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If someone had told Draco at seventeen that his birthday parties in his twenties would consist of more Gryffindors than Slytherins, he would have laughed in their face. If they had told him he would go to weekly pub nights with the golden trio — they hated when he called them that so he made a point to do it as often as possible — and babysit Rose Granger-Weasley when her parents wanted a date night, he would have sent them to St. Mungo’s psychiatric ward in an instant. As it was, however, that was what his life looked like at twenty-four years old. The Prophet had a field day with it, of course.
It was Sunday, and Draco was still nursing the remainder of his hangover from Friday’s pub night. The details of the night were fuzzy but he had a faint memory of Harry taking him home and tucking him into bed at the end of it. It made him cringe with embarrassment, but also put a warm and fuzzy feeling in his stomach. It’s just his hero complex, he reminded himself. You’re lucky he can stomach your company at all. Harry was perfectly pleasant to him and he had graciously accepted Draco’s apologies just like everyone else. But Draco knew he had never quite warmed up to him the same way the rest of their friends had. Hell, Draco was closer with Luna than he was with Harry, and she’d been kept prisoner in his basement.
He flinched when the door to his bedroom slammed open and his flatmate barged in. “I decluttered,” Pansy declared, flopping down at the foot of his bed. “This is yours, isn’t it?” She held up a small glass ball. Draco smiled, despite himself and nodded as he reached out to take it. Neville had given him the rememberall for his twenty-second birthday, as a joke. Draco was very fond of it. If Neville could make a practical joke about Draco’s bullying, surely that meant he had redeemed himself at least somewhat.
He turned the glass ball in his hand, lost in thought, but then frowned. It had turned red.
Pansy pursed her lips. “Useless junk if you ask me. What bloody good does it do to tell me I forgot something when it can’t tell me what? Anyway, you have to help me pick what to wear for Lovegood’s Halloween party tonight.”
Draco listened to her chatter away absentmindedly. It shouldn’t matter, not really. Whatever he had forgotten couldn’t be that important, or he would remember. Still, he could not stop thinking about it all morning. Finally, he couldn’t bear it any longer and left a pouting Pansy to her own devices in front of her closet. He had some investigating to do.
Neville was elbow deep in the soil of a raised bed of wolfsbane flowers. He flinched hard when Draco appeared next to him.
“Blimey, Draco,” he muttered. “Couldn’t you just ring the doorbell like a normal person?”
Draco ignored that. “Neville, just the man I’m looking for. Did I forget anything here when I helped you last week with the shrivelfigs?”
Neville blinked at him. “Oh, uhm. Yeah, actually, it’s on the kitchen table—”
“Marvellous! Cheers, Neville,” Draco interrupted and apparated straight into the kitchen.
He immediately spotted the small black case he used to store little flowers he found occasionally that he intended to press. Draco picked it up and checked the rememberall. Its color did not change. He cursed.
He did ring the doorbell at Ron and Hermione’s house. He was still trying to unseen what he had witnessed when he had failed to do so, once.
“Dwaco!” Rose squealed when Ron opened the door, making grabby hands at him.
“Rose, my darling,” Draco said fondly, plucking her from Ron’s arms. “I’ve missed you too, my little princess.”
Rose threw her arms around him and giggled into his shoulder. Ron watched them with a bemused expression. “What is it, mate? Did something happen?”
Draco carefully transferred Rose’s weight into one of his arms as he reached inside his pocket to show Ron the rememberall. “I don’t know what it is I forgot. Did I leave something here?”
Ron thought for a moment, then shrugged. “No idea, mate. Let’s ask Hermione.”
They found her in the study. “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed and Draco perked up. “You left a book here a while ago, I’ve been meaning to give it back.” She pulled out Draco’s copy of A Magical Guide to the Floral History of England.
Draco glanced at the rememberall in his hand. It was still red.
“Oh for—“ he stopped himself from swearing in front of Rose just in time. Ron and Hermione gave him apologetic looks.
Blaise welcomed him into their sleek central London flat in a long, purple dressing gown, seams lined with immaculate white fur. They were wearing flawlessly applied golden eyeliner. “Draco, light of my life, do come in.”
Their eyes lit up when Draco showed them the rememberall. “Oh! Yes, of course!” They reached behind Draco for a wooden shelf and produced Draco’s name tag from work.
Draco M.
Goyle’s Plant Parlour, est. 2001
Magical bouquets and ornamental plants for every occasion
Draco took it, relief washing over him. That must be it, he thought, but his smile faded quickly as the rememberall remained unchanged. Blaise supportively patted his shoulder and made them both some tea.
Draco had to grudgingly interrupt his search to go home, take a shower, and fix his hair before he and Pansy had to head to Luna’s. At the last minute, he remembered that he was supposed to be in costume. He grabbed his silky green sleep mask from his bedside table.
“Pansy!” he yelled. “Help me transfigure this into a ferret face!”
The party was in full swing already when he and Pansy arrived.
“Luna, love, did I leave anything here accidentally?”
“Other than some nargles, I don’t think so, Draco, I’m sorry,” Luna said dreamily and levitated their coats away.
He didn’t find Harry until an hour later as he stepped out onto the deck for some fresh air. Harry was perched on a wooden bench, a pair of sparkly pink wings protruding from his back. He laughed hard when he spotted Draco. “Self-deprecation suits you, Malfoy,” he said good-naturedly. There was an unspoken agreement between them to still address each other by their last names. Draco liked to think of it as an inside joke.
He smirked. “Well, Potter, we can’t all get by on the eternal glory of saving the world. Some of us have to actually try. May I?”
Harry nodded, making room for Draco to sit next to him as he smiled into his butterbeer. Draco, quite responsibly, was drinking lemonade. He took his mask off as he sat.
“So,” asked Harry casually. “You’ve recovered from Friday, then?”
Draco grimaced. “I owe you an apology, don’t I? Merlin, I don’t even want to know what state the flat was in when we got in.”
Harry shook his head, smiling. He was smiling a lot tonight, Draco noted.
“Don’t fret it. It was fine.” Harry took another swig of his Butterbeer and Draco forced himself to look away from his bobbing Adam’s apple.
“You don’t remember, do you?” Harry asked after a few moments of silence, his voice a bit off.
Draco’s head snapped towards Harry. “Wait, you know? You know what I forgot?!”
Harry looked flustered. “I, uh— maybe? I’m not sure, what are we talking about?”
“I’ve been running around like an idiot all day trying to figure out what I forgot.” Draco took out the rememberall. “It didn’t occur to me to ask you…”
Harry, to Draco’s utter astonishment, had turned bright red.
“Potter?”
Harry was looking anywhere but at him.
“Potter! Tell me what it is or Salazar help me—“
“You kissed me!” Harry blurted out.
Draco’s mouth snapped shut.
“Or well, you tried to, at least,” Harry babbled on, running his hands through his already preposterously messy hair. “I stopped you. I didn’t think you’d…” he trailed off. “Anyway, you were drunk, so…”
Draco felt heat rise in his face as the memory came flooding back, fuzzy, but undeniable. He was never drinking again.
“Oh, Merlin,” he said hastily. “I am mortified, Harry, I apologise. It won’t happen again.” In his embarrassment, he completely forgot to call him Potter.
Harry looked troubled. “What if…” he started, seemingly steeling himself for something. “What if I wanted it to.” He swallowed, finally looking up at Draco, eyes wide. “Happen again, that is.”
Draco’s thoughts came to a stuttering halt. “What?”
Harry swallowed, and set down his butterbeer, facing Draco. And then his face was suddenly very very close. Draco’s pulse skyrocketed as he felt Harry’s fingers ghost along his jaw. “If you don’t want this, tell me now,” Harry murmured.
Draco did not say a word.
The mist inside the rememberall was white as snow.