“So do we want to get drunk or do we want friendly chat?” Harry asked as the pair walked down the main street of Hogsmeade.
Malfoy raised his brows. “Drunk, I think,” he said in a tone that implied that friendly chat with Harry was nothing he would ever want to indulge in.
“Fine.” Harry led the way to the Hogshead. As always, the filthy place was almost empty; three goblins sat in one corner conferring in Gobbledegook, another pair of nefarious looking characters, cloaked and hooded despite the roaring fire, muttered out of the corner of their mouths to each other.
“Pleasant place,” Malfoy remarked as they went to a table as far away as possible from the shady occupants. “Merlin, Potter – look at the size of those cobwebs. Doesn’t the barman ever clean this place?” His mouth turned downwards in disgust as he fastidiously brushed dust from his cloak, then cast a quick cleaning charm over the table and chair before seating himself.
As he spoke, the aforementioned barman came over, giving him an unfriendly glare. “You don’t like my pub, you can piss off,” he growled.
“Aberforth, this is Draco Malfoy,” Harry said with a grin, knowing that Aberforth Dumbledore’s bark was worse than his bite.
“Yeah, I know who he is.” Aberforth sniffed. “So, I suppose, as you’re here, you want firewhiskey?”
Harry nodded. “I feel wrong getting drunk at the Broomsticks.”
“Don’t see why. You’re of age,” grumbled Aberforth. “And your bright, shining faces put off my regular customers.”
“We can leave if you want,” Malfoy said. “At least I won’t have to scourgify all my clothes after I leave the Broomsticks.”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry snapped. “We’ll have a bottle please, Aberforth.”
Still grumbling, the innkeeper wandered off to get their drinks.
“So...” Harry leaned back in his chair, watching Malfoy as the Slytherin examined his surroundings nervously. “What made you want to teach?”
Malfoy’s pale eyes turned to him, and Harry knew, if Malfoy continued to look at him that way, he would begin to blush and never stop. “Small talk, Potter?” he sneered. “I thought we were getting drunk?”
Aberforth returned with two glasses and a full bottle of firewhiskey. Harry started to reach for his money but Aberforth waved it away. “Pay me when you’re done,” he growled before going back to his position behind the bar. Harry poured two large glasses and raised his own to Malfoy before sipping on the strong drink. Malfoy copied him, choking slightly as it hit the back of his throat. “Merlin, what is this stuff?” he asked, staring into his glass. “Dragon’s blood?”
“Not the best, but it gets the job done.” Harry smirked. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Malfoy sighed and cautiously sipped again. “Think about it, Potter. Ex-Death Eater – and, it doesn’t matter what really happened or how many times you tell it, but I’m still regarded as the killer of Dumbledore.” He shot a look at Aberforth, then back to Harry. “I’m not exactly overwhelmed with offers of work after school.”
“I didn’t think you’d need to work,” Harry said, surprised. “You have more money than Gringotts.”
“You watched that memory. Don’t you remember what I said to my father?” Malfoy replied softly.
Harry nodded, remembering that Malfoy had told Lucius that he didn’t want his money.
“Anyway, my options are limited. At least, at Hogwarts, the Professors know the truth. In a few years none of the kids there will know who I am. The war will... well, not be forgotten, but the memory will fade and I’ll just be some old Professor to be hated, just like Severus was.”
“I hope you intend to be nicer,” Harry said with a smile.
Malfoy shook his head. “I saw a different Severus,” he replied, taking a large gulp of his drink.
“Because he was the head of your house?”
“Because he was my Godfather.”
Harry couldn’t stop his mouth dropping open. That was something he had never known. “I... I’m sorry,” he whispered finally. “I guess you were closer than I thought?”
Malfoy nodded. “I’d known him all my life. He was... my confidant, my... second father. When we were alone, he was... gentle.” Malfoy shrugged and swallowed down the rest of his drink. “Give me some more of that godawful stuff, Potter.” He held out his glass, which Harry refilled. He took another deep slug of firewhiskey and continued to speak. “When I heard Voldemort killed him, I would have cheerfully followed you into the forest. I would have been right behind you, casting an AK at his slimy face.”
“So that’s why you changed sides?” Harry asked carefully, aware that after two glasses of strong alcohol, Malfoy was being more open than he had ever been, and he didn’t want to break the spell.
Malfoy shook his head. “I changed sides before that. Merlin, Potter, you’ve no idea what it was like... sitting at that table night in, night out, scared out of my wits, expecting Voldemort to kill any one of us at any moment. I realised that I wanted out.” He shook his head. “When you three turned up at the Manor, I knew it was my chance – I could save your hides and come with you.” He laughed bitterly. “But even then, I didn’t have the guts – and I paid the price later.”
Harry leaned forward, placing his hand on Malfoy’s clenched fist. “Hermione told me what you did for her.”
Malfoy snorted.
“You remember... when we fought... when we escaped... I took your wand?” Harry asked.
Malfoy nodded, taking another drink.
“If you had changed your mind right then – if you had come with us willingly and joined us, I could never have killed Voldemort – even though I didn’t know it at the time. Not many people know, even now, that the key to defeating Snake-face was given to me in the corner of that room when two bratty kids tussled over three wands.”
Malfoy nodded. He had been present when Harry had killed Voldemort. He had heard the story. “Funny isn’t it?” He laughed softly. “I was master of the most powerful wand in existence, and I never even touched it.”
“It’s not all that,” Harry said casually.
Malfoy grinned, and Harry could see that, already, Malfoy was beginning to relax as the drink took hold. His own extremities were buzzing slightly and his face felt a bit hot. He wondered how drunk they would get before Malfoy finally accepted that they could be friends – or maybe that they already were – and if he got really, really drunk, could he admit that there might be something more?
Determined to at least try, Harry downed his firewhiskey and poured two more drinks.
********
Two hours and one bottle of firewhiskey later, Harry knew that he would have a really difficult time getting back to Hogwarts. Malfoy – or rather Draco, as he had finally been ordered to call the Slytherin, was almost incoherent.
Draco was a soppy drunk, Harry found out in his moments of clarity. He had gotten his wish and been declared Draco’s best mate in the world, and, having been thrown out of the pub when Aberforth finally needed to go to bed, they weaved down the road towards the school, arm in arm, supporting each other. Draco even began to sing that awful song about Odo that Hagrid had always been fond of. Harry couldn’t remember the words, but attempted to join in at the ends of lines now and then, before Draco turned to him and clapped a cold hand over his mouth.
“You couldn’t hold a tune in a bloody cauldron, Potter!” he laughed. “Stop singing!”
“Mmmfph!” Harry replied indignantly.
“You don’t know the words, you don’t know the tune and even if you did, I doubt you could hit one note in five!”
Harry managed to pull Draco’s hand from his mouth. “I’ll sing if I want to... oooooh Odo’s old haaaaaat waaaaas a.....”
“No, nononono!” Draco giggled. “Stop it! Stop it! It’s bloody awful! Someone has to shut you up.”
“You can’t shut me up!”
“I can!” Draco grabbed Harry, pulled him close and planted his lips firmly on Harry’s own.
Harry’s first thought was ‘now I can’t sing’. His second thought was ‘Draco’s kissing me!’.
There was no third thought. He sank completely and utterly into the tooth-clashing, lip-tingling, tongue-lashing kiss, wantonly shoving his tongue back into Draco’s mouth, grinding his hips against Draco’s own, even as he kissed back with all the sloppy enthusiasm of an extremely drunk eighteen year old. After a long, long moment, where his vision began to blur and his ear began to make high-pitched buzzing noises, Harry finally let Draco go, blinking to clear the stars from his vision.
“That was.... bloody fantastic!” he declared.
... before passing out cold at Draco’s feet.