Like Fine Wine

Chapter 4

Warning: mention of physical violence by public. Toned down for readers.

"Two Butterbeers, please," Potter called out as soon as they entered the frequented pub. It was quite empty at this time of the day and week, so Draco did not have to worry about running into crowds and getting panic attacks from... ah, well.

"Rosmerta, could you please make that a chilled Firewhisky with crushed ice and a Butterbeer? Thank you," Draco corrected his arch-nemesis. Or he could settle for calling him his former nemesis. Whatever.

Clasping his fingers together on the tabletop, Draco fixed him with a dead serious look. "Now, since we are here, let us not dilly-dally any longer. I'm tolerating this meeting because it is for business. Would you kindly-"

"Minerva told me you taught here," Potter interjected like the annoying brat he was. "And since I spotted ol' Slughorn taking the Potions class to a little field trip, I am particularly curious about which subject you took up."

"That's none of your business, Potter," Draco snapped. "Now, about your perfume-"

"I need to know my customer's intentions first, so answer me, Draco," Potter scowled. Draco formed an even deeper scowl to match his. "Drop it. I didn't say we were on first-name basis."

"Yet," Potter's lips quirked back up into an amused smile. "Anyway, if you don't want to tell me, I can always owl Nev, he teaches Herbology here, after all."

"Divination."

"What?"

"I teach Divination," Draco said, but somehow, saying it felt embarrassing, as if he were making himself vulnerable and open to ridicule just by stating this simple piece of information. He averted his gaze from Potter's and hoped he wouldn't notice that his ears had been tinged pink.

"Oh," was all Potter said. "I didn't think it was an actual subject."

Draco's eyes blazed with passion and fury at that. He sat up straighter and puffed out his chest a little. "Professor Trelawney was a complete wreck at the subject. One look at her and you could tell that being a Seer was not up her alley. She desperately kept trying to cover up for her lacking prowess. Honestly, ornamentally predicting your death every fortnight or so was the only thing that kept her life going."

Potter chuckled at that. "I bet you would have loved it if it actually came true."

"But it did," Draco rolled his eyes. "And yet, here you are, in front of me, larger than life and grinning like a baboon."

Potter shook his head, still laughing. "She was the one who told the prophecy about me and Voldemort, though. And the one about Peter Pettigrew."

Draco flinched and shuddered at both names. He remembered all of a sudden, those dark, desperate days when he wished that this would all end and how it would have been better if he had died. He took in a shaky breath. Harry noticed and moved to place a hand on his palm. Draco swatted it away.

"I'm alright, Potter, and this is not a date," he hissed. "In fact, such a location hardly calls for an ideal dating hub."

"Would you prefer Madam Puddifoot's tea shop, then?" Potter snickered.

Draco formed a pained and disgusted expression.

"Thought so," Potter leaned back. "And the Professors wondered why we avoided that place like the plague."

"I know, right?" Draco gave in to laughing, covering his mouth lightly with his fist. He remembered daring some Slytherins to go on dates with Hufflepuffs there, and even the first experimental date he had with Theodore Nott, of all people, to confirm whether he was actually gay. On further 'experimentation', he concluded that he was bisexual.