Work Text:
“Mother, I have to go,” Draco said, his voice thin and strained.
“Oh, but darling--”
His smile dwindled as he edged the lid of his laptop closed. “My apologies, Mother, but I really must.” The device shut with a click, her words cut off before she could finish the complaint. He would hear about his lack of decorum later, but right now, there were more pressing issues he needed to deal with. Like the state of his hair or whether he had something on his face. God, he was a mess. Midterms always seemed to bring out the worst in him. He ran his tongue over the front of his teeth and fussed with his hair.
A figure stopped next to his table, red sleeves over a black hoodie casting a long shadow over his drink. Draco’s spine stiffened as he took a very deep breath, looked up, and smiled as pleasantly as he could manage, “Oh, hello.”
“Malfoy?”
And there he was: Harry Potter. The Great Savior of the Wizarding World in all the glory a baggy sweatshirt and ripped jeans would allow. Which wasn’t much, but he made up for it with height and an unexpected air of confidence. He might be unkempt, but he wasn’t afraid to take up space.
“Malfoy?” he said again, a bit louder, like the name personally offended him. It seemed it was Draco’s turn to talk, which was hardly fair as Potter had started the blasted conversation and given him fuck-all to work with.
“In the flesh,” Draco gripped his iced latte, fingers white. At least he hadn’t brought along the rest of the do-gooders. One Gryffindor was already bad enough without an impromptu school reunion.
“I thought I was losing it for a minute.” He let out a huff of air that might have been a laugh if not for his incredulous expression. “What are you doing?”
Draco chewed his lip and looked anywhere that wasn’t emerald green. "I'm just getting some work done. It’s easier to focus in public.”
“I mean, what are you doing here?”
Oh. “You know,” Draco waved his hand vaguely to the other diners, “it’s hardly a crime to enjoy the atmosphere.”
“I’m sure you would know,” Harry said, and Draco’s brow creased. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
“Well, it has been lovely to see you,” Draco placed his hands slowly on top of the silver case, each word measured, “but I really do have work to finish, so if you would--” he looked towards the exit and gave his best impression of a cordial smile.
Harry, the obtuse git that he was, pulled out the chair across from him and sat. “What are you working on?” His tone was skeptical, and it reminded Draco so violently of the aurors assigned to him that his jaw tightened. It was the tone of people waiting to uncover his inevitable wrongdoings, like Draco genuinely becoming a decent person was so far out of the question that they shouldn’t bother with the idea. No matter how much time passed--how many years-- they couldn’t wrap their minds around him just wanting to be left alone. Of course, Harry was the same. Hadn’t he always been?
Well, if this was to be an interrogation, at least he had plenty of experience. “Actually, I was in the middle of a call with my mother when you walked up," he said curtly.
“Yeah, I was gonna ask about that next, actually.” Harry nodded toward the laptop. “Why in the world are you using muggle technology to call your mum?”
Draco’s face heated. He’d practiced these answers, and up until now, he had never been ashamed of them, but apparently, it was harder to admit to one’s shortcomings when the audience was Harry Potter. “How else am I supposed to use The Skype?” He said it as if the question was absurd.
Harry raised an eyebrow, but Draco continued before he could speak. “And my coursework will hardly let me turn in ramblings written in smeared ink. Tipping is an essential skill these days.”
A disbelieving smile crept across Harry’s face. “Do you mean typing?”
“Semantics.” Draco shrugged. There were far too many muggle words and phrases for him not to confuse them occasionally, and where his classmates’ corrections always felt good-natured and trivial, Potter’s were just another reminder of his own inadequacy. “Did you need something?” He glanced pointedly towards the exit.
Harry shook his head, messy black hair following the movement. It was curlier than it used to be and looked softer like someone had finally convinced him to use product. “What coursework are you taking?”
“Jesus Christ, Potter. What do you want?”
Harry grinned, and leaned back in his chair. “Sorry. This is just a lot to take in.”
“Excuse me?”
He gestured to Draco, face still bright, “Draco Malfoy in a muggle coffee shop using--” he curved his fingers into air quotes, “‘The Skype’ and saying ‘Jesus Christ’ like you know who that is. You have to admit that’s bizarre.”
Draco took a fortifying breath, “Not as bizarre as you would think.” He frequented the shop several times a week to use the internet. It was rubbish in his apartment and he relished in any chance to escape his roommates, four blokes from Manchester who seemed to have ‘being loud’ as their primary occupation. He refused to explain this to Potter.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Harry’s green eyes glinted in the afternoon light, eyebrows drawn skeptically over a lingering smile. It was a familiar expression. Potter wanted to figure out his angle because there had to be some nefarious reason for Draco to study in a coffee shop. Obviously .
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, Potter. I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong by being here. If you disagree, you’re more than welcome to speak to the aurors on my case.”
Harry blanched, “What?”
“I’ll even give you their card if that would make it easier.”
“No, I don’t--” Harry folded his arms over his chest and looked away. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything.”
“Oh well, I’m glad you weren’t trying. Water under the bridge, then.” Draco flashed a sarcastic smile. “It’s considered rude to interrupt someone and insinuate they don’t belong, or have wizarding manners changed so much?”
To his credit, the git looked half as embarrassed as he probably should be. He shrugged awkwardly, “Er, sorry. I suppose I did come off a little strong. It was a surprise, is all.”
Draco rolled his eyes and turned to rummage in his bag. He didn’t actually need anything from it, but if he had any good luck, Potter would be gone by the time he looked up. He found his biology textbook from the morning and turned it over. The edges were scratched, and there was a coffee stain on the back in a perfect ring. Had he done that? Oh well. He’d gotten it used anyway.
Enough time had passed, and he closed the bag and dared to glance up.
Drat.
“So what coursework?” Harry asked again. The skepticism was gone from his voice, and he leaned forward, green eyes wide as if genuinely interested in the answer.
Draco’s scowl melted slightly, and he muttered, “Biochemistry, if you must know,” much against his own will.
“Biochemistry?”
“Yes, that is what I said.” Draco shifted in his seat. He was very fond of his major, thankyouverymuch. “It’s quite like potions, if not a bit more on the technical side. A surprising amount of mathematics.”
Harry made a face, but it didn’t feel judgmental. With how much disdain he’d received from Snape, Draco couldn’t imagine he had much love for the subject.
“I suppose that makes sense.” Harry leaned forward, balancing his head on his fist. “I bet there’s not nearly as many dead newts to deal with, eh?”
Draco choked on a laugh, surprised. “Unfortunately.”
“And how are you possibly coping without all the rat eyes?”
“I’ll survive, I’m sure.”
The air was warm, and a pleasant silence fell as they grinned at each other. It was so hard to breathe when those green eyes were turned on him. How had he forgotten that?
“What about you?” Draco asked, clearing his throat and adjusting the cuffs of his sweater. “What chaos has your lot been up to since saving the world?”
Harry snorted. “You’re joking.”
“Not in the least.”
Harry considered him for a moment and sighed. “Sorry. The Prophet reports anytime I sneeze, so I’m used to people knowing more about me than I do most days.”
“Well, you’re in luck. I haven’t had a reason to take the Prophet in years.” They weren’t kind to Draco after the war. By the third article that called for his incarceration or execution, Draco refused to even acknowledge the daily owl that delivered it. Eventually, someone must have canceled his subscription because they stopped coming.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, the curls perfectly coiffed despite the blatant abuse. Bastard. “I took over for Madame Hooch at Hogwarts. Quidditch and all that.”
Draco could imagine it immediately: Harry patiently coaxing first years off the ground, his spirit alive in the air like Draco had seen so many times at school. Harry was a born flyer, and it was perfect for him. “Ah, so have you finally stopped falling off your broom?”
Harry grinned again, and Draco was getting quite used to it by now. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the tiny dimple on his left cheek. “Remind me how many times you beat me to the snitch?”
“That’s hardly applicable.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He glanced away, his smile still bright. “So, Bi-o-chem-i-stry?” He said each syllable very carefully as if trying to take it apart. “That’s muggle.”
Draco nodded, taking a slow sip of coffee. “I’m at the local university.”
“You didn’t come back to Hogwarts for eighth year.”
Draco thought for a moment. It would be easy enough to lie, but he was surprised he didn’t want to. “There was hardly a point after they restricted my magic.“
“Oh,” Harry said, taken aback. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Well. Yes. How would you?” Draco coughed. While the trials were a public affair, the specifics of parole were done privately over weeks of time. Draco had avoided Azkaban, but he was quietly stripped of his wand, and even after his parole was over, the spells he could cast would be limited. Most people were still under the impression he faced no consequences and was left to roam free. “I never got to say thank you, by the way, for speaking at my mother’s trial. And mine. We certainly got treated much better than we would have had you not spoken for us.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
“Sorry, I don’t mean that sarcastically. I’m grateful, genuinely.” And he was. It was almost a relief to finally say it out loud.
“Oh, um, you’re welcome.” Harry looked at his hands, a beam of light reflecting harshly off his glasses. “So you’re at a muggle university because you don’t have your magic?”
“Pretty much. It’s quite difficult to pursue wizarding education without a wand.”
Harry nodded, his gaze trained on something outside, “How long--”
“Two more years.” Draco smiled and tried not to let the gravity of the statement affect his voice. It had been three since he’d last cast a spell, and some days, the absence of his magic sat so heavily on his chest that he couldn’t move. It was like a limb had been ripped away, the stump left to bleed out. “Just in time to finish my undergrad, and then I’m free to rejoin society as I wish.”
“And will you?”
The smell of something sweet filled the air, and Draco glanced to the cash register, where a young barista placed fresh cinnamon rolls in a glass display case. Maybe he would get one before heading home. “I haven’t decided,” his eyes followed the line of Harry’s hood where it draped over his shoulder, “I quite like how simple muggle life can be. Significantly fewer megalomaniacs roaming the streets.”
Harry chuckled. “That we know of.”
Draco made a face and then grinned, and Harry grinned back, neither really having anything else to say.
“Did I see you with Granger and Weasley earlier?” Draco eventually asked to avoid the impending awkward silence.
“It’s actually Granger-Weasley now, but yeah.”
“Oh, give them my congratulations.” Draco tapped his fingers against his cup. “And you? Potter-Weasley or Weasley-Potter?”
“Neither. Me and Gin didn’t exactly work out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be.” The candied fragrance wafted between them, and Harry broke their tenuous eye contact.
Draco cleared his throat. “I suppose you should catch up with them before they wander too far.”
Apparently, it takes three not-so-subtle hints for Gryffindors to leave. Harry nodded and stood to pat down his pockets. “Well, it’s been good to see you. I’m glad you’re doing alright.”
“You as well, Potter. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again. It’s impossible to avoid you despite my best efforts.” He smiled to show the joke was just that.
Harry shook his head fondly. “Well,” he raised an awkward hand goodbye and took a few steps towards the exit. Draco watched as he abruptly stopped. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides until he swiveled back around and sputtered, “Malfoy. Could I get your number? We could, like…stay in touch, maybe?”
He sounded so awkward that Draco almost felt sorry to have to shake his head. Harry’s smile faltered, but Draco beckoned him over with a wave of his hand. “I’m afraid I only have a landline.” There was a high likelihood Harry would get one of the Manchesters if he called, and a little piece of his dignity perished at the thought. “Would my email do?”
Harry’s cheeks were red, and he was a bit breathless when he spoke. “Yeah, that works.”
“Alright,” Draco rummaged in his bag for the pad of sticky notes he kept discarded loosely at the bottom. He found a pen next and jotted down his email, ensuring it was perfectly legible before he handed it over.
Harry laughed, “MagicDragon81?”
“At yahoo.com,” Draco helpfully finished for him. It felt like he was smiling, but he couldn’t quite tell. Harry wanted to keep in touch. It was surreal.
“Thanks,” Harry stared at the note for a long moment, “I really should be going now.” They waved goodbye, and Draco watched him leave, the ding of the entry bell echoing in his empty brain. Harry Potter wanted to keep in touch.
He pulled his laptop open, only to be greeted by a call from Narcissa. He accepted without hesitation, and his mother’s scowl filled the screen. “Draco, what on Earth was that?”
“Sorry, I just ran into an old acquaintance.” He couldn’t contain his grin, falling back into the long-forgotten conversation.