“Sure,” Potter murmured, still eyeing him suspiciously. “I’ll go first. Just say you want to go to my flat, I’ll let the wards down.”
Draco nodded, stiffly, and watched Potter vanish in the green flames. He took a few deep breaths before he did the same.
The first thing he noticed when he stepped into Potter’s living room was how empty it looked. The essentials were there, a sofa, a shelf…but there was no trace of Potter. Nobody could have guessed he was the one living here. As Draco pondered that, his eyes fell on the table in the middle of the room; he immediately froze.
“But…you already made dinner.”
“I did.”
“That was a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
Draco drank in Potter’s smile. It was teasing, but also…something else. It made him want to smack him…and then snog him senseless. Oh boy. This evening was already doomed.
“I’m only here because you practically begged me,” Draco drawled.
“You can say what you want, Draco, I know you like spending time with me.”
There was something so disarming about that comment, Draco momentarily lost his train of thought. If Potter noticed, he didn’t let it show. He seemed concentrated as he lighted a few candles. Candles! As if this was supposed to be romantic.
“Can you open the wine?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.
“Gladly. You can’t be trusted with an important task like that,” Draco replied, walking over to the table. He reached for the bottle, scanning the label, and furrowed his brows. It actually wasn’t a bad one. On the contrary. It was one of Draco’s favourites.
“Is it not the right one?” Potter asked when he saw Draco frowning at the bottle.
“It’ll do,” Draco shrugged.
“You’re such an arse,” Potter sniggered.
Draco peeked sideways at him, his scalp prickling. Had Potter seriously spent nearly 200 Galleons just to please Draco? Just a few days ago, he had said it was insane to spend that much money on wine. Warmth spread through Draco’s body, which was highly unwelcome. Shaking his head, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at the bottle. He eyed the rest of the table and was surprised to find that Potter had actually managed to put together a rather decent looking meal. He wasn’t too keen on pot roast, but it looked better than he had expected from Potter.
“I didn’t know you can cook,” he murmured as he sat down.
“Yeah, well, some kids learn how to play an instrument, I learned how to cook,” Potter said, taking his own seat.
“Your family taught you how to cook? How very Muggle of them.”
“They were Muggles,” Potter pointed out and Draco noticed there was no humour left in his eyes. “And they didn’t really teach me. I learned as I went. I only knew I was making progress when they didn’t yell at me.”
Draco blinked. “You make it sound like that was a common occurrence.”
“It was,” Potter shrugged.
“But…” Draco shook his head. “So you cooked for them?”
“Yeah,” Potter muttered, staring at his plate. “Sometimes they let me have the leftovers. Which wasn’t that often, since my cousin devoured anything remotely edible.”
Draco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It sounded…it sounded like Potter’s childhood hadn’t been nearly as happy as Draco had thought. Of course he had heard rumours over the years, especially at Hogwarts, but he had always thought people were exaggerating to make the rising of the Saviour even more glorious.
“Are you telling me…” He swallowed, fisting his hand into the tablecloth. “Are you telling me they starved you?”
Potter bit his lip. He looked uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t say ‘starved’. They…” He sighed. “My aunt gave me enough…to…”
To what? Survive? This was outrageous! Draco’s vision blurred as his stomach twisted painfully. Suddenly, so many little things he hadn’t pondered on when they had been at Hogwarts made so much sense in light of that revelation.
Draco had always been skinny himself and he could basically eat what he wanted without gaining any weight, so he hadn’t thought anything of Potter’s slim figure. But now that he thought about it, he had looked unhealthily skinny in their first year. Draco remembered his disgust when he had watched Potter devour his food in the Great Hall. He had simply thought the prat lacked proper manners. But now…No wonder Potter had been so fixated on food. Draco balled his hands into fists around his cutlery. Those damned Muggles had starved him.
“What the—” Potter let out a yell in surprise as the wine bottle burst into a thousand pieces. There was red wine everywhere. Draco was still flooded with anger, barely noticing that Potter was talking to him.
“Did you just—Was that you? Again?”
Draco didn’t answer, trying not to break anything else in his rage. Potter seemed to notice how tense he was, moving deliberately slow as he reached for his wand. With a quick flick, the shards and the spilled wine were gone.
“There’s still wine on your clothes,” Potter said quietly. His face was unreadable, but there was something about the way he was looking at Draco that gave the impression he was experiencing a flood of emotions.
“Whatever,” Draco muttered. Before he could grab his wand, Potter spoke again.
“No, wait! I don’t think you should be using magic right now.”
Draco rolled his eyes, even though he quietly agreed with Potter. “You do it, then.”
Potter’s face twisted. “No, I don’t trust myself to—No. Let’s just—Wait here, okay?” He got up and darted into another room. His bedroom, Draco supposed. When he came back, he was holding a blue jumper.
“Here, put this on.”
Draco scrunched up his nose and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “That’s ridiculous. Just wave your bloody wand and it’ll get rid of the stains.”
“Draco,” Potter said in a stern voice. “I’m not using magic on you right now. Stop being a baby and put this on.”
Gritting his teeth, Draco wrenched the jumper out of Potter’s hands and stomped into his bedroom, banging the door shut behind him. Throwing the jumper on Potter’s bed, he unbuttoned his shirt with furious fingers and tossed in on the floor. He grimaced as he pulled on the jumper, unwilling to acknowledge how soft it felt against his skin. And…oh Merlin, he didn’t think this through! Of course the jumper smelled like Potter!
Carefully, Draco sniffed at the sleeve and was immediately overwhelmed. How was he supposed to survive the evening like this? He tried not to think about how many times Potter had worn this jumper, how it usually caressed his skin, how it probably tousled his hair when he pulled it off…Oh, Merlin!
With a scowl, Draco looked down on himself. He probably looked ridiculous. The jumper was far too big. Why Potter liked his clothes like this, Draco would never understand. He looked around, frowning. Didn’t Potter own a mirror? Huh. There was something in the corner of the room that could be a mirror, but it was covered with a bedsheet. Letting curiosity get the better of him, he walked over and lifted it. Surely enough, his reflection stared back at him. Weird! Why would Potter cover up his mirror? Oh, and Draco did look very ridiculous indeed!
Sighing, he let go of the bedsheet and turned around. His gaze fell on a picture frame on Potter’s bedside table; Potter, Granger and Weasley were grinning like idiots, their arms around their shoulders. It must have been taken at Hogwarts, or at least during their time there. Somehow, Draco thought it was significant that this seemed to be the only personal thing Potter had on display in his flat. And it was in his bedroom, so not everybody would see it. He had no idea what to make of it.
“Are you okay in there?” he heard Potter call. Draco huffed and kicked his shirt into a corner. Potter could clean it for all he cared. Grumpily, he marched back into the living room. He caught sight of Potter’s face, which was strangely lighting up. He almost looked as though he liked seeing Draco in his jumper.
“It’s too big,” Draco muttered as he sat down.
“All my clothes are like that,” Potter shrugged, but there was a hint of nervousness in his voice.
“Why?”
Potter shrugged again. “I’m used to it, I guess.” He was still looking at Draco in that strange way. He probably just felt smug, having robbed Draco of his dignity.
