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“Potter.”
The syllables were familiar but the cadence as they left Dracaena’s mouth was off. Harry noticed it immediately because he’d heard it said so many times over the course of his years at Hogwarts that it was ingrained into his head. Haughty, taunting, mocking, and in the end even desperate. But now it was neutral. Almost quiet in a way that was unsettling.
“Malfoy. It’s good to see you.”
She didn’t immediately respond to that, instead her gaze drifting to the side. Her hand subconsciously scratched at her left forearm, hidden beneath the long sleeves she wore. Two years removed from anything and he couldn’t help but wonder if it still burned. If he was truly gone.
“Are you…here with someone?” Harry asked.
They stood on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, tucked just far enough to the side of a bustling apothecary entrance to avoid the flow of shoppers. Despite the crowd of bodies, people walked past them seemingly without turning a second glance. Even though he was him, and she was her. It was refreshing in more ways than one. The first year after Voldemort’s defeat had been a strictly guarded existence. Now, he was just starting to be able to go out freely again.
“My mother,” she answered. “She’s…taking care of some business.”
“Is she doing well?”
“What do you care?”
The venom slipped out of habit and Harry noted that sounded familiar. In fact, he found himself smiling at the familiarity. As if knowing that the events hadn’t completely broken her. Harry shrugged, his head tilting to the side.
“Just making conversation. I heard they were let off easy.” Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m glad. For your mother at least. She really cared about you.”
Dracaena bit her bottom lip, flinching as if she regretted her impulsive response. The defense mechanism that always seemed to rear its head around him especially. Even more so when he tried to be kind to her. She reached up, tucking a strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear out of habit.
A brief silence fell over them for a moment. Normally, this would be when an interruption would come. Ron or Hermione would bundle around the corner to drag him away, or a gaggle of Slytherins would arrive and the air would grow thick with arrogance. But it never happened. It was just the two of them in their own little bubble.
“You’ve gotten shorter,” Harry noted.
Dracaena’s brow furrowed immediately, her chin tilting just a fraction higher. “I’ve gotten shorter? How does that make any sense? You’re the one who has grown taller, obviously. Dumber too apparently—”
Her rant stopped short as a smile broke on Harry’s features before turning into a full fit of laughter. It was genuine and unguarded in a way that felt like it belonged before the war. She could feel her face starting to burn and knew that the crimson shade was likely already a stark contrast against her pale complexion.
Dracaena sharply turned her head away, finding a distinct interest in the items in the window of the apothecary. “...Stupid, Potter.”
“I was just trying to lighten the mood,” Harry said.
“Great,” she mumbled. “Is there anything else you’d like to lighten while you’re at it?”
The sentence made no sense but she refused to back down from her position. Even if she couldn’t remember the last time someone had laughed in her presence. These days she was more accustomed to whispered accusations and side-eyed stares. Yet here he was, the hero of the wizarding world, standing here having a laugh and talking to her as if she wasn’t a pariah.
Subconsciously she tugged at her sleeve again.
“Well? I assume you have better things to do than stand here talking to me, Potter.”
Harry was thoughtful, his head tilting to the side. She couldn’t help noting that he had in fact grown taller in these last two years. He looked a bit older as well, but not in the way he had before. Back then he looked more tired, bags under his eyes from long days and sleepless nights. Now he looked more mature. His jaw had started to fill out, his shoulders were more broad. His hair, she noted, was as messy as ever.
Perhaps the one detail that stood out was his scar. The attempt at hiding it was half-hearted at best. Almost as if he hadn’t even tried. Like he no longer cared who saw and who didn’t.
“I suppose there is one more thing.”
Dracaena straightened her posture as best she could. “Go on, then.”
“I never got the chance to say thank you,” Harry said.
Dracaena felt the color drain from her face, her brows furrowing again. “Thank…me? Is this…your idea of a joke?” She could feel her face starting to heat up again in righteous anger. “Did you hit your head or something?”
Harry, infuriatingly, seemed utterly unfazed by her dismay. “No, thankfully. And it’s not a joke either. That was what the short comment was for.”
She opened her mouth to retort something but found herself gaping at air instead, watching as the smile remained on Harry’s features. He thought he was so clever. So, funny. Able to make light of the situation even now. Even when she didn’t deserve it. How many times had she ranted about that to Daphne back at school? She had hated it and yet she found herself wishing she could laugh alongside him. That was what she hated most of all.
“I…I didn’t do anything, Potter. So there’s no need to thank me.” Dracaena finally managed, her eyes focused on a particular cobblestone. “In case you haven’t noticed, the Malfoy name isn’t one people are thanking these days.”
“Fine, I won’t thank you. So you can owe me instead.”
Dracaena raised her head to look at him. “Excuse me?”
Harry shrugged. “You can owe me. If you won’t take my gratitude. I mean, it’s the least you can do after everything.”
At first she said nothing, trying to figure out whether he was being serious or messing with her again. If this was some kind of bet and his friends were waiting around the corner to mock her the moment she said yes. The moment that, for the first time, she allowed herself to be vulnerable. But he didn’t give her anything. He just continued to look at her with that half-smile, and waited.
No expectations. No demands. He just…waited for her answer.
“Fine. I owe you or whatever,” Dracaena said. “Not that I know what you’d even want. And I’m not being your servant if that’s what you think—”
“Get a drink with me.”
Dracaena’s mouth hung agape for a moment, the rest of her sentence dying in her throat.
“A drink? Is that some kind of joke, Potter?”
“No,” Harry said. “I was going to ask you normally but I thought you might say no so I framed it in a way that would be acceptable to you. If anyone asks, you're just repaying me.” Harry shrugged, pursing his lips for a moment. “But, if you asked me, I really just want to have a drink with you.”
“...To thank me?”
“To have a drink and talk with you,” Harry corrected. “But that too.”
Another silence fell over them as she warred with her insides. To just drink and talk. How long had she wanted that? How many trips to Hogsmeade had gone by with that very situation on her mind? More than she’d like to admit out loud or to herself, that much was certain. And yet here he was offering it to her under the guise of a debt, like an olive branch.
A child ran by, a young wizard with a toy wand. Dracaena watched them go, her grey eyes lingering for a moment before they returned to Harry. Her fingers tugged at the sleeve of her shirt before she tilted her chin slightly.
“Very well.”
Harry raised his eyebrows, as if he was surprised she actually agreed. “Seriously.”
“Y-yes,” his shock unnerved her slightly but she recovered shortly after. “After I accompany Mother back home we can meet at the Leaky Cauldron. Don’t be late.”
She knew it was audacious of her to determine the time and place all things considered, but her pride wouldn’t let her completely convey just how much she was looking forward to it. On top of that, the Cauldron was the kind of place no one would ever assume she’d be caught dead at. Harry seemed content to let her live in her delusion, nodding his head and extending a hand towards her.
“I’ll see you there.”
Dracaena looked at the hand for a moment and felt the weight of the gesture. She considered dismissing it with a turn of her heel, as she would have always done, and going to find her mother but she hesitated. After another moment she reached out, her pale fingers sliding into his grasp and she noted how warm his palm was when he squeezed.
“I’ll see you there, Potter.”
Harry gave her hand one more firm squeeze, seemingly satisfied with the outcome. “I like what you’ve done with your hair, by the way. It suits you, Dracaena.”
Her posture froze and she could feel heat rising to her cheeks. She hadn’t done much with her hair, only cut it to where it now rested just at her shoulders rather than down to her lower back. He’d noticed. Of course he had. It was one of his insufferable traits. And he’d used her first name too. Dracaena yanked her hand back, clutching it as if he had burned it.
“What are you saying, idiot.” She turned on her heel, intending to find her mother and explain why they needed to head home now. Before she pulled the door to the shop open, however, she paused, tossing a glance over her shoulder. “Don’t be late.”
The door chime jingled as she pulled it open, hurrying inside before he could say something else to disarm her. And for the first time in years, she found herself feeling hopeful.