambling, but it was all coming out regardless.
“My emotions aren’t ever going to go back to how my father wants. I still want to cause scenes at Ministry functions. The thought of biting my lip to save face like my father wants makes my skin crawl. I want to be loud, I want to be able to express myself and I just want to be me.”
Draco let out a soft sigh. “I’m not sure how long it will take me to be comfortable with who I am, but I’m getting there. I love myself more than I used to, and I know in a year, I will love myself more than I do now, and that’s progress—progress I can live with.”
Potter was grinning, eyes lit with many things Draco couldn’t name.
“I might always be a mess,” Draco continued, voice coming out quietly. “But this mess is my own doing, not a side effect of someone else’s cruelty. That’s enough for me.”
Potter stood up, making his way towards Draco. “I’m a mess too, I think everyone is.” There were only a few inches separating them. “But I would like to be a mess with you, if you want?”
Draco threw his arms around Potter, sighing when strong arms wrapped around him. “I want that. I do.”
As Draco tilted his head back, eyes searching Potter’s, he knew that he would always have things to sort out, always have to be mindful of his self-worth, but that didn’t mean Draco had to go it alone. And as Potter said, everyone’s a mess.
So why not embrace it?