Work Text:
2004, London
The December wind whipped Draco’s hair violently as he approached the club, and he cursed himself for even trying to gel it down. God forbid he try and look presentable in public.
He didn’t frequent muggle establishments, but it was nearly New Year’s and Pansy had grown quite fond of this particular Soho night club and had been begging him to come for ages. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do on a Friday night.
As he walked through the door, the warm air, smelling sweetly of vodka and sweat, hit Draco like a stone wall. It snagged him in a claustrophobic embrace as he scanned the room, urgently looking for Pansy and Blaise.
Unsuccessful, Draco tapped furiously on the silver Motorola Razr V3 Pansy had gifted him for his birthday in June. With a few magical modifications, it had quickly become Draco’s preferred method of correspondence, mostly due to its speed compared to owling. The cellular phone was one muggle contraption Draco was pleased had infiltrated the Wizarding World.
Where are u??
Draco slammed the damned thing shut and crossed his arms. He would have at least appreciated a message notifying him of her tardiness.
Within moments, a message pinged and Draco pulled his phone out again to look at the external display:
you’re welcome x
Draco huffed and squeezed the phone back into his pocket. He was rethinking his choice in wearing leather pants when someone caught his eye.
No…it couldn’t be.
His dark curls cascaded down until they brushed against his shoulders, but were mostly bouncing in time with the music and his own movements. His skin, warm and blushed from dancing, was more exposed than Draco had ever seen it, and it made his throat tighten. He was wearing a tight black tank top, and Draco could clearly see the scars and tattoos cluttering his arms and torso.
But what he truly couldn’t look away from was the way he was holding the man across from him: his arms loosely around his waist and their bodies flush.
Draco suddenly became very aware of himself, what he was wearing, where he was looking. And he might as well have been staring lasers because, in an instant, his eyes met with swirling green.
Potter.
The piercing green eyes scanned him up and down, and when they met Draco’s silver gaze again, Potter grinned.
If Draco was already having trouble breathing, it was now impossible.
This was a very different Potter to the one he thought he knew. The last he saw, Potter’s hair was cropped, he was clean shaven, and he had a female Weasley in a wedding dress on his arm.
Draco was so lost in thought he hardly realized that with each swell of music, Potter was coming closer to him.
“Malfoy?” His deep voice, husky with drunkenness, startled Draco out of his stupor.
Draco swallowed and composed himself. “Potter.”
“Fancy seeing you here. I didn’t think I’d ever see you in a place like this.” Potter chuckled, his hands behind his head, putting his very toned arms on display.
“Yes, well, I was supposed to be meeting Pansy…” Draco looked around for an escape.
“Right! I’ve seen her here loads. She usually just sits in the corner booth with Zabini, though. Figured she doesn’t really want to rub elbows with any muggles.” Potter tried to make his voice heard over the song playing.
“You’d be surprised. She’s very different from when we were in school. She’s mad about muggle clubs…” Why was he carrying on this conversation and not turning around and bolting out of there? “Very, um, into music.”
“Same here, that’s what originally drew me in here…” Potter turned back to Draco, motioning to the bar. “Can I get you anything?”
“I, uh…” Already dispossessed of most of his faculties, Draco hardly thought it could get worse. “What’s the closest you’ve got to Firewhisky?”
“I’ve got you.” Potter gave a friendly punch to Draco’s shoulder. Draco decided to attribute it to his drunken state and not look into it further. The last time they spoke they were hardly this amicable.
“A shot of Fireball for my mate here, and another Jameson for me, David,” Potter shouted over the deafening music.
Potter brought over the two glasses and handed one to Draco. He held his own up.
“Cheers,” Potter downed the drink and Draco, his competitive nature rekindled by Potter’s presence, followed suit.
He coughed — only slightly — and with liquid courage burning in his chest, he spoke.
“You look…different,” Draco exclaimed.
“Different bad?” Potter smiled sheepishly.
“No,” Draco answered far too quickly and earnestly. He blushed.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Potter sighed and motioned towards Draco with his glass. “You look different too.” He added quickly, “Different good.”
Draco’s blush deepened. His brain was fuzzy, and his vision was softer, the lights behind Potter making him glow. “So how’re you and the wife?”
It was Potter’s turn to cough. Once he had his breath back, he corrected him: “Ex-wife.”
Draco was stunned. He was sure he would’ve seen such a high profile separation in the Prophet.
“S-Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was in everyone’s best interest,” Potter didn’t look upset in the slightest. “We’d practically been betrothed since sixth year. It seemed the only logical thing to do after the war. But we were just kids.
“That’s not to say there wasn’t some upset when it all came about. Ginny came around to it eventually, but I haven’t yet been invited back for Christmas at the Burrow.” Potter shrugged. “But when I finally got my own place, started working around here, it’s like an elephant finally stepped off my chest. I didn't have to worry about anyone. No one was in peril, and no one expected anything of me. It’s been quite liberating, actually.” Potter paused, looking at Draco again. “Sorry, I haven’t spoken to anyone about it in a long time, someone who’d actually understand it all.”
Draco took it all in. He didn’t feel like he deserved this outpouring of vulnerability from him, but felt strangely grateful for it.
“I understand,” Draco finally spoke. “I’ve become…somewhat of a recluse since the trial. I’m fortunate to have Pansy and Blaise dragging me out on occasion, but I’m much happier not having to see anyone who knows me.”
The man Potter had been dancing with earlier walked up behind him, dragging his hand across his lower back and attempting to lead him away, but Potter stayed put. The man went back to the dance floor.
Draco’s face went hot with what could either have been embarrassment or jealousy. “Is he…your…?”
“Oh, Merlin, no. Matthew’s just a good friend. Well, maybe a bit more. I’m seeing lots of people nowadays.” Potter chuckled. “Not really in the mood for a relationship so soon, I guess.”
“I don’t think I could.” Draco shocked himself with his honesty. “I wouldn’t be able to stand dating someone, having to make small talk, get to know them. It seems terribly boring.”
Potter laughed earnestly at that, smiling. He inched closer to Draco, making his voice as quiet as he could while still being heard.
“Well, we surely could skip that part and get to the good stuff, couldn’t we?”
Draco pushed him back playfully, every nerve ending under his skin burning. “You’re drunk.”
Potter pouted. “You have to admit it though, I think I know more about you than most.”
“I think you know too much.”
With that, Potter took Draco’s wrist and pulled him, protesting, onto the dance floor. The multicolored light swirled around him as he found himself gripping to Potter’s shoulders for stability. He looked up and their faces were shockingly close.
Draco backed up slightly, but didn’t remove his hands from Potter’s shoulders.
Looking into Potter’s eyes, feeling his warm breath on his face, Draco let himself be led in the dance. The music seemed to be muffled, as all his other senses were firstmost focused on Potter.
His stomach dropped as Potter leaned in, his breath tickling his neck as he whispered in Draco’s ear.
“So, are you free later tonight?”