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Harry leaned against the rail of a wrought iron fence surrounding a shabby patch of grass, taking slow drags from a joint. He’d cast a weak Notice-Me-Not around himself, a vague nod toward the questionable legality of his behavior, but otherwise paid very little mind to the world around him. People wound casually around the brick pathways of the sad little park, some walking dogs, some trying to corral energetic children toward a small playground at the far end, some just soaking up the late-summer sun while they still could. Occasionally someone would look around in confusion as they noticed the pungent smell of smoke coming from Harry’s general direction, but for the most part, people’s eyes slid right past him.
He supposed he should have been shocked, or surprised, or...something, when someone walked up and leaned next to him, obviously aware of his presence. The smoke had already begun to have its intended effect, however, and so the interloper felt less startling than… inevitable? That seemed right, Harry thought to himself vaguely.
“What are you doing here, Potter?” came a posh voice from a figure that was now perched to his right.
Harry breathed out a lazy stream of smoke, taking his time before finally replying. He should have had a thousand questions about what Draco Malfoy was doing at a shitty Muggle park, let alone approaching Harry there as though they hadn’t been on opposite sides of a war just a few months ago, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Instead, he answered the question as intended “Coping. You?”
He didn’t look over, but he could sense Malfoy’s shrug in his periphery. “Not coping,” came the eventual, wry reply. Wordlessly, Harry held the joint out to his companion - an offering of something he couldn’t quite name. Malfoy hesitated, but then accepted, taking a deep pull before bursting into a fit of violent coughing. “Merlin, Potter, what the fuck is that?!” the blond gasped once he’d caught his breath.
Harry felt his mouth turn up at the corner. “It’s Muggle,” he offered, reclaiming the joint and taking another hit before going on, “I don’t really know of a Wizarding equivalent, but it just sort of…” he waved a hand vaguely, “makes everything a bit… easier. And it fucks me up less than alcohol.”
Malfoy eyed him sideways, but then held out his hand. Harry turned his head slightly toward the other boy and raised an eyebrow, but offered the joint again. “Slower this time,” he instructed, “Not so deep.” Malfoy smirked at him, but followed the directions and managed not to kick off another coughing fit.
The two lapsed into a surprisingly comfortable silence, passing the joint back and forth ever so often, but otherwise just quietly observing the world passing by in front of them. Things were a pleasant sort of fuzzy around the edges, and Harry felt vaguely floaty and overly aware of the movement of his arms. Better to focus on my arms than anything else, he mused, but the thought didn’t hold as much weight as it could - or maybe should - have.
After a while, Malfoy let out a sort of pleased hum. “This is vile,” he said conversationally, “but it feels amazing, doesn’t it? I haven’t felt this relaxed in…” he tipped his head back, and Harry found his eyes drawn to the other boy’s long, pale neck, “...years, probably,” the blond finished. Harry hummed in assent.
They lapsed back into silence, but after a few more minutes, Malfoy spoke again, sounding a little puzzled. “Why am I so hungry?” he asked. “I haven’t had an appetite in…” he trailed off. Harry looked over at the Slytherin’s confused expression and couldn’t keep himself from snickering. He was so used to seeing the blond sneering or, more recently, terrified; the open, bewildered expression was a revelation.
“Yeah, it’ll do that,” he answered through his laughter. He pondered for a moment before adding, “fancy grabbing some chips?”
Malfoy gave him a considering look.
“Yes,” he answered, apparently having detected nothing suspicious in Harry’s expression. “Let’s have chips.”
Sticking the stub of the joint into his jeans pocket, Harry gestured with his head toward a path, and, together, the two young men moved on.