Chapter Text
After everything that happened, after the War, after Mother, Draco couldn’t stay in Britain anymore.
Not even in the Muggle world, Merlin knows he tried.
So he packed what’s left of his belongings, the ones the Aurors hadn’t confiscated, and left.
Just like that, all 19 years of his life could fit into a single briefcase. He spelled it, of course, but even then the small briefcase only expanded into a large suitcase. Coming from a wealthy heir, he even surprised himself of how little he had left. He was never much for materialism, anyway.
He then travelled the world, starting from Europe, making his way to Asia, Australia, and finally, America.
He nestled his way into the Wizarding Worlds as much as he explored the Muggle Worlds. It reminded him of home a little too much so he mostly stuck with the Muggles, unless he needed more potion material. Even those trips were swift, he needn’t a reminder of how much he was homesick.
Being that he is, he lost touch with many of his friends from Hogwarts. Blaise and Zambini’s letters got shorter and shorter before they eventually stopped arriving. He didn’t blame them, not when he’s hard to keep track of.
He lost everyone, except for one bloody Harry Potter.
Potter, who kept tracking him through an app they installed in his phone he got in 8th year.
Potter, who texted him weekly with updates in his life as an Auror.
Potter, who still owled him occasionally, bringing packets of spelled herbal tea from London.
Potter, probably the only person left in the world who still gave a fuck about Draco Malfoy.
Draco wondered sometimes, staring at the photo Potter just sent him, why in Merlin’s beard would Potter still give two shits about him?
No, there must be a mistake. Potter must have mistaken him for someone else. That can’t be true, for Potter always addresses him as “Malfoy” in his texts. And as far as Draco knows, he’s the only Malfoy left in the world. Fortunately.
Merlin knows the world can’t handle another pretentious, arrogant wizard.
Although, Draco’s pretentiousness was softened by the war. It’s been chiselled by the numerous times he had to stay in a cheap hostel somewhere, or even a hut. He had been humbled one too many times by the world. No, Draco Malfoy’s arrogance had long disappeared, replaced by something less harsh, less tidy, and definitely less above-all.
Depression. That’s what it is now.
Losing Mother, Merlin, even his Father mattered to him, they took a toll on Draco’s mental health.
After settling in the tiniest apartment in downtown New York, Draco settled into its nearest bar. Some might say it’s his second home at this point, spending more hours there than at his apartment. Draco Malfoy was simply wasting away his inheritance at a bar somewhere far from home.
Drinking was easy.
Remembering was hard.
It became the safest coping mechanism Draco turned to when he felt the faintest touch of Voldemort’s wand at his neck. The alcohol burned his throat as it burned the memories off his brain. The warmth settling in his stomach is a frail replacement for the warmth of a home or a hug. Merlin knows Draco hasn’t had one of those in a long time.
Potter would berate him for his drinking habits, although all Draco would do is leave him on read.
Once, with his head lowered on the bar tabletop, Draco rang him. It was an impulse, really.
Strangely, Potter picked up.
“ …Malfoy?”
Draco did not know how to answer him.
“ Is everything alright? Why did you call me?”
God, how Draco missed that voice. Memories from Hogwarts flooded his brain: Bantering with Potter in potion classes, arguing with him on the field, and insulting back and forth in the main hall.
“No, everything’s fine, Potter.”
“… Are you seriously drunk right now? Where are you?”
“Nowhere that matters,” a hiccup escapes him, “I’m just calling because…”
Draco looks around the bar. A group of college kids drunk together in a booth, many couples were dancing on the dance floor. Some middle aged men were watching the game beside him. The bartender’s eyes on him, ensuring he paid his long tab.
“Because… I missed Hogwarts.”
A snort came from his phone speaker.
“ Really, huh?”
“Yeah, really, really missed it.”
“Well, as an official Hogwarts’ representative, I, Harry Potter, urge you to leave the bar and head to bed soon. It’s 11 pm in New York, right?”
Now it's Draco's turn to snort.
“Sure, Potter, sure.”
True to his word, Draco left a fifty on the dirty table top, and exited the bar. His hand was still holding the old phone to his ears. All while Potter ranted to him about the dangers of drinking.
“…not to mention while one is inebriated, they often get into all sorts of trouble. Or, they start to say things they don’t mean or they spill all their secrets for all to hear.”
“Potter.”
“Not to mention, people fail to remember how drunk they are and often still opt to drive themselves home, which is very dangerous-“
“Potter!”
Potter’s voice halted on his phone.
“Potter I…”
Silence fell on their phone line.
“ Yes, Malfoy?”
“I.. wish we were more.”
More silence.
“ What do you mean Malfoy?”
“I wish we were more than… Than whatever kinship you offer me right now. I wish I could visit you every other day, in your stupid Auror dormitory, and, and we can have dinner every Saturday night.”
Draco could hear a soft “oh” escape Harry’s lips. Whatever, Draco kept on going with his drunken brain’s ramblings.
“And… I wish we could adopt a cat together and name it McGonagall because strangely, I miss that old hag’s nagging.”
A laugh from Potter left his phone’s speaker. It melted in his ears, it felt like heaven. Draco couldn’t help but laugh along with him.
With shaky hands, he opened the door to his apartment and swiftly closed the door with his left foot.
“And- and we can rent an apartment back in London. Together. And I wish I can wake up and eat the breakfast you cooked for us. And I wish I could go back to Britain and do all that without feeling all this hurt.”
Potter was still quiet on the other line.
“Potter, I wish… I wish I could kiss your stupid face right now.”
God, Draco did not even know what he’s saying right now.
“ Malfoy… You don’t mean that.”
“But I do! I do, Potter, and I wish I can prove it to you.”
“ You’re drunk, Malfoy. And you’re there.”
“I’m here.”
A beat of silence.
“ And I’m here.”
Suddenly, Potter’s voice sounds so far away, Draco can barely reach out to it even with the help of his phone.
Merlin… What was he doing right now?
A loud laugh escaped his lips, and made its way towards the other line on the phone. Something pulled Draco’s gaze to his window, the glittering New York nightlife greeted him. Truly, this city never sleeps.
“Gods, Potter I wish you could see this view right now. This New York.” I wish you were here.
“Me too Malfoy… Me too.”
“One day, Potter. Get on the nearest broom stick or, fuck, apparate here. And I’ll take you to every nook and cranny this city has to offer. I might even kiss you.”
Now it’s Potter’s turn to laugh.
“ Merlin… In vino veritas, huh?”
“Verus, Potter. In vino veritas, et in Britannia est tu.”
“ Wait, what was that? Dammit, Malfoy, you know I wasn’t listening in Latin classes!”
“Soon you’ll see Potter, soon you’ll see.”
Silence fell between them again.
“Potter?”
“ Yes, Malfoy?”
“I’m so… Tired…”
“ Then sleep, Malfoy. I’ll stay here, don’t worry.”
“And you’ll always be there, won’t you?”
“… Just go to sleep, Malfoy.”
And sleep he did.
The next morning, his phone still lay next to his pillow, on hour seven of their long call. Without thinking, Draco quickly pressed ‘End Call’. Merlin… What has he done?
Staring at the blank blackness of his phone screen, Draco remembered everything they talked about last night.
Draco remembered, and he wept.
For what? He did not know.
All he knew was that he missed their apartment in London and their cat and Harry’s stupid breakfasts and his even stupider face and he cried.
————————————————————
Draco stopped responding to Potter after that.
He left his owled letters unopened, and left all his messages on read. The only reason why Potter wasn’t blocked is because Draco did not know how to do that.
It’s been months since that fateful call, and Draco was losing himself day by day. He stopped coming to his job, he’s pretty sure he’s fired by now, and spent entire days in the bar.
He didn’t talk anymore, out of fear of saying something wrong.
He simply wrote down his order and Jim, the bartender, would serve him just that. This cycle repeats until the bar closes and Jim kicks him out.
One day though, the bar was closed. So Draco, in all his magical prowess, spelled his dusty old car and drove it to the good bar 7 blocks away from his apartment.
This bar was nicer, and Draco felt horribly underdressed. But then again, it was 10 AM, and everybody was too busy to give a shit.
Draco sat down at the table top, wrote down his order of 3 whiskeys, and got just that. This continued well into the night, until the bartender called security and had him forcibly removed.
Draco, in all his drunken stupor, made his way to his car in the street, and sat in the driver’s seat. Confused, he couldn’t remember which spell to use to drive the car.
So, he did the next best thing: drive manually for the first time in 4 years. How did he think this would end well?
Well into the drive, he saw a cat in the middle of the street and swerved frantically to the left. Right into a huge tree on the sidewalk.
Thankfully, the airbags deployed rather quickly for an old car, and hit Malfoy square in the face, muffling his screams. He got out a few seconds later, with shaky hands and breath that smelled of whiskey. He stood by the wrecked car, admiring the mess he made of its front end.
The cops arrived not long after that, seeing as he crashed in a rather populated street that was thankfully empty due to it being 1 AM.
Draco didn’t like how they threw him rather roughly into the back of the police car once they got a whiff of his breath. It was clear to them what had happened.
In the back of the cop car, Draco rested his forehead against the window that was cooled by the November night air. The coldness sobered him up further, regrets seeping into his consciousness.
Down at the station, they took his blood alcohol levels using a breathalyzer, and left him to rot in a cell after identifying him. Thank Merlin Draco left with his phone and wallet.
“Malfoy! You got one call, son, who’s it gonna be?” A cop with a rough voice called him from outside the cell. He was ushered outside and made to sit in front of a telephone booth.
Well. Malfoy memorised one phone number and one phone number only.
What time is it in Britain?
It didn’t matter, Draco thought. Potter would pick up any time it is, knowing the workaholic’s pattern of staying up late.
He just hoped the police station wouldn’t charge him extra for international calls.
He heard the phone ring and ring. The noise blaring in his tired ears.
Please pick up, Harry.
“Hello?”
Potter’s grumbled voice sounded like a blessing to Draco’s ears.
“Harry? Harry!”
“...Malfoy?”
“Yes! It’s Malfoy! Harry, please-”
A beep.
Then silence.
He hung up on him.
Harry had hung up on Draco.
Of course, why would he answer after all the silence I left him with?
“Dang, that’s wrong of him to hang up,” the old cop behind him muttered.
“Heh,” a chuckle left Draco’s lips, “it’s only fair of him.”
“Well, time to go back to your cell, son.” The cops hands were already on his shoulder, ready to drag him back into the rotting cell.
“ No!” Draco stood up suddenly. He grabbed the phone and dialled Harry’s phone number again.
“Son, I can’t let you do that,” said the cop firmly.
“No, please! I beg of you sir, just let me call! I'll give you my blood alcohol, I'll rot with all the burnouts in the cell.” Draco pleaded, his fingers hanging on to the dial tone beeping.
“Son, you got your one call, I can’t let you have another one.” The cop started pulling him away from the phone booth.
“I'll change my faith, I'll praise the flag. Let's wait, I swear he'll call me back! Sir, please, just one more call, I swear!”
Draco’s voice started to shake under the weight of the cop’s hands on him.
“Son, are you a danger to yourself?” The cop's voice softened at the sight of him.
“ Fuck that, sir, just let me call. Just- Just one more call I swear he’ll pick up this time!”
Begging did not look good on one Draco Malfoy. His fingers slipped from the phone as the cop dragged him away but his legs gave out. His knees hit the floor hard, and he continued to cry there.
“Son, why do you do this to yourself?” whispered the cop as he got down on one knee.
“Please, Sir, I beg of you… I don’t have anyone except for him. Please, he’ll answer this time, I promise .” Draco’s eyes left stains of tears on the floor tiles.
The dial tone beeped in the phone booth behind them. It got fainter and fainter as Draco was dragged back into his cell.