Chapter Text
Saviour Involved in Tragic Accident was the headline in the Prophet one dreary morning in March.
Draco thought both the weather and the news suited his mood.
“Still pining?” Pansy’s voice drifted in from the kitchen.
“He’s hurt himself,” Draco replied, not bothering to specify who was hurt; Pansy knew he only read the Prophet for news about Potter.
“Is that why your face looks like that?”
Ignoring Draco’s glare, Pansy made herself comfortable at the table, setting her plate of eggs and toast and cup of tea down.
“They’re calling it tragic,” Draco mumbled.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Pansy said, soothingly. “He’s Harry-bloody-Potter. He’ll be fine." She reached across the table to grab the sugar bowl. “Why are you in a mood though? This is more than just a headline in that rag.”
“Thom and I split up.”
Pansy smiled, an evil little thing. “He was a twat and never deserved you.” Her smile got bigger. “And now you have to let me set you up with my friend from work.”
Draco groaned, but his mood was lifted slightly at her glee. “If whatever dull sod you set me up with doesn’t work out, you owe me a trip to the ancestral wine cellar.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to be so poncy about it. It’s just nicking wine from my parents.”
“Nicking good wine,” Draco reiterated.
“Good wine,” she agreed. “And if you fall in love with Alex, maybe you’ll get over your pash on Harry Potter.”
Draco frowned. They both knew it was a bit more than a pash, but he wasn’t going to go into his feelings about Potter. He would just go out with Pansy’s friend, and when it didn’t work out, he would get good wine.
And Potter would continue with his life, unaware that Draco was deeply, tragically in love with him.
——
“How are you finding everything?” Draco asked the customer who had been browsing the cheese counter for twenty minutes.
The middle-aged woman nodded.
“Can I help you with anything?” said Draco, deciding to try another tactic.
His job, while not rewarding, was something he could actually be proud of. He’d got it on his own merit and had kept it because he was excellent at customer service, especially with the posh, entitled folks who came into C’est Vin. It was located on the outskirts of wizarding London. Occasionally a Muggle would come in, and Draco had to come up with elaborate stories about the less mundane items.
"I'm looking for something that pairs well with—" She swung a bottle around too quickly for Draco to see the label. But he did notice the large diamond ring on her ring finger.
The wine was a light pink colour. It was probably a rosé, given her age, gender, and assumed socioeconomic status.
"Special occasion?" he asked.
She nodded. "The children are back to school after Easter hols, and my husband and I are planning a date night."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "I think I know exactly what you need."
Ten minutes later, both of their arms were full of wine, cheese, bread, and a few different types of spreads. They made their way to the shop's counter. Draco felt smug at the happiness on her face as she cashed out.
"Have a nice night," Draco said with a wink.
She gathered up her things and winked back.
"Oh, I will."
Draco moved from the counter to open the door.
"Thank you again," she said.
"She would have been all over you, if you were straight," Pansy said, sneaking up on him.
Draco kept his shriek to a muffled squeak.
"She's married with three children," Draco said with a scowl.
"She’s gorgeous."
"And a good fifteen years older than us."
Pansy smirked. "Some people are very into cougars, you know."
"Just because you're a sexual deviant—"
"Oh, hush," Pansy said, dragging Draco from the shop counter to the back room. "We're both deviants if you think about it too much."
Draco glared at her. "Why aren't you at your place of employment?"
"Alex wants to go out tonight."
“Thom and I just broke up,” Draco whinged as he sat down at the table set up for employee lunches. Pansy made herself comfortable and pulled a sandwich out of her purse and held it out to him.
Draco frowned at it, but took it anyway.
“And you’re too heartbroken to go out with a handsome, well-dressed, rich—”
“When and where is he taking me?”
Pansy laughed. “You tart!” She leaned against Draco and fluttered her lashes at him. “I’m rich too, you know.”
“And we’re both as queer as a three-tailed Crup.”
“That doesn’t stop most pure-bloods.” Pansy’s nostrils flared in an extremely unattractive way, and Draco was reminded of why they were still best mates, even after school and a war, and the downfall of most of their family members.
“You know you look horrid when you do that,” he pointed out, taking a large bite of his sandwich so his cheeks bulged. Something he knew Pansy hated.
“You always look horrid, so we had better spend lots of time making you look nice before your date with Alex.”
“I still have a couple of hours of my shift,” Draco pointed out when he was finished chewing.
Pansy pouted. “You can’t bunk off?”
“Not if I want to stay a productive member of society.”
“Productive,” Pansy said with a snort.
“It’s not saving lives, but it’s something—”
“Oh, no, darling, I’m not trying to shit on your job.” Her face was suddenly serious and a little sad. “It’s just that the idea of Draco Malfoy being considered ‘productive’ is the antithesis of what our parents had probably hoped for.”
“Fuck them,” Draco said under his breath.
“Indeed,” Pansy agreed. She looked Draco up and down, took in his regular shop attire—a smart pair of slacks and button-down with a coordinating waistcoat—and frowned.
“This is fine for selling overpriced wine and cheese to housewives, but you’ll need something a little sluttier to meet Alex.”
——
“So you work with Pansy?” Draco asked Alex.
Alex, who surprisingly enough, was eloquent, funny, and fit as fuck, nodded.
“I’ve been contracted by her agency,” Alex said with a smile. “My company is based in New Zealand, but I’m here for around a year to help out.”
“Ah, New Zealand, land of the…” Draco raised his eyebrows. “A gentleman would finish that so I don’t look like a prat.”
Alex laughed and it was gorgeous. “Pansy said you were funny.”
Draco preened.
“New Zealand is the land of…” He thought for a moment. “Sheep?”
Draco couldn’t keep back his unattractive snort.
“They outnumber people nearly six to one,” Alex insisted.
“You don’t sound like you’re from abroad.”
Their server interrupted them and Draco bit back a scowl.
“Have you decided what you’d like?” he asked, after handing them their wine.
“I’ll have the salmon,” Alex said.
“I’ll have the chicken and rice pilaf,” Draco said, glancing down at the menu. In truth, he’d not looked at it until the server walked up, and the chicken was the first item he read. But he had a glass of dry white wine so it should pair nicely.
“You’re right,” Alex said, when their orders had been placed and they were alone again. “I grew up in the north.”
“You don’t sound like you’re from the north.”
Alex let out a laugh. “Nottingham, so north leaning.”
“How did you end up across the world?”
“My parents immigrated before I was set to go to Hogwarts. My dad got a job in Christchurch.”
“Ah,” Draco said with a sigh. “So you missed all the…”
Alex’s face scrunched up in a way that should not have been as attractive as it was.
“Yeah, we didn’t leave because of everything, but I know my parents were happy that me and my sister weren’t at Hogwarts.”
Draco’s heart sank. “Is that why you’re friendly with Pans?” He thought for another moment. “And why you agreed to go out with me?”
“No!” Alex insisted. “Pansy has been transparent with me about her part in the war.” With a face like he’d tasted something sour, he continued, “Besides, you were all children. You shouldn’t be punished for the rest of your lives for how you acted when you were young.”
“Lots of people don’t agree with you.” Draco reached for his wine and took a healthy sip. His mother would have classified it as a gulp, but she wasn’t there so Draco was going to call it a ‘sip’.
“Are you going to be an racist arsehole?” Alex asked plainly.
Draco stared at him.
“I asked Pansy the same thing, if it makes you feel any better.”
Eyes wide, Draco could only shake his head. “I don’t plan to.”
“Then we shouldn't have a problem.”
The moment was broken when their server brought them their food. In silent agreement, they both kept to lighter topics while they ate.
The chicken was just shy of being dry, but the rice was pleasant. He ate about half of his dish before he had to stop. Between the nerves of going on a blind date, and the discussion of his part in the war, his appetite was off.
Draco saw a flash of ginger out of the corner of his eye. He wondered, idly, if that was a Weasley, but decided he didn’t overly care much.
——
There was a strange owl waiting outside Draco’s flat when he returned home.
“What are you doing here, you lovely creature?” he asked, letting it fly inside.
The owl ruffled its feathers. It was on the larger side, but definitely not bigger than the owl Draco’d had at Hogwarts. It had the most unusual colouring, too. White feathers surrounded its eyes, framing them almost like eyeglasses, and its belly was a soft cream colour.
Draco noticed a small, worn piece of parchment tied to the owl’s leg. He put his leftover container on his kitchen island and walked to where the owl was waiting on his windowsill.
“What have you got for me, darling?” he asked, letting the owl extend its leg at its own pace.
Gently pulling the note off, Draco scowled.
"What a grubby note," he grumbled.
The owl made a face, and Draco decided to take it as a sign of agreement instead of a sign of any loyalty it might have to its owner.
“Malfoy,” the note read. “We saw you at River Cafe. For some reason, Harry would like to talk to you. When is a convenient time for you to drop by?”
It was just signed ‘RBW’ like Draco was supposed to know who that was without a full name. The fact that he had known, was neither here nor there.
“I knew I bloody saw a Weasley at the restaurant,” he muttered to the owl. “Could have written his name like a civilised person,” he continued, grumpy.
The owl let out a chirp in agreement.
“Would you like to come live with me, gorgeous?” Draco reached out gently to stroke around its ear tufts. The owl leaned into the ministrations and closed its eyes.
“I’m much nicer to live with than some ginger giant.”
The owl rubbed its head against Draco’s fingertips then turned its head to gently nip at him.
“Yeah, you’re a beauty,” he murmured. “And your owner can wait until tomorrow for an answer,” he decided. “Would you like to stay here? My flat came with a perch, and it’s been unoccupied since I moved in.”
The owl hooted—low and bellowing—and flew over to the aforementioned perch.
“Oh, good owl,” he said. “Are you hungry? I'm sure Weasley doesn't make anything nice for you to eat."
Draco made his way to the kitchen, still chattering to the owl. “I have some leftover chicken and rice, if you’d like.” He frowned. "The rice was good," he admitted, "but the chicken left a lot to be desired."
The owl made a sound that Draco decided to take as an affirmative.
“Ah,” he said, finding a bowl to dump his leftovers in. “Yes, this should work fine. And let me get you some water.”
When he had everything together, Draco took it to the built-in owl perch. He cast an Augamenti and set everything out.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The owl didn’t answer, but it did start eating the leftovers.
“I know you belong to Wealsey so I’m sure you have some ridiculous name like Bernard or Patsy.” Draco frowned. “They’re fine names for people but rubbish for owls.”
The owl finished up its food and looked at Draco, its eyes clear and bright.
“I’ll call you Sasha,” he decided. “That’s good for any gender.”
Sasha fluffed her wings out and Draco winked. “Yeah, I knew Weasley would have fucked up your name.”
“I’m off to bed, my dear,” he said as he walked to his room. “I have work in the morning.”
Sasha hooted at him.
——
The next morning, there was another owl at Draco’s window.
“I suppose Weasley wants you back,” he told Sasha, as he made some porridge for himself and the owl.
When he opened the window, the new owl flew in and started circling Draco’s head.
“Alright, alright!” he said. “I know Weasley probably thinks I’m up to something nefarious with his owl, but I just fed Sasha and gave them a place to sleep.”
The owl dropped a neat piece of parchment on the floor by Draco’s feet and flew back out the window, presumably to go back to its owner.
“Return my owl, Malfoy, or I’m calling the Aurors!” the front of the paper read. When Draco turned it over, he saw Hermione’s handwriting.
“Please don’t antagonise my husband, Draco. I know you’re not trying to be a prat, but it’s hard convincing my husband of that fact. Please return Susan”—(Draco let out a little ‘ha’ at that. He knew Weasley would have given his owl some ridiculous and ordinary human name, not suitable at all for an owl)—“as soon as you’re able, and do let us know when you’re available to drop by. Harry would like to see you.”
Unlike Weasley, Hermione had signed her name. But Draco recognised her handwriting. After the war, when Draco had been making amends, he and Hermione had started corresponding. They found they were both interested in the same academic pursuits and traded letters monthly. After a few years, their conversations moved to coffee and lunch, and now Draco was slightly terrified to call Hermione his friend.
He wasn’t scared of her, of course, but he didn’t want to tarnish her reputation.
“Sasha, dear,” Draco called.
She flew over to Draco’s dining table and perched on a chair. He winced as he saw her dig her talons into the wood.
“I’m going to write a note to your owner.”
She tilted her head towards Draco.
“If you would be so kind as to deliver it, I would forever be in your debt.” Then he smirked. “And you’re free to come back here if you’re tired of the ginger git.”
Sasha fluffed her wings, but seemed to think about his proposition.
Summoning a biro—another benefit to being friends with Hermione Granger, Muggle-born extraordinaire, was that he got a crash course in the delightful inventions of Muggles—and parchment, he wrote his note back.
“I’m calling her Sasha; Susan is a dumb name to give an owl. She’s been fed, and I didn’t coerce her into staying at mine. I’ve invited her back whenever she wants, so don’t call the bloody Aurors on me because your owl likes me better.”
He folded the paper in half and tied it to Sasha’s leg.
“One more, love, and then you can go back home.”
“Hermione, during the week, I’m free any afternoon after four. I’m also available on Sunday afternoons. I’m happy to come over whenever is best for you.”
After signing his name—clearly, because Hermione deserved manners—he folded that note and tied it right above the note to Weasley.
“If you could deliver this, I would be in your debt.”
Sasha preened and leaned her head in to butt gently against Draco’s shoulder. She gripped the chair—further damaging it, Draco noticed—and flew out the window.
“Reparo,” Draco said and frowned when the wood still looked a bit off.
Deciding he had more to do than worry about the state of his furniture, Draco grabbed his bowl of porridge, Vanished the portion he had made for Sasha, and sat down to eat. He only had an hour before he had to be at C'est Vin, and he still needed to shower and shave.
——
Harry Potter Seen Outside Janus Thickey Ward the headline read the next day.
Sasha hadn’t come back, and Draco missed her company. He hadn’t realised how much having another living creature in his flat helped with his feelings of solitude.
“Maybe I should get my own owl,” he mused as he started frying some eggs. It was a Saturday, and he went in for a later shift at C’est Vin on Saturdays so he'd had a nice lie in. “Maybe a Kneazle.”
“Knock, knock!” Pansy shouted, Flooing in.
“You could at least pretend to care about boundaries,” he shouted back.
“How was your date?” Pansy asked, swanning in and grabbing Draco’s tea. She made a face. “Needs more sugar,” she said, sitting down at the table.
“It’s my bloody tea!” Draco complained. But he levitated the sugar bowl to her.
“Why’s your chair all fucked?”
Draco let out a histrionic sigh. “Wealsey’s owl dropped by.”
Pansy slurped her tea and Draco set the kettle on the hob to start heating water for a new cup.
“Gorgeous bird,” he continued. “Completely wasted on Weasley.”
“Granger must have picked it out then.”
Nodding, Draco grabbed two more eggs. He transferred the cooked eggs to a plate and sent it to Pansy with a thick slice of sourdough and the butter dish.
“Prophet says Potter’s gone round the bend,” Pansy said through a mouthful of food.
“Must you?” Draco complained.
She smiled, and Draco could see bread in her teeth.
“I despise you,” he said, turning back to the hob and breaking the new eggs into the pan. They sizzled as they hit the hot metal.
“Weasley and Hermione say he wants to see me.”
Pansy was quiet at the table.
“He must be mad if he wants to meet with you,” she finally said.
Draco didn’t have an answer.
“Stranger things have happened,” Pansy said. “No one in our year saw you becoming best mates with Hermione Granger.”
“Oh, are you jealous?” Draco said, grateful for the subject change.
“I have better tits.”
Draco mimed retching into his eggs.
“I wouldn’t turn her down,” Pansy said when Draco finally turned around, his eggs cooked to perfection and a new cuppa brewed.
“That’s because you’re a slag.”
“Speaking of slags, how did your date go last night?”
Draco felt his cheeks heat. “Alex is nice,” he said. He tried and failed, miserably, to squash his smile.
Pansy wiggled her eyebrows. “He’s not here so I take it you weren’t super successful.”
Draco gave her a two finger salute.
“I don’t know how you managed it, but Alex was too classy to shag on the first date.”
Reaching for Draco’s plate, Pansy gave him a smug smile. Draco smacked her fingers with his fork, and she squawked at him.
“If you want more food, you can make it yourself,” he said. “We shared a nice goodbye kiss, and he’s going to owl me about another date.”
“His contract here is for the rest of the year.” She made meaningful eye contact. “New Zealand is a beautiful country.”
“They have really good wine and cheese,” Draco said softly.
“Your second date could go terribly,” Pansy said.
“Might not.”
“It’s far too early in the day to worry about anything beyond the question: why does Potter want to see you?”
——
The answer to ‘why does Potter want to see you?’ didn’t come for nearly a week.
Draco had another successful date with Alex, with a bit of snogging at the door to Draco’s flat and plans for a third date. Pansy dropped by several times to ‘grace Draco with her presence’. Draco called it unnecessary fussing, but she did bring takeaway half the time, so he supposed he couldn’t be too upset.
Sasha was waiting in the built-in perch when Draco got home from work on Thursday. She had a note tied around her foot with his name written in unfamiliar handwriting on the outside.
“Draco,” it said inside in the same messy handwriting, “if you are free tomorrow night after work, Ron and Hermione would like to host you for dinner so we can catch up.”
It was signed ‘Harry’ but the signature looked messier than the note. It was like Harry was unfamiliar signing his name.
“Maybe he signs it with his initials like a prat,” Draco told Sasha. “Hermione is a good influence on them.”
Sasha hooted, low and deep.
“I hoped you would come back,” Draco told her, walking back to the door to hang his jacket in the entryway. “We sell gourmet owl treats at work so I bought you a few.”
She hooted again, and Draco made his way back to her perch. He held out his hand and she butted her head against it, and then leaned in when he rubbed her head.
“Good girl,” he said. “Let me get those treats.”
Sasha seemed to really like them, if the speed at which she ate them was any indication.
“Yes, you deserve the best, my darling,” Draco said after she was done. “Let’s get you some water as well.”
The bowl Draco used for water the last time Sasha had been over had been cleaned and set back in the perch, just in case. He filled it with a spell, and she bent down and drank the water appreciatively.
“Yes, I’ll treat you right,” he said when she was done. “I’ve got space for whenever you want to visit.”
Draco grimaced. “We’ll have to let Hermione know so Weasley doesn’t overreact and accuse me of owl-napping.”
Summoning his trusty biro and parchment, Draco sat down at his kitchen table.
“How about a compromise,” he told Sasha. “I’ll send a note back, and if you want to come back with me tomorrow, you can.”
Shaking his head, Draco let out a huff and looked back at Sasha. “But if Weasley thinks I’m doing anything nefarious, this will prove to him that I’m not.”
After quick debate over addressing the note to ‘Harry’, as the previous note had been signed, versus ‘Potter’, which was their normal modus operandi, Draco decided to forgo a name.
“I’m happy to come by tomorrow around six.”
He signed it ‘Draco Malfoy’ because he still hadn’t decided how he felt about calling Potter by his given name and didn’t know how Potter should address him in return.
In a postscript, he had to add: “Tell Weasley not to be a giant ginger git, and if his owl likes me better, then that’s not my fault. Sasha is welcome to stay at my flat whenever she wants.”
After folding and tying it to Sasha’s leg, he gave her one last head scratch.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told her, and he swore she had a disappointed look on her face.
“I’ll bring treats,” he added, and she seemed to perk up at that.
Sasha launched herself off the perch and flew out the window.
“I suppose I’ll find out what Potter wants from me tomorrow,” he told his empty kitchen. “I really should get a pet,” he said.
——
Pansy stopped by for breakfast the next day, waving her copy of the Prophet in his face.
“Boy hero,” she read. “Still not back at work at non-profit. Wizarding world wonders why.”
“I’m going to meet him for dinner tonight,” Draco told her.
She stared at him, mouth agape for far too long. Then some sort of prehistoric screeching noise came out of her mouth.
“You waited to tell me now?” she cried, pointing at Draco.
“I only agreed to it last night,” he said with a frown. “You don't have to be so dramatic.”
Pansy dropped the paper on the table and slid into her usual chair. “That’s rich coming from you,” she said, stealing Draco’s tea and adding more sugar.
“I don’t understand why we’re friends,” Draco grumbled, Summoning his back-up cup of tea.
“Because you make two cups of tea when you think I’m going to visit so I can steal yours,” Pansy said with a sly grin.
“No,” Draco corrected, “that’s why you’re friends with me.” He took a sip of his new tea and grimaced when it was cooler than he expected. “I don’t know why I’m friends with you.
“What do you think is wrong with him?”
“Merlin, Pansy! You can’t just ask something like that.”
Pansy smirked and slowly took a sip of her tea.
“Fine!” Draco said. “I haven’t the foggiest. But I will let you know as soon as I can.” Draco thought for a moment and frowned. “That is if I’m physically able to tell you about it. Hermione is going to be there and you know how she can be.”
Draco shuddered, over-the-top and in a clearly fake way, and held up his hand to stop Pansy from speaking. “I don’t want to hear what pervy things you want to do to Hermione.”
He finished his tea and took in Pansy’s frown.
“You’re going to get wrinkles like that.”
——
“Welcome to C’est Vin, I’m Draco. Is there anything I can assist you with?”
Draco didn’t look away from the shelves he was rearranging. The part-time help, Natasha, had moved the loaves, and they didn’t make sense where they’d been placed. There was no reason for the brioche and rye to be sitting next to each other.
“Hi, er, Draco?”
“Holy fuck, Potter, what are you doing here?”
Potter stood by the door like he’d been put under a Full Body-Bind Curse.
“I thought I was meeting you at Hermione and Weasley’s tonight.”
Potter bit his lower lip and his cheeks went dark. He didn’t turn beetroot like Draco because he wasn’t the colour of fine china, but he was definitely blushing. He looked at the shelves of wine, eyes sliding over the labels too fast to have read any of them.
“I thought you could give me some pointers on wine for dinner?”
He stood still, almost blank for a few moments until Draco’d had enough.
“Is this a trick? Does Weasley want to make me look bad at my job?” Draco stalked towards Potter, away from his bread, his breath going short and fast. “I know he’s annoyed that Hermione and I are friends, but he can sod off! She’s her own person and—”
“Draco,” Potter said, snapping out of his trance. “I’m really here for some wine.”
Draco looked at him and took more than just a quick glance coloured by annoyance.
He didn’t look like Potter.
Yes, he was still Harry-bloody-Potter, but at the same time he wasn’t. Gone was the cocksure way he’d carried himself in the past, the easy confidence Draco had always envied. Potter seemed…almost blank. Like he was an empty cup, ready to be filled. There was very little, aside from his physical appearance, that Draco recognised.
It made Draco’s brain hurt.
“What’s wrong with you?” Draco blurted out, then covered his mouth in shock. “That was horribly rude,” he said, from behind his hand. “I apologise.”
“‘S OK,” Harry said with a smile. “I don’t want to talk about it here.” He scanned the shop like there were going to be reporters jumping out of the shadows. “But I do want to talk to you about it tonight.”
“Are you dying?” Draco whispered, finally moving his hand.
Potter laughed. “No,” he said. “I’m fine.”
Draco had always prided himself on being very fluent in body language, and right now Potter’s was a mix of amusement and discomfort.
“Then we will talk tonight,” he declared. “Now, what are we having for dinner so we can pick out a good wine, and not shame my ancestors any more than I already have.”
Potter laughed again, and Draco felt a warm, fluttering feeling in his chest.
——
Hermoine and Weasley had agreed to dinner at six, so after Draco left C’est Vin, he Floo’d home.
“I need a pet,” he told his empty flat.
The flat itself was very stylish, an open concept floor plan done up in neutral shades. Crisp, clean lines dominated the space. A marble island divided the kitchen and breakfast nook from the lounge. He modelled it after the day spas he and Pansy had visited the year they spent on the continent.
Draco hung his jacket up by the door and made his way to his bedroom. His four poster bed was a little too large for the space, but he’d brought it from the Manor. He was damned if he was going to give up his comfort for a rented flat.
He could probably ask Hermione to help with an Undetectable Extension Charm which would even everything out.
Like the lounge, his bedroom was monochromatic, but in shades of sea glass blue instead of beige.
The flooring was rosewood, and it was what Draco claimed was the reason he’d signed the lease. The warm brown made the space feel like home, more than anything else in his flat.
But in reality, the bathroom was the reason why he’d signed the lease.
It was nearly half the size of the bedroom with a large, claw-footed bathtub. Draco suspected it was big enough for two, but he hadn’t put that to the test yet. The feet of the tub had originally been lion’s paws, but Draco had Transfigured them into snakes. He wasn’t trying to relive his Hogwarts days, but after a week of staring at the lion’s paws, he’d had enough and the vague idea he’d put into the spell had taken shape as a trio of snakes wound around each other.
The bathroom also had a glass door shower that took up a full wall of the bathroom. It had three different shower heads, one that came from the ceiling and was like rain, and two at different heights that could be set to different temperatures and water pressure. A nook was built in for all of Draco’s toiletries, which was filling up quickly, and he was contemplating adding a shelf.
Unlike the rest of the flat, the bathroom was full of colour. The walls were painted a rich turquoise while the shower was tiled in slate grey.The snakes had started out with emerald green eyes, but Draco had tweaked them so their eyes were the same turquoise as the walls.
A towel warmer hung beside the double sinks. The floor was the same grey tile as the shower wall, but a simple charm heated the floor.
When Pansy had first seen the bathroom, she had proposed marriage. When Draco had refused, she talked extensively about hiding bodies and learning how to brew Polyjuice.
As there was still an hour and a half before Draco was set to arrive at Hermione and Weasley’s, Draco drew himself a bath, adding some of the scented oil Pansy had given him for his last birthday.
Alone, Draco let his mind conjure a thousand reasons why Potter might want to see him, why he’d visited C’est Vin.
Potter was dying. Draco was dying but only Potter knew about it. Draco was going to Azkaban and Potter was trying to warn him. Weasley was angry that Draco and Hermione were friends, so Potter was going to warn him off. Someone told Potter about Draco’s feelings for him and of course they weren’t reciprocated, so Potter needed to let him down gently.
Draco’s breathing started to get short, fast, and he closed his eyes. Remembering all the tips his Mind Healer had given him after the war, Draco focussed on breathing in and out in a steady manner. He counted to five on the inhale and exhale, slowing each count, until he was completely filling his lungs with the fragrant air of his bath.
“It’s probably something daft like Potter wanting a donation for The Wix Rainbow Collective,” Draco shakily told himself.
Reaching over to grab his wand, Draco flicked it at the drain and the water started to lower. He stood, letting the water run off his body. A quick Hot Air Charm dried him enough to walk to the shower. He placed his wand on the sink and stepped into the shower, adjusting the taps to as hot as he could stand.
Thoughts whirled through his mind as he washed the oil away and made himself focus on getting clean instead of all the worst-case-scenarios his mind could come up with.
——
“Come in, Draco,” Hermione said warmly.
Draco stepped inside the entryway to their cottage. He’d Apparated in so he was able to have a moment to himself before he saw Potter again.
“Would you like some tea?” Hermione asked, taking Draco’s jacket and hanging it up on a coat rack. “You look a bit pale,” she said under her breath.
Weasley still managed to hear it. “He always looks pale, Hermione.”
“Ha, bloody, ha,” Draco fired back, feeling marginally better. If Weasley was taking the piss, he was fairly certain he wasn’t going to be arrested. Or that everyone knew about Draco's unfortunate feelings for Potter and they all disapproved. “How’s your owl?” he continued with a smirk.
“Susan’s fine,” Wealsey said with a frown.
“I’ll just go tell Sasha hello then,” Draco said.
Hermione watched with poorly disguised mirth.
“Susan,” Weasley said, “your boyfriend is here.”
Hermione snorted out a giggle, no longer able to conceal her laughter.
“Sasha darling,” Draco replied, winking at Hermione, “I’ve come for a visit, you gorgeous girl.”
Ron must have heard the same creak of Sasha launching herself off the perch as Draco had, because they both turned to look towards the back of the cottage.
Sasha flew in and settled herself on Draco’s arm.
He cast a Shield Charm, so he wouldn't have to worry about talons.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he cooed. Sasha fluffed her wings and hit Draco a bit in the nose, but it was fine. She’d picked him over her owner, so Sasha could injure him up to the point of maiming if she wanted.
“Harlot,” Ron whispered, loud enough for both Draco and Sasha to hear.
“Ronald!” Hermione scolded. “She’s an owl!”
“Rude to slut shame, mate,” Potter said, finally coming into the room. His cheeks turned the same pink they'd been at C’est Vin.
Draco nodded, said, “Potter,” and pushed past everyone so he could get into the actual cottage. He reached the lounge and looked for a safe space for both himself and Sasha to sit.
The sofa looked fine so he gently lowered himself down so he and Sasha were on the edge.
“If we’re all here, could one of you kindly tell me what the fuck is going on?”
Hermione and Potter shared a look.
“Is anyone dying?” Draco asked.
“No!” Potter exclaimed.
“Then why all the secrecy? The Prophet won’t shut up about you and your mysterious ‘injury’,” Draco said.
Sasha leaned over and pushed her head into Draco’s shoulder.
“Thanks,” he whispered to her.
“That’s the thing, Draco,” Hermione said, “Harry’s lost his memories.”