Chapter Text
The first time Harry saw him again it took him completely by surprise. Yet, there he was: Draco Malfoy. In a Muggle club. Harry couldn’t help but stare, because, well …, Draco Malfoy in a Muggle club. It was the very last place Harry would have expected him to be. When they’d still been at Hogwarts Malfoy had hated Muggles, with a passion, and he would not have considered spending time amongst them of his own free will, not ever. Still, that was exactly what Malfoy seemed to be doing just now.
Harry knew he was staring, but he really couldn’t get himself to stop.
Second nature perhaps.
Luckily Malfoy hadn’t spotted him yet. Malfoy was in a booth, trying to talk to someone over the noise of the club. It just took Harry a bit more time to recognise who Malfoy’s companion was. Right. Blaise Zabini.
From where Harry was sitting he couldn’t see Zabini very well, but he had a nice enough view of Malfoy. Malfoy hadn’t changed much: still slim and very, unmistakably blond in a way that Harry had never really seen on anyone else. His demeanour hadn’t altered, either: arrogant and regal and, and, well, just fucking Malfoy.
Malfoy cocked his head in a quick, measured movement, probably indicating the bar and in doing so he also turned a little.
Just enough for him to see Harry.
Malfoy’s reaction went from utter surprise to complete boredom in less than a second. Harry still caught it, though. The surprise. And it actually was quite satisfying.
“Come, let’s dance.” Ginny’s voice startled Harry out of his gaze. She was leaning over his shoulder from behind and talking in Harry’s ear to make sure he’d hear her over the music. He gave her a short nod and made his way out of the booth. Harry wasn’t great at dancing, but a club was hardly the Yule Ball, now was it? Here you just had to be able to sort of shift your weight from one leg to the other and that was something Harry could actually do.
Plus dancing with Ginny always felt kind of familiar: he didn’t have to prove anything to her. They knew each other far too well for that. Their relationship had ended with the War, really, but their familiarity hadn’t. They still worked well together, which meant Harry felt quite at ease standing on the crowded dancefloor with her now, doing his one leg to another thing.
“Oi, Harry, can I have my girlfriend back?” Dean was grinning at Harry and Harry dropped back, letting Ginny’s current boyfriend take his place.
He decided it was a good time to get off the dancefloor altogether, eyeing the crowd, trying to locate the rest of his friends as he did so. They had left for the dancefloor, leaving him the caretaker of their boot, at least a quarter of an hour ago.
Eventually he saw Hermione still kind of dancing, but mainly just watching Luna doing something intricate and weirdly beautiful. Ron wasn’t with them anymore.
“Heading back to our drinks?” Right, the puzzle as to where Ron had gone had just been solved as Ron was apparently standing next to Harry now, his face looking a colour that tried very hard to compete with the colour of his hair. It really was warm in here.
Harry nodded.
”Smart choice.”
When they got back to their booth Harry shot a quick glance at where he had seen Malfoy earlier. He found he couldn’t quite resist.
Blaise was still there, talking to someone Harry didn’t know.
Malfoy was gone.
***
Dean and Ginny were on the dancefloor again, obviously enjoying themselves. Harry watched them with a pang of something he wasn’t quite sure of. Was it jealousy? He didn’t really think he got jealous anymore, not where Ginny was concerned, anyway. She wasn’t his girlfriend now and that was fine. She was like a sister to him, had always been if he was honest with himself. It was one of the reasons they had broken up.
So why did Harry feel this, this thing, at seeing her dance, having fun with Dean?
Because they are together.
The answer was there, all of a sudden and it was true enough, Harry realized. He didn’t feel jealous of Ginny being with someone else, he felt jealous of her being with someone.
The same way Harry got jealous of Ron and Hermione sometimes, at how their relationship was completely natural to them: at how they just seemed to fit.
Merlin, he must be drunk.
“I’m going outside for a bit.”
Hermione shot him a glance. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, it’s just, you know, hot and stuff.”
She didn’t look completely convinced, but didn’t comment, either.
Harry just got up and went out.
***
The way out was not as smooth as it could have been. Harry found he was slightly less stable than he’d thought he’s be and, well, not bumping into people didn’t really seem to be an option. In his defence: it was damn crowded.
Eventually, after fighting through every inch of the space he’d had to cross, Harry made it out.
The night air was cool and really welcome after the heat of the club, the relief Harry felt instant.
It wasn’t long-lived, though.
“Potter.”
Malfoy was sitting on the curb, one long leg outstretched and the other drawn in, his arm casually leaning on his knee, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He was watching Harry, but it didn’t seem antagonizing, more resigned if anything. And wary too, possibly.
Harry should probably have turned back then and there.
Probably. Should have.
In reality he plonked down on the curb instead, right next to Malfoy, who immediately stopped watching Harry in favour of the street in front of them.
Malfoy was wearing a cologne that smelled just as expensive as his clothes looked. It was surprisingly nice.
“So, still feel the need to see what I’m up to, Potter?” Malfoy’s voice sounded indifferent, accent posh– another thing about him that hadn’t changed - but there was something else too, something Harry couldn’t quite make out.
“No,” Harry answered with the rather unsettling need to defend himself. “No, it’s just so fucking hot in there.”
“Yes,” Malfoy shot him a quick glance. “Yes, it is.”
Then Malfoy poured himself a good measure of whiskey from a bottle he had notably taken outside with him. “D’you want some?”
Harry didn’t usually drink whiskey: he preferred beer anytime, but since that wasn’t available here right now … .
“Yeah, all right.”
Malfoy handed him the bottle. It still had about a glass’ worth of whiskey in it and Harry wondered whether Malfoy had already had the rest of it., then decided he probably hadn’t, he couldn’t have been out here that long.
Harry took a swig, the liquid apparently trying very hard to burn a hole in his throat. It felt like it almost succeeded.
“So, why are you here?” Harry asked.
“What do you mean?” There was a tinge of hostility to Malfoy’s tone that hadn’t been there before. For a moment it sounded like he was going to say more, but he seemed to think the better of it.
Back in school Harry would have seized this opportunity to say something, anything, to set Malfoy off, but now he realised he didn’t really want to.
So much had happened. So much had changed. It wasn’t worth it.
“It’s just …, well, I hadn’t expected you of all people to be in a Muggle club.” Harry simply explained.
“Ah, yes, that. After everything that happened,” Malfoy said quietly, waving his hand in an elegant gesture, probably meaning the war, the battle, the trails, all of those things. “I actually prefer to be around Muggles nowadays.” He was watching his glass intently. “Nicer, less of a hassle.” His voice had dropped to an almost inaudible whisper now, his words seemingly like an afterthought, like something he might not really have wanted to say out loud.
Harry watched Malfoy for a long moment, surprised by what his words actually meant, their implication. Had he really changed that much? “Yeah, I suppose it is,” Harry then brought himself to say.
In a strange way Harry actually understood exactly what Malfoy meant: he himself had chosen this club, because he was sick and tired of being Harry Potter the-boy-who-lived. He just wanted to be Harry, without people having expectations, without people looking up to him, asking for autographs or telling him their own stories. He just wanted to have a good time with his friends, no more no less and it had taken him until today, more than two years after the war, to realise that a Muggle club would in fact be the ideal place to have that. So they’d come here and it had worked.
For some time, anyway. Until Harry had set eyes on Malfoy, who seemed to be here for the same reason he was. Well, more or less. Harry could at least see how, given his past, Malfoy would also attract some attention in the wizarding world.
That very much was not something Harry wanted to go into just now, though, and he was quite sure Malfoy didn’t either. Because, yes, they had been enemies at school and yes the Malfoys had been on the wrong side in the war. Well, at least until they hadn’t been on anyone’s side anymore really, but Malfoy himself hadn’t killed anyone, moreover he hadn’t identified Harry when he could have: that must have taken some sort of courage. So, Harry had testified on Malfoy’s behalf at the trials and he hadn’t seen him since, hadn’t even spared him a thought since, actually. Not until now, when they were apparently both trying to hide in a Muggle club.
Harry decided to hold out his hand and smiled, a bit tentatively, because admittedly some things just needed getting used to, but it was there all the same. “Perhaps we should start over. Hi, I’m Harry.”
Maybe they could both just ignore everything they tried to run from, at least for tonight.
Malfoy considered him for a moment, then took Harry’s hand, grip steady and warm. “Draco, nice to meet you.” He still sounded formal, but Harry noticed with a slight jolt, that seemed to come out of nowhere, that Malfoy had called himself Draco: like Harry, he had used his first name. It felt much more intimate than perhaps it should have.
Not really knowing where to go from here, Harry took another swig from the bottle and only then remembered its burn. He barely suppressed a cough. “How do you drink this stuff?”
Malfoy also took another sip of his drink as if to show how it was done, with complete composure of course, and then smiled almost languidly. It seemed he had decided there was nothing to fear and consequently he wasn’t going to try and pretend he wasn’t rather pissed. “I like it.” He just said, his words slightly slurring.
Harry couldn’t argue with that.
So he fell silent, but it wasn’t the awkward silence he’d expected, instead it was easy, nice and for some reason it seemed to calm Harry in a way that took him completely by surprise. He hadn’t even known he’d needed calming.
“It’s nice, just sitting here.” Harry knew he was breaking the silence, the quiet around them, but it seemed like something he should say, nonetheless.
Malfoy regarded him, smiling so slightly Harry would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching intently. “Yes, it is. As much as I’d like to deny it, even sitting here with you is nice.”
Malfoy’s voice sounded as condescending as ever, but it also had a playfulness to it that was completely unexpected and Harry watched him in surprise for a moment. Then Harry just smiled at him, the sort of genuine smile he normally reserved for his friends, for people close to him. “Yeah, who’d have thought,” he said, almost conspiratorially bumping Malfoy’s shoulder. For an instant Malfoy froze, watching him, then gave Harry a smile too, an openly visible one this time. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen this particular kind of smile on Malfoy before. It seemed real, almost, well, vulnerable. Harry found he liked it.
While Malfoy took to staring at the road again, Harry stared at him, thinking about how this evening had probably turned out to be the strangest one in a very long time: he was sitting next to Malfoy in what he could only describe as companionable silence. It was unsettling and quite comforting at the same time.
Again it was Harry who eventually broke the silence. “I should probably head back in,” he stated. It was true: he had been out here longer than he had anticipated and his friends would be wondering where he’d gone, but he couldn’t quite seem to get himself to move, though.
Malfoy turned his head to watch him, lazily tucking a stray strand of hair away as he did so. His hair was longer than when Harry had last seen him. It suited him. “What are you going to say to your friends?” he asked. He seemed genuinely curious, his voice somewhere between a drawl and a slur. “Hey, I was just outside sitting with Malfoy for a while?”
Harry smiled. “Possibly not. Would you want me to?”
“Fuck no, although it could be interesting to see what their reaction would be.” Malfoy smiled again, not quite the smile from before, but real enough. Harry couldn’t help but smile back at him: neither of them needed a lot of imagination to be able to predict the reaction of Harry’s friends.
“Are you going to tell Blaise?”
Malfoy gave him an all too familiar smirk, but somehow it also held the same playfulness from before. “Of course not. Although I think I might get the easy way out of that one: Blaise’ll probably have left by now, having run off with someone for the night.” There was a short silence. Then he added, softly: “We usually come here together, but we hardly ever leave together.” Harry couldn’t really make out what Malfoy thought of that.
“Do you also come here to, you know, pull people?” Harry felt an odd need to ask. He couldn’t help but think that, if Malfoy actually did come here for that, it probably wouldn’t be hard at all, given the way he looked right now, his fitted shirt open at the collar and his tight trousers not leaving anything much to the imagination. He looked undeniably good.
Malfoy gave him a swift once over and for some reason Harry thought he wasn’t going to answer. Until he did, anyway: “Yes, sometimes. Not at this particular moment, though, in case you’re wondering.” There was that playful tone again, and for some reason Harry noticed he’d been waiting for it, wanting it to reappear, but not thinking it actually would anymore. It made the sting of disappointment Harry felt at Malfoy’s words, at their implication, bearable. Because there actually was disappointment. Of some sort, anyway.
Fuck.
“No, no, of course not now.” The words fell out of Harry’s mouth, before he’d thought them over. “You wouldn’t, you know, with me … . That would be ridiculous.”
“Yes, completely ridiculous.” Suddenly all playfulness had left Malfoy’s voice: he sounded cold and reserved.
Harry just watched in surprise as Malfoy got up, quickly regained his balance and went inside. He didn’t say another word, didn’t look back. He just went.
When Harry got in slightly later, Malfoy was gone.
Of course he was.
***
Back inside it was Luna who talked to Harry first. It was still crowded, hot and loud and Luna had to lean in close to make herself heard.
“Did you see Draco outside? He was in here, but he went out before you, you know?” Harry smiled. He didn’t think he would ever get used to Luna’s uncanny ability to observe things no one else saw, or, granted, sometimes things no one else could actually see.
“Yes, I saw him.” Harry decided there was no use lying about this, certainly not to Luna.
“He has changed, don’t you think?” she said in her dreamy voice, still close to his ear.
“Yeah, I suppose.” Then a thought hit him. “Do you still see him?”
Luna shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“Ah, Harry, there you are.” Ron wasn’t even that close, but his voice was loud enough, easily ending the talk Harry had been having with Luna. As always Ron’s volume had obviously increased with the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.
Harry let himself be hauled back to their booth.
***
When Harry got home, early the next morning, the rest of the night had gone by in a blissfully Malfoy-free haze. Well, almost. Sort of. Apart from the times Harry had thought he’d seen Malfoy’s hair, which, when he’d looked closer, had never been quite the right shade of blond.
So what if Malfoy hadn’t returned to the club? Harry had been quite content not seeing him until tonight. So nothing new there. Still, there was something niggling, something Harry couldn’t quite put a finger on. Was it because of how they had seemed to understand each other in a way not even his friends always understood him. Was it because of the way they had almost acted like friends?
Well, until Malfoy had stormed off again.
That, the storming off, should actually have been almost comforting in its familiarity. Except, it hadn’t been. It had felt like a loss, somehow, like Harry had taken the wrong turn somewhere, but he hadn’t wanted to take it and he hadn’t known where he’d got lost, either.
Right. He’d been drunk. Really drunk. And he still was. That was the only logical explanation for the way he felt. About all of this, about Malfoy. Malfoy of all people. If anyone had done anything stupid tonight, it obviously was Malfoy himself. He had run off like the dramatically pompous twat he clearly still was. Whatever happened and whatever Luna thought, Malfoy evidently couldn’t have changed that much.
Harry went up to bed completely prepared not to think of Malfoy ever again.
***
“Harry!” Hermione’s voice was conspicuously close to his bedroom door, but he still tried to ignore it, burying himself under his pillow. “Harry, are you in here?” Of course he was and she knew it. He just groaned.
That apparently was Hermione’s cue to open the door.
“Hey, Harry. I brought you some hangover potion. I thought you might need it and Ron told me you were out.”
Hermione pointedly didn’t look at Harry. Instead she just sidled into his room and put a small phial on his bedside table.
Harry didn’t know whether to be annoyed or utterly grateful until after he’d taken the potion.
Utterly grateful it was.
“Thanks, Hermione.” Harry got out of bed and quickly changed into his clothes while Hermione’s back was still turned. He really did feel a whole lot better.
Hermione smiled at him now, for some reason just knowing exactly when he’d be decent. “Glad to help. So,” she went on, a question in her tone, ”what did you think of that club last night? Was it better?”
Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah, at least I didn’t get harassed by fans, or anyone else. That was a nice change.”
Hermione seemed to ponder that for a while, then went on: “But there were some wizards there, though. I definitely saw Blaise Zabini and I even think I might have seen Draco Malfoy.”
Right. Malfoy.
“It was him alright. I saw him, too.” Harry didn’t feel like elaborating, because really what was there to tell: ’we had a surprisingly nice time together, but then Malfoy threw a tantrum again and left?’ Harry honestly didn’t want to go into that now. “Are you and Ron going to be at The Burrow for lunch today?”
Hermione smiled. She probably knew he was changing the subject on purpose, but let him anyway. “Yeah, of course.” Then she turned to leave the room. “See you there,” waving her hand at him in a quick goodbye.
Harry just flopped back on the bed, while he heard Hermione go down the stairs to use the Floo.
Okay. Lunch at the Burrow. He’d always liked that: the warmth, the food, the people.
It felt like home.
And it would undoubtedly be the best place to conveniently forget all about Malfoy again.