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Summary
“What are you doing here?” Harry said.
This Malfoy blinked up at him, then lifted the bottle of tequila.
“I’m teaching you how to make a drink.”
Harry sighed. "You know what I mean. Why are you in my Limbo? This isn’t the place for casual… for, er, mates, like us." He’d stumbled over the words, and his face flared warm, but he pushed up his glasses to cover it. Dumbledore had been in this place, and Molly Weasley. He couldn’t go around saying things like ‘fuck buddies.’
Malfoy’s head tilted. It tipped his hair out of the loose braid he’d kept it in, and the string of piercings on his ear glinted in the light.
“You tell me,” Malfoy said. He reached for Harry’s face. “Maybe you miss me.” He smiled, thin lips stretching in a line. “Or maybe you’re just thirsty.”