𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐒 2008

A Far Better Fate (2/2)

A far better fate Part 2 of 2

my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom

The Three Broomsticks Pub
Hogsmeade, Scotland
(the table in the corner where Rosmerta
can't see if you drink a lot)
10th October 1997, 6.03pm

Harry Potter could drink anyone under the table; in that he was totally confident. Those pansies who drank five Firewhiskies and gave up, calling themselves 'real drinkers', didn't stand a chance.

His first month back at Hogwarts had been less than stellar. Malfoy was still refusing to speak to him, Hermione and Ron were constantly off in their own little world, and Harry hadn't been able to open a newspaper without seeing his own picture for weeks. The pub was his best option; cheap booze, dark lighting (at least where he sat) and little to no interrogation from Madam Rosmerta, who was now far too occupied trying to train a new barman for her overseas trip in the winter.

It wasn't as if anything had changed; Harry had no reason to think that Malfoy would be speaking to him now after months apart, but some part of him hoped that somewhere in Malfoy was the desire to come running back to Harry, begging for forgiveness. But perhaps that was just the part that had been feeding on a steady diet of whisky and worry for more than three months. He had fallen terribly behind on his research; whenever he had any inclination to read about defensive spells he was far too preoccupied to concentrate for more than five minutes at a time, and without Malfoy or Hermione to be there to encourage him, he found it impossible to have any sort of a work ethic.

When Draco slipped through the door to the Three Broomsticks, Harry could have been knocked over with a feather. He didn't know whether to hide or to call Draco over. He settled for coughing loudly and half-sliding down into his chair. Before he had worked out whether he wanted Draco to notice him or not, he had and had turned around to leave.

Harry made the split-second decision (quite a feat for his alcohol-addled brain) and tore out of the pub to follow him.

"Malfoy! Malfoy!!"

Draco turned around reluctantly. "Potter, stop. You're causing a scene."

"There's no one here."

"That doesn't mean that the people inside the houses can't hear you."

"I don't care."

"You will in the morning, when you're not pissed off your face." Draco said disdainfully, turning away.

"Oh, look who's all high-and-mighty now!" Harry shouted, and had he been sober, he
would have been horribly embarrassed at his retort.

"I'm not 'high-and-mighty', Potter. I just - I think you should go back to your bed."

"Why won't you talk to me?" Harry whined.

"To begin with, you sound like a six-year-old. And anyway, you're the one who walked out - the one who cancelled our agreement!" Draco yelled, his cheeks turning pink in the faint glow of the street lamps.

"Because that's all it was to you - an agreement! You wouldn't talk to me about anything that matters, and I-"

"I couldn't talk to you, because it hurts to talk to you. I can't think because I know that no matter what, we're on opposite sides of the fence, in every way possible." Draco's voice cracked as he spoke, but he continued anyway. "Did you know that I turned down the Dark Mark for you this summer? I got up there, and I was ready to fulfill the destiny that my father's been planning for me for eighteen years, and I couldn't do it, because I kept picturing your stupid face, and I couldn't stop thinking about all those damned Muggles you love so much, and I couldn't do it."