Meet me at Midnight - drarry fic

Draco ii: meet me at midnight

Draco had walked around London in the rain for a while after he left Potter's. He found it helped to calm him down, push back the still-raw memories of Hogwarts and the pain they bought with them. Back in his tiny but immaculate apartment, he showered, dazed from the morning's drama. He dressed, and headed to the kitchen to get a drink. On his kitchen table sat a tattered envelope addressed to 'Draco' in familiar, cursive script. He sighed deeply.
            His father wrote every now and then, always rambling, always convinced the war wasn't over. Draco preferred the war over, those dark years behind him. He liked to convince himself he was over what happened, what he'd done. Lucius, however, continued to plot and scheme, stuck in a world from five years ago, sure the only thing he had to do was kill Harry Potter and then the Dark Lord would rise again.

Draco,
          We must rise. There are many of us who stand for justice, for what we deserve! Potter must fall, if he falls, they all fall. We will be back soon. The Ministry will fall under our Dark Magic. Take your rightful place at my side. We could rule the world, finally get the power we deserve. How can you sleep knowing the people in power - they should be us. They may have won that battle, but we will win this war. Expect further contact. We will rise again.
Lucius.

Draco gave up writing back pretty early on, it was clear his father was not receiving these letters. He marvelled at this madman's mind, but mostly tried to forget this psycho was his father.
          He forced himself to eat some toast, and sat down at his desk.
I should write to Potter.
No I shouldn't. That's a dumb idea.
When are my ideas not dumb?
I still shouldn't. I'll regret it later.
Okay.
He instead owled his mother. They hadn't seen each other in over a year. He just couldn't forgive he for putting up with his father's actions all those years.
Pretty shitty luck I got, in the family department.
Even though he knew how hard it was to defy a man like his father, or, rather, Voldemort, and that she had done the right thing in the end, Draco didn't want to see his mother right now. Or ever, really.
Holding grudges will only hurt me.
I don't care.
                                             *****
Draco was jolted awake by the sound of a phone ringing. Looking around, he realised that he had fallen asleep trying to fill in the insane amount of paperwork needed to legalise a potion. He stumbled over to his bedside table, where a muggle phone lay, fully charged and never once used, ringing inexplicably loudly. Draco only answered because he had never done this before, and found it a strange (but exciting) prospect.
"Malfoy?"
Him.
"What do you want, Potter?"
"To talk."
"Well, we would appear to be doing that."
"In person."
"Why?"
"Because I can't leave you on that note. I'm sick of this whole 'I hate you' thing. And I want to know what's going on with your life."
"You always have to care, don't you?"
Potter laughed, "I suppose I do."
I don't mind it.
"You seem worried. And people who are okay don't usually hook up with people who are supposed to hate them."
"I don't need your help. You don't need to help me."
Yes you do.
"Not falling for that. Meet me at that awful coffee shop near the Ministry at midnight." Draco checked the time. 23:41. "You aren't giving me long."
"You're a wizard, Malfoy. Work it out." The call cut off.
Draco sighed, and began tidying up.
Stupid Potter with his morals.
I'm still going.
       He raced around his room, throwing shirt after shirt away.
Why do none of these go with my semi-casual-late-at-night-not-a-date-but-still-an-occasion trousers?
He eventually just pulled on some black trousers and a black shirt, and grabbed his winter coat as he raced out of the door.
I swear I'm the only person on earth who gives myself a heart attack trying to decide what to wear for a meeting with their enemy turned lover turned I don't even know what...