Saturday Afternoon
22 August 2009
Draco's POV
This Potter business was getting out of control.
Who was I kidding?
When had it ever been in control?
One minute, you're enjoying an excellent fuck with your schoolboy crush, next you're spiralling madly, obliviating your mates and wondering why you hadn't taken the time to hex a fairly innocent muggle who'd had the misfortune of pulling him.
Oh.
And said crush was currently soundly asleep at your flat because he'd had the damned nerve to call you after fucking another bloke, and you were too much of a hippogriff shit to tell him no.
"Draco," Hermione sounded a tad exasperated, and I didn't blame her.
We were at work, after all, trying to find any leads on this Mirror of Erised case, and here I was, staring off into the distance, being absolutely no help at all.
A drug, I tell you. Potter was a drug.
And I really needed a fix.
It had taken all my willpower not to give in to him last night.
When he'd shown up at my bloody flat, sloshed as could be, clearly having come from another bloke's place, the fucking nerve of him.
He'd reached up, wrapping his arms around me, and it would have been so easy to lean into him.
To allow myself to be surrounded by him, ply his sweet mouth with kisses and fuck him into that mattress, obliterating all thought of those other blokes.
Instead, I'd steeled my resolve and forced myself to leave his side, heading straight to bed, regretting the morning when we would have to talk about it.
Needless to say, I'd been relieved when the work summons had come in early Saturday morning, ensuring I was long gone before he'd awoke next morning so that I wouldn't have to face him.
Or the fact that I, apparently, was okay with taking another bloke's leftovers.
"Sorry, 'Mione," I sighed, picking up my research papers. "I'm no help today."
"Clearly," she agreed, shuffling her own papers into a neat pile. "What do you say we go have lunch? I'm ready for a break, too."
I smiled gratefully and nodded in agreement.
"Yes, that'd be wonderful."
***
Thirty minutes later, Hermione and I were seated at a table in St. John Bread & Wine, one of her favourites in muggle London.
A cursory view of the menu showed me why.
Classic British fare made from fresh ingredients served up in a bright, unstuffy atmosphere.
Food for foodies without being pretentious.
My father would have absolutely hated it.
I'd already decided on the Welsh rarebit with a side salad, having always been the sort who decided exactly what I wanted to eat the moment my eyes glanced at the menu.
"Anything you'd care to talk about?" Hermione asked, setting her menu aside, her warm brown eyes searching mine.
I allowed myself a brief reverie of her reaction should I spill everything regarding Harry and me.
Instead, I decided to go another route.
"Would you ever consider obliviating someone you cared for?"
I was still berating myself over what I'd done to Pansy and Blaise.
"Absolutely," Hermione replied without a moment's hesitation, and I stared at her, completely flabbergasted.
"I already have done," she continued, picking up the wine menu, eyes glancing at me. "During the war. It was for their own safety."
I had no idea who "they" were, and my spirits sank somewhat, as obliviating someone during the war and obliviating someone because they stumbled upon your naughty little secret were very different things.
"And I reversed it once it was safe," she added.
My face must have dropped visibly because she smiled at me reassuringly.
"I'm not saying you should reverse it," she said, pausing as the server arrived at our table.
"Afternoon," the woman greeted cheerfully. "My name is Anne, I'll be your server today. May I start you with something to drink?"
"Hello," Hermione smiled. "May we have a bottle of the Sancerre Rosé and the bone marrow to start?" She glanced at me and winked cheekily.
"You're buying, right?"
I could only roll my eyes, and Anne gave us both a knowing grin.
"I like the way you think, miss," she quipped, looking at me expectantly.
"Of course. And a bottle of San Pellegrino, please," I added.
"Be right back," she assured us, turning on her heel and heading back towards the server station, probably thinking Hermione and I were an adorable couple.
It wouldn't have been the first time a muggle server had mistaken Hermione and me for a couple, what, with all our leaning close together to whisper what they assumed were sweet nothings, but were, in actuality, top-secret happenings within the wizarding world.
"I... I just feel awful, 'Mione," I sighed, returning to our earlier conversation.
"Why?" she asked, and I knew she wasn't asking that question the way most people would.
Hermione wanted specifics. For me to cut straight to the chase.
"... I'm pretty sure I shouldn't have done it," I admitted. "I think... I mean... I'm well aware I did it in the heat of the moment, and... now I really don't think I should have."
I paused, brow furrowed at the memory.
"I didn't do it because they were in any sort of danger. But..." I wasn't sure how to continue without giving too much away.
"Would you do it again?" Hermione asked. "Don't think, just answer."
"Absolutely," I responded.
"Ok," Hermione nodded. "So what is it that's worrying you the most? I mean," she paused again, looking up as she tried to gather her thoughts. "What is it about you having obliviated this person that's giving you so much grief? To the point where you can't even concentrate at work?"
I sighed.
"I... I suppose I don't feel they deserved it," I admitted, honestly. "I feel as though I've violated their trust. I mean. I have violated their trust. Absolutely."
Hermione bit her lip, and our server chose that exact moment to return, a bottle of wine and platter of bone marrow in tow. A younger boy arrived behind her with a wine bucket full of ice which he placed just to the side of our table before scuttling off.
"Here you are, Luvs," Anne announced, setting the platter before us and pulling a wine key from her pocket. She expertly twisted the cork out of the bottle and poured a glass, first for Hermione, then for myself, before setting the bottle in the bucket.
"Enjoy. Food will be out in a bit. In the meantime, let me know if you need anything else."
"I see what you mean," Hermione picked up right where we'd left off. "About violating their trust. I mean, I felt awful obliviating my parents after all they'd done for me, but..."
She paused, seeing the look on my face, and blushed a bit.
"You obliviated your mum and dad?" I asked, incredulously, wine glass paused halfway to my mouth.
"Yes," she nodded, eyes shining fervently. "And I would do it again in a heartbeat, given similar circumstances. I didn't want any Death Eaters or, heaven forbid, Voldemort to be able to harm them or otherwise use them to get information or, you know, to have lured Harry or myself, or Ron. It hurt, and it was one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do, but it was in their best interest. I had to keep them safe."
Again, my face fell as I compared Hermione's emotional speech to the circumstances under which I'd obliviated Blaise and Pansy.
Apples to fucking oranges, indeed.
I took a sip of wine, letting the wave of flavour wash over my tongue.
Luscious peach balanced by a sharp acidity, a perfect balance of crisp and creaminess that went perfectly with the late summer sun.
"Draco, stop comparing your situation to my own," she advised, reading me instantly. "I'm assuming if you felt it necessary to obliviate someone you care about, the situation is such that you'll not be sharing the details with me, so I can't really help you decide if it merited such action or not," she paused to take a sip of wine.
"All I can offer is that I've done it and also tell you that I feel there are a limited number of instances where adjusting someone's memory is forgivable."
I nodded, frowning in thought, as I smeared some marrow onto a piece of toast and nibbled at it, taking another sip of wine, appreciating how the acidity of the wine helped cut through the rich flavour, providing a wonderful balance.
Hermione had picked well.
"It wasn't just my privacy that was compromised," I said finally, chewing thoughtfully on another nibble of toast.
Hermione frowned, munching on her own piece of marrow-smeared toast.
"So... you're saying that, to some effect, you protected your privacy, as well as that of someone else, but now you're worried that, in doing so, you've violated the trust of a friend."
I nodded.
"Friendship is an odd and bewildering beast," she commented, shrugging. "Sometimes, we have to withhold information from those we love most. You, of all people, should understand that."
I sighed, somewhat mollified by Hermione's rationale, even if not entirely convinced she'd be so understanding if she knew I'd done it in a fit of rage to cover up the fact that I was not just fucking her best mate but drowning in him like a soldier fated to battle the tides aboard Medusa's Raft.
Seriously, though. What the fuck else was I supposed to have done?
Let Pansy and Blaise hold that beautifully juicy tidbit over my head for all eternity?
Did I look stupid?
"Wow, fancy running into you two," a voice said suddenly, and I nearly choked on my wine.
Fuck me, could this day get any worse?
"Tristan!" Hermione giggled, eyes slanting over to me mischievously before gazing up at the fucking bastard grinning down at us. "Coincidence, indeed! Would you care to join us?"
No, Hermione. He would fucking not, I thought, mentally cursing Hermione for picking a restaurant in the vicinity of the pub we'd been at that night.
Outwardly, I merely tilted my head towards one of the empty seats beside us, swirling my glass lazily, looking as though I had not a care in the world.
Tristan, the sodding wanker, continued to grin at us stupidly as he took the seat next to Hermione.
He was decidedly dull and relatively harmless, I'd already determined.
So I'd reached into his mind a bit that other night.
So what? I'd just wanted to see what sort of bloke Harry was leaving with since he clearly had no mind to ensure his own safety before taking off with a complete stranger.
Tristan's mind had been boringly mundane.
He liked crappy pop music, entertained naughty thoughts of Zac Efron, and was decidedly Team Jacob.
See how much the idiot liked werewolves had he ever come face-to-face with the likes of Greyback.
He worked as a barista at some coffee shop in the area and, far as I'd been able to tell, had little ambition to do much more with his life than continue slinging overpriced coffee drinks by day and picking up handsome blokes by night.
"You two must live in the area," he stated, still blissfully ignorant, smiling pleasantly as Hermione poured him a glass of wine.
Honestly, she could be a bit blind, as well.
What the fuck did she think she was doing, pouring this arsehole some of our wine?
True, she had no idea I had any reason to loathe this Tristan wanker, but still.
I couldn't resist casting a quick charm that would make the wine bitter, causing Tristan to choke and sputter when he took a sip.
Nor could I stop the satisfied smirk from creeping across my face when he did so.
"Are you alright?" Hermione clapped her hand on his back a few times, and Tristan blinked in confusion a few times as he reached for the proffered glass of water Hermione handed him.
"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks." He gulped the water eagerly, then set the glass down.
"Not much of a wine drinker?" I asked innocently, raising an eyebrow.
"I guess not," he admitted. "I usually favour pints, but...."
"So," Hermione continued, clearly trying to make Tristan feel at ease. "Any plans to see our boy Harry again anytime soon?"
I groaned inwardly.
Silly, Gryffindor, cis girl.
Hermione was a bit of a romantic and so mad for Ron that she assumed everyone was looking for something long-term.
Even if I hadn't been obsessed with Potter, I'd have assumed whatever the fuck they'd got up to the other night didn't constitute a repeat session.
Tristan sputtered over his water this time, and Hermione glanced at him as though he might be a bit slow.
Bless the idiot. I was beginning to like him.
"Erm. No?" He glanced over at me, a bit desperately, looking for help.
I only offered him a completely unhelpful innocuous stare as I helped myself to another bit of marrow and toast.
"I mean, it was just, you know... erm... we were just..."
Tristan's babbling was cut short by the arrival of our main courses.
"Are you joining them for a bite?" Anne asked, smiling at Tristan. "Care to see a menu?"
"I'll just have a pint," he said, flashing her a smile.
"I'm sorry about the other night," Tristan seemed to have recovered somewhat, and he turned to give me a look of chagrin. "I didn't realise you two were... you know."
What, in all that Hecate held sacred, was this blithering moron stammering about now?
I fixed him with my most patented Malfoy glare, hoping the fool would understand that he was treading dangerous waters.
"What would have possibly given you any idea that we were... you know," I drawled, carefully cutting a small bite of the rarebit and raising the fork to my mouth.
Hermione burst out laughing, and I chanced a glance in her direction, bite all but forgotten in midair.
Tristan looked from me to Hermione, utterly confused.
"Harry and Draco?" she gasped, just a tad loudly, I noted, as the tables near us turned towards us with interest.
She brought her voice back down to an acceptable level and continued.
"Don't mind that childish exchange just before you took off. Those two have been antagonising each other since lower secondary," she informed Tristan, leaning towards him conspiratorially.
I breathed an inward sigh of relief and looked at Tristan with what I hoped was a bemused expression.
"No," Tristan insisted, and I just about hexed him with permanent ED.
"It's just... he said your name," he managed, still clearly baffled at the ridiculous situation he'd stumbled into.
I didn't even have to fake the howl of glee I gave then, throwing my head back, rocking my chair back on two legs, one hand clapping over my mouth as I looked at Tristan with absolute delight.
He'd done what?!
"Draco," Hermione warned, fixing me with her most earnest stare. "Be nice."
I couldn't have hoped for a better turn of events. Honestly.
Hermione was now thoroughly thrown off the "truth trail" and I now had a glimmer of hope that I was affecting Harry.
Perhaps even as much as he was affecting me.
"What?" I protested, turning my gaze to her, pleading. "Hermione, he's just given me the best tidbit of ammunition possible, and you want me to be nice?!"
I straightened, setting my chair back on all four legs and smirked over at Tristan, who looked positively mortified.
"Sorry," he muttered, "I just... I guess I just assumed that you had..." he broke off and looked at me helplessly.
"That I'd what? That I'd, at some point, said his name, too?" I supplied, raising my brows as the server returned with Tristan's pint.
Never mind that he was absolutely right.
I wasn't going to let the idiot or Hermione know that.
"Erm. Yeah," he managed a tiny smile up at Anne.
"How is everything?" she asked, smiling brightly but eyeing the barely touched food on our plates.
"Wonderful," I assured her. "We're just catching up and got a tad carried away."
"Tell me, Tristan," I continued once Anne had left us again.
"When, exactly, did our Harry slip up and confuse the two of us?"
I gave him a pointed once-over to highlight the stark contrast in our appearances, and he rolled his eyes and took a gulp from his pint, hand gripping it as though it were a lifeline.
"When do you think, idiot," he muttered.
My eyes narrowed dangerously.
So. ED for just the weekend, then, hmm, Tristan?
He was nervous. That much was clear, even to someone who didn't have the ability to flip through the files of his memory.
I made him nervous.
He couldn't quite lay a finger on it, but he thought me a bit dangerous.
I continued to peruse his mind, tucking into my meal as I did so, pausing when I came across a memory of Harry, sitting on the edge of a bed, head in his hands, sheets rumpled around him.
"I'm sorry," Harry was muttering. "Draco and I... it's complicated."
So Tristan didn't buy my feigned indifference for Harry for a second, it would seem. And, bless him, he was worried for Harry.
If only he'd had any idea what a powerful wizard Harry was.
As though I could have harmed him, even if I'd wanted to.
"Honestly, I'm still getting over the fact that Harry has a crush on you," Hermione still looked stunned, her plate of fennel and Berkswell cheese all but forgotten.
"I doubt you'd call it a crush," I shrugged.
"Probably just realised I'm fit after all these years," I added, waggling my brows at her suggestively.
Last thing I needed was Hermione watching Harry or me too closely. She was too sharp, that one.
"Draco, I'm serious," Hermione was all business now, eyes flashing at me. "Don't you dare say anything to Harry."
"I said I'll play nicely!" I protested again, holding my hands up in mock surrender.
"No," Hermione countered, looking every bit the mother bear protecting her cub. "You did not. Not expressly, and much as I love you, Draco Malfoy, I know better than to trust you unless you've given your express word."
"You sound like a right nice bloke," Tristan commented off-handedly, and I made sure the stupid oaf dropped his beer all over himself.
"Just imagine when I get upset," I drawled as Hermione helped him clean the beer off himself. Tristan's eyes widened as he looked up at me, clearly not missing my insinuation.
"I promise, Hermione," I said earnestly once Tristan was cleaned up as best they could manage, looking her right in the eye. "I will not say or do anything, specifically regarding this situation, to our precious Harry that would embarrass or hurt him."
Hermione rolled her eyes, seeing right through my clever loophole, leaving myself open to taunt and tease our Harry about anything else under the sun.
"I suppose it's a start," she sighed.
"Right, well, erm," Tristan scooted his chair back, looking down at his drenched shirt. "I suppose I've caused enough awkwardness for one afternoon. I'll be on my way."
He rose and made to pull his wallet from his pocket.
"Absolutely not," I chided him, shaking my head. "This is on us."
"Erm. Ok," Tristan said slowly, shoving his wallet back. "Thanks, I guess?"
"No," I countered, smirking up at him. "Thank you."
Tristan looked bewildered and, quite frankly, pleased to leave as he made his way towards the exit.
But not before I hit with a tripping jinx that spilt him face-first onto the black-and-white tiled floor.
Our server, Anne, rushed over to help him up, and he all but sprinted, not giving a second glance behind him.
"What. An. Idiot." Hermione murmured, staring after Tristan.
She spun around to face me, a look of disbelief across her face.
"Do you boys really just go around pulling any fool that looks pretty? Do you really not care if they've trouble walking and can't carry a decent conversation to save their lives?"
"Oh, I don't know," I mused, refilling my wine glass and giving it a swirl. "I doubt there was any conversation and very little walking involved. You'd have to ask Harry to be sure, but it might have been worth his while."
"Not according to Tristan," Hermione blurted out, sniggering, despite herself. "Poor bloke. Harry said your name!"
"Shh, Hermione," I chided. "You've asked me to behave, and here you are, giving me ideas..."