Redemption: Part 2/3

[khasael]

Title: Redemption
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Era: Post-Hogwarts (approx 10 years). Canon-compliant, but does not take into account the epilogue.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Discussion of past self-harm. Angst. Character death (not Harry or Draco).
Word Count: ~18,500
Betas: the lovely lia_clarissima  and the marvellous hanelissar

Summary: When Draco runs into Harry Potter in Muggle London, he has no idea how much the chance encounter will change his way of life. How much is he willing to learn about forgiveness?

Author's Notes: Posted in three parts due to length. First part of a three part Series (Next is "Newfound Light", coming soon). Also, comments are love :)

Disclaimer: This piece of fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.

Start with Part One


Redemption

~*~
Draco was sitting alone in his mother’s garden when a hand came down on his shoulder. He grabbed his wand and whirled around on the wide lip of the fountain.

“Malfoy, it’s just me.”

He looked up into the earnest face of Harry Potter. A million questions rose in his mind. Where had he been for the last two months? How had he known where he was? He asked the one that formed itself into words the fastest. “How did you get in here?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How did you get past all the wards?” Had he turned them off and forgotten about them? If so, he could hardly be blamed. The funeral, a small, private affair, had been yesterday. Draco scarcely remembered most of it. He also couldn’t remember how he’d gotten home, nor if he’d eaten in the last day and a half. He barely remembered walking through the house and into the garden not three hours ago.

“They were there, but they didn’t stop me. There was just a pretty chime as I stepped through the front gate, and then a little melody when I tried the front door.”

It came back to him then. His mother had changed some of their wards before she’d become ill. For several years, they had been protected by the most stringent of spells and barriers. But as the full-scale animosity had lessened and people had moved on with their lives, his mother had put simpler ones into place, ones that simply prevented those who wished harm to any of the Manor’s inhabitants from getting too close. He remembered thinking that they weren’t that different from the walls he’d put up around himself, really.

“Oh. Why is it you’re here? And how did you know where to find me?”

“I’d heard about your mother.” He saw Draco’s sharp glance and took a quick step backward. The wand was still in Draco’s hand, and the look on his face said he wasn’t quite stable. “Luna, from back in school, she’s a Healer at St. Mungo’s. Something I said in conversation prompted her to mention your mother’s passing. So I headed to the Apothecary and asked after you, and Terry Jigger said as far as he knew, you’d be here, taking care of things.”

“And why are you here?”

“I wanted to offer my condolences.”

“You could have just sent an owl.”

Potter sighed and raked a hand through that mop he called hair. “I’ll leave if you prefer.”

“Please do.” He wasn’t fit company for anyone. He hated showing weakness, and the thought of letting this man see him at his weakest point in years made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Potter nodded and stepped away and back toward the house. “You know, Malfoy, I understand how you feel. I’ve lost almost every parental figure I’ve ever had, and too many friends to count. And really, you may not believe me, but I am sorry for your loss.”

With his head once again on his knees, and his arms wrapped around his legs, Draco listened to the footsteps carry the other man away, shoes slapping lightly at the flagstone garden path. “Wait,” he said softly, not even sure if he could be heard anymore.

The footsteps stopped, then slowly moved back in his direction. Only two steps. “What is it?”

“Don’t go.”

There was silence for a moment more, one very long moment in which Draco was sure that Potter would leave anyway, and then the footsteps approached, solid and sure. Potter removed the wand from Draco’s hand and placed it on the ledge of the fountain beside him. He could feel Potter sit beside him, very close, but not touching. Neither of them said anything for a while. He was grateful for that, actually.

A breeze blew around them both, and Draco shivered. He was only wearing jeans and a light shirt, though it was September. The sky had been cloudy all day, but as they sat there together without speaking, rain drops started to fall, small at first, but quickly gaining size. Neither of them moved. When the rain had soaked Draco’s clothing thoroughly, Potter stood up. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

Draco lifted his head off his knees and wanted to insist that he couldn’t; he couldn’t bear to be inside that house, filled with mixed memories of a mostly happy, privileged childhood and the constant fear and torture and guilt so many years later. Instead, he found a hand outstretched toward him. After a pause, he took hold of that hand and allowed Potter to haul him up into a standing position. Giving him a gentle push forward, Potter followed him up the path and inside the Manor, where he firmly latched the French doors behind them.

While Draco sat limply in a high-backed wooden chair, Potter busied himself making them tea, muttering Accio at intervals. Draco almost managed a smile when one of these spells brought a small porcelain sugar bowl flying behind Potter, nudging him on the back of the head until he turned around and snagged it. A few moments more, and two mugs of tea were placed upon the heavy oak table and Potter sat across from him, sliding one of them toward him. “Drink it.”

He had always loathed taking orders, preferring instead to give them, but he put up no argument. It wasn’t the best cup of tea he’d ever had, but it was far from the worst. He gripped the mug in both hands, feeling the heat penetrate his icy fingers. He muttered a quiet thank you, staring at the liquid in the delicate mug. There were pale yellow roses around the rim-his mother’s favourite flower.

“Now, talk.”

He raised his eyes to the pair of green ones across the table. There was sympathy there, plain as anything, but also a firmness that told him Potter wouldn’t give up on this easily. Had Harry ever given up on anything? Draco spread his hands on the table, palms up. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t care. This has nothing to do with me. It’s about you.” Potter took a long, slow sip of the tea as he seemed to consider it in the silence Draco left hanging over them. “Tell me about your favourite memory of your mother.”

He didn’t need to think hard at all about it. “Planting the roses. My mother had started the garden just after she married my father. He had it expanded, just for her, as a wedding present. She chose every plant out there. When I was small, around six, she asked me to help her. We spent hours out there, and she didn’t once get mad that I was covered in dirt. At the end of the afternoon, she told me that she loved me, and that I was a wonderful help. And then she said that I could spend as much time out there as I wanted, because unlike my father, I was good with her plants, and I could be trusted with important things.” He caught Potter smiling behind his hand. “What?”

“Nothing. I was just picturing a very young you, covered in dirt. I didn’t think you’d ever been dirty in your entire life.”

He allowed himself a small smile. “There’s a lot about me you never bothered to find out.” He winced, hearing how that sounded only after the words were out of his mouth.

Potter smiled a sad smile. “I won’t argue that. Tell me something else.”

He considered the request and found himself telling Potter about his visit to his mother a few weeks prior, where he read a letter from an old friend of hers in Paris, and sat up with her until visiting hours were over, going through those Muggle books he had bought her. He didn’t realise he was crying until he saw the teardrops hit the table, just behind his mug of tea.

Potter was up and around to his side of the table with surprising speed. “Oh, Malfoy,” he sighed. Draco heard the reflected sadness and the worry in that tone and found he couldn’t quite stop the tears. This was the last thing he expected to be doing, and the last thing he wanted. He was supposed to be stronger than this. If he was to have a moment of weakness, it should be when he was alone, with no one to bear witness to it.

Standing behind him, Potter put a hand on his forearm, but withdrew his touch when Draco flinched. Had he meant to place his hand there, or had it simply been instinct, a normal-enough place to touch on any other being, wizard or not? He didn’t know, and he certainly couldn’t ask. He just removed his arm from the table and cradled it in his lap. He felt the hesitation behind him, but Potter simply placed his hand, warm and firm, on Draco’s back after another skipped beat. The heat seeped through the wet fabric, comfort coming with it. “It’s okay, you know,” Potter said softly. “To let other people see you grieve. We’re all only human.”

He knelt down in front of Draco and looked him square in the eye. Draco made himself hold the gaze. He had wondered more than once what those eyes looked like so close up, years ago that felt like lifetimes. There was a small fleck of golden brown near the pupil of the right eye. He stared at it until he felt light-headed. He could still feel Potter’s hand on his back, fingers almost touching his neck.

Draco let out a shaky breath, realising as he did so that they had both paused in their breathing. Rocking back on his heels, Potter removed his hand and broke the gaze. He was flushing deep red, the tips of his ears nearly scarlet, and his neck light pink. For just a moment, Draco had wondered what would happen if he leaned forward, into the other man. Would he be pushed away? Or would something else happen? He blinked hard, trying to clear these ridiculous thoughts from his head. It was the stress of losing his mother, and that rush of loneliness that loss had brought with it. Potter wouldn’t have understood, even taking the grief into account. It didn’t occur to him to wonder what the blush had been about.

Despite the reassurance Potter had just given him, Draco reined in his emotions as best he could. He could wrap his mind-just barely-around developing a friendship with Harry Potter, but he could not feel comfortable expressing all of his grief in front of him. He had never been good at that. Back in sixth year, he hadn’t even confided in his two best friends. Pansy had seen him cry, just once, but after that, he had taken to having any personal breakdowns in private, hiding in the restroom if he couldn’t avoid it entirely. Potter seemed to sense this and moved away with a sigh, slowly returning back to his normal colour.

“I should go.”

Draco blinked, surprised by the sudden decision. He had no real argument to keep Potter from leaving, other than the fact that though he was now used to solitude, he didn’t exactly want to be left alone in this cold, echoing house, where he was constantly tripping over memories that he wished would stay safely packed away. It didn’t occur to him that for Potter, that might be reason enough.

Draco walked him to the door so he could reset the wards when he was left alone. If Potter was going to leave, it meant he could use the stronger ones-where no one but those of Malfoy blood or name could enter the property. It hit him that those wards would only allow one person in now. As the other man stepped out onto the front porch, Draco stopped him with a light, hesitant touch on the shoulder.

Potter turned back toward him. His voice was so quiet. "Yes?"

"I... Thank you. For the kind words." He couldn't quite make himself give thanks aloud for the other things: for the prompt to reminisce; for the assurance that what he was feeling was okay; for checking up on him. That is what he had done, after all. Why, Draco still wasn't entirely sure. But at this moment, it didn't seem to matter. The point was, he had done it. It was a tiny thing, but it gave Draco hope that someone did care, and let him see the possibility that he wasn't quite as alone as he'd feared for all this time.

That sad smile flitted over Potter's face again. "Don't mention it." He walked down the steps, but paused at the bottom and turned back. "Malfoy?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"If you ever want to talk... or even just some company..." he didn't finish the thought, and looked frustrated at his own words, as if he regretted saying them. “Well. You know."

Draco nodded curtly. "Thank you." He probably wouldn't take him up on the offer, now that he'd seen that face. Really, he probably wouldn't have taken advantage of it, in any case. It hadn't taken him long to get used to being on his own. Getting unused to it would take a while longer, and Draco didn't see the point of trying anymore.

Watching Potter leave the property without another word, Draco sighed and headed back inside. Whether he wanted to face the reality or not, this place belonged to him now, and he had a responsibility toward it. He could always try to sell it. Given its history and that of its residents, that didn't seem likely. His only other real option was to make it into something that felt like a home again. Draco waved his wand around the front door and recited some old incantations. He wasn't sure what he wanted anymore.

~*~
After the number of times that Potter had surprised Draco by showing up somewhere he happened to be, Draco finally found himself in the position of stumbling upon him.

"Malfoy?"

Draco was getting used to that greeting, odd as it was. Other than at work, he didn't hear that name much anymore. "Potter."

Harry looked up at him from his place on a park bench, Styrofoam cup of some hot beverage in his hands. "I didn't know you came here."

"I was just thinking that about you." He debated for a moment, then gestured to the spot on the wooden bench where Potter was sitting. "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course not." There was that smile again, wide at first, then quickly brought under control. Draco wondered why exactly he'd bothered to dim it. Harry scooted over and made room. "How have you been?"

Draco wasn't sure what he meant by that question. The last time he had seen Potter had been at the Manor. That had been nearly three weeks ago. "I've been well."

"Really?"

Draco peered into those green eyes, trying to be casual about it. So it had been more than just a standard question, socially expected upon meeting an acquaintance. "All things considered, I suppose so." That wasn't entirely true, but Potter didn't need to know that. The dreams were no longer frightening at all, but the misery he felt upon waking no longer faded as the sun rose. He'd never mentioned the dreams in the first place, preferring to keep that bit private. If he'd been Muggle, he might have considered seeing one of their therapists. That wasn't much of an option, and so he bottled it all up.

"Oh. Well, glad to hear it. I hadn't heard from you, so I figured..."

When Potter didn't go on, Draco prompted him like he would a small child. "Figured...?"

"That either you were doing just fine, or that you were very much the opposite." He looked away, appearing flustered.

"Oh."

They both sat in silence for a while, neither looking at the other. Draco felt a tiny sting that Potter had thought he might be doing poorly, but hadn’t checked again. He shook it off. "Looks like snow," Draco said, finally. Could he find nothing else to discuss other than the weather? Why had he even bothered to say hello? He could have simply kept walking when he'd noticed Potter sitting on this bench. He was starting to regret the decision. This was awkward.

"I suppose it does. Or rain, at least." Potter let out his breath, pursing his lips into a circle. Steam came out in a lazy plume. "Or snow," he allowed, a slight flush rising in his already pink cheeks.

Draco couldn't help smiling at him. There was something about spending time quietly with Potter that made him want to open up or relax. He couldn't quite let himself do it, but he felt that tug somewhere within him. "Well, we'll see."

"Right. So, Malfoy, what are your plans for tonight?"

"Why?"

"I was just curious. I thought that if you didn't have anything to do, we could grab another bite to eat, or maybe a couple of pints. Get out of the cold."

He considered this. He was still having trouble admitting that whenever he received the rare owl, or a letter through the Muggle post, or call on his mobile, he had a split second where he wondered-hoped?-it was Potter. He had these thoughts even though Potter didn’t know where he lived, nor did he have his number. Was he just setting himself up for more pain, going along with this thing that was starting to resemble friendship?

“Malfoy? Kneazle got your tongue?”

“Hm? No. Alright, I could do with a pint.” He said it as if he hadn’t been considering crawling into bed and staying there for the entire rest of the weekend, hiding from the rest of the world. He also said it as if he were doing Potter a favour in accepting the offer, instead of the other way around.

“Great. My treat.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Yes, well, I asked you out. Er. I asked you to join me, that is.” Potter’s face was now scarlet, and if Draco had thought about it, he would have realized why. He brushed it off as an effect of the cold.

“If you insist.”

“I do. You could always get the next one.”

This time Draco did smile. Next one. It had a nice ring to it. “Sure. Where did you have in mind?”

“Briarwood Pub?”

“The Muggle one?”

“Yeah. Not far from where you walked into that lamppost.” There was that smirk, and in spite of the flutter of uneasiness in his stomach, Draco was enamoured. “Why, is that a problem?”

“…No.”

“You’re sure? We could go somewhere else.”

“It’s fine. Let’s go.” It might not be a problem at all, he reassured himself. He was just paranoid. He snorted as the two of them stood. Paranoia had been a way of life for too many years to expect the feeling to go away now.

~*~

Any hope that Draco had about Potter’s choice not being a problem evaporated when they entered the pub. For whatever reason, nearly all of the tables were occupied. The ones that weren’t had yet to be cleared. “Come on. Let’s sit at the bar.” Potter led him over without waiting for a response. Draco gritted his teeth. This had the potential to be very unpleasant. He followed along anyway.

The bartender looked up as they sat, twitching his mouth in what passed for his smile. “Evening. Usual, Harry?”

“Always, Nick.”

“And you, Greg?” the barkeep asked, gesturing to Draco.

Draco avoided Potter’s inquisitive glance, though he was glad they hadn’t been eating. He likely would have choked on it. “I’ll have whatever you’re giving him.”

Once Nick’s back was turned, Potter elbowed him in the ribcage. “Two questions: one, you come here often enough for the bartender to recognise you? And two, why didn’t you correct him about your name?”

The second question was the one Draco had anticipated, but he figured he may as well answer them both. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. “Why shouldn’t I come here? I only live four streets away.”

Potter gaped, but something on his face said that facts had clicked home for him, and it should have made more sense why Draco not only knew the bar he had mentioned was a Muggle establishment, but also why he’d first run into him in this neighbourhood. “And the name? Nick may not be an exceptionally pleasant fellow,” he said, keeping his voice down, “but he’s very quick. I wouldn’t have taken him for someone to forget either a face or a name.”

Draco sighed as Nick brought them their drinks and moved away, helping a young blond man and a girl with pink hair that reminded him dimly of a cousin he had never really known. He kept his voice low. Every now and then, Draco thought the bartender was just as likely to attack as he was to serve, and he had a comfortable thing going here. Nick didn’t look like he suffered liars or deceivers well. “When I said I was living amongst Muggles, I didn’t just mean that I live in one of their neighbourhoods. I lived like one. I still do, mostly, outside of work. I took a name to blend in. My given one didn’t exactly do that.”

Potter snorted a little, like Draco had said something funny. “So, what, you took a new name? Started a new life?”

“Basically. To anyone in here who recognises me tonight, I’m not Draco Malfoy. I’m Greg Crabbe.”

Potter spluttered into his beer. “You named yourself after-after them? They tried to kill me!”

Draco noticed that he seemed to have forgotten that one of them had died themselves in that attempt. “Look,” he said icily. “Are we really going to discuss who’s almost killed whom?”

Potter blanched. So, he might have forgotten that one detail (and an insignificant one, to him, more than likely) about the attack on Hogwarts, but he didn’t appear to have forgotten that day back in sixth year. Good, Draco thought moodily. He slammed back his pint, draining nearly half of it at a go.

Quietly, Potter responded, head hanging low. “No, I suppose we’re not.”

They didn’t speak much, and Draco was beginning to wonder if he should just pay for his drink anyway and leave, when Potter broke the ice. “Why is it we only hang out when we seem to run into each other?”

“That’s not exactly true, Potter. You tracked me down at my place of employment to offer that ticket to the Quidditch match. And you stopped by my family’s home three weeks ago, uninvited.”

“Uninvited, perhaps, but was my visit unwelcome?”

Draco muttered something into the nearly empty glass he was holding. He had been unwelcome. At first. “Were you trying to make a point with your erroneous assumption?”

Potter rolled his eyes, and Draco detected the beginnings of a smile. He smiled a lot. That usually would have annoyed him, but he found himself wondering why Potter was always so damn pleased with everything. Hadn’t the world been hard enough on him that he knew better by now? “Point being, why don’t we try this new concept, where we prearrange hanging out together? That way, we have something to look forward to. Well, at least, I have something to look forward to.”

“Why would you need to look forward to anything? Isn’t your life the way you want it?”

Potter looked puzzled. “It’s close, most days, I suppose. But who couldn’t use something to anticipate now and then? Don’t you ever need anything like that?”

That was a tough question to answer. Did he ever feel that it would be nice to have something to look forward to? Absolutely. Did he feel that he deserved that luxury? Not exactly. Did he ever trust those times when his hopes were raised? Almost never. So why bother getting his hopes up if they were just going to be crushed anyway? “I really don’t know how to answer that.”

“Oh. Well, backing up, would it be so awful to arrange for another time to get together? You and me? Drinks, another match, dinner?”

“No,” he said slowly. “I don’t suppose it would.” This felt like some sort of trick. What was Potter luring him into? He was (Merlin help him) actually enjoying most of the time they spent together. He just couldn’t trust that it would stay that way. He would do something wrong, and Potter would disappear. Worse, he would go back to acting the way he had back in school, where he had thought that Draco wasn’t worthy of friendship.

“Good. Then before we part ways for the night, let’s do that.” He held up his hand, little finger extended. “Pinkie swear.”

“Potter, I am not, as a grown man, going to pinkie swear with you in a Muggle pub,” he hissed. “I may have given up most of my former life, but I still have standards.” It was not only childish, but American.

Harry just grinned at him, that ridiculous wide one that made Draco want to smile right back. “Alright, but I’m still holding you to it. Just try to explain a Howler to your Muggle neighbours. Now. How ’bout another pint? It’s much too early to head home.”

“See, now there, you have a good idea.” He gestured at Nick, who sauntered over and filled their request.

The two of them didn't stumble out of the pub until nearly four hours later. Draco stepped outside, tottering just a little, and felt light rain drops on his face. "Hm. Rain."

"Then I win. Rain, not snow."

Draco laughed, made warm and cheerful by the excessive amount of alcohol he'd taken in and the fun, spirited conversation that had spun between the two of them after the second pint. They'd argued Quidditch, only occasionally forgetting that they were sitting in a Muggle establishment. Nick had shot them a curious, dark look at one point, and Draco had clapped a hand over Potter's mouth to stem the rant he was delivering. Potter had stopped immediately, and once Draco's hand had dropped back to his knee, there was a moment of awkward silence before Potter resumed making his (completely invalid) point. Draco hadn't kept up with the game much in the last several years, and most of what he knew before tonight came from patrons of the apothecary, when they didn't know he was listening.

"So you do. What you win, I have no idea."

"Hm." Potter mulled it over. "Wet clothes, I guess."

Draco laughed again, aware that it wasn't that funny, but enjoying the feeling of happiness too much to care. Oh, he'd probably pay for the indulgence in the morning, but he had something to take for that. Poor Muggles were sadly inefficient at coming up with a decent cure for the common hangover. "Doesn't sound like much of a prize to me."

"Me either." They walked along companionably for a while, not heading in any direction in particular. They were the only people on this stretch of road. For this time of night, that was a little unusual. Draco wondered if it had anything to do with the rain. This was England. If you couldn't stand a little wet weather, then you were in the wrong place.

They paused to figure out where their feet were actually taking them. Draco leaned up against the brick wall in the entrance to an alley. He should have had an anorak, or at least an umbrella. He did have a cloak and a set of robes at home that was charmed to repel water. Either of those would make a nice addition to his ensemble about now. "So, what now?" Draco asked finally, starting to feel a little of the chill.

"Don't know."

"Always helpful, Potter."

"Harry."

"Mm." Draco looked around. "My place isn't too far from here. Should probably crawl into bed soon. I'm likely a danger out and about like this."

"A danger?" Potter gave him a look he couldn't read. "To whom?"

"Myself. Anyone I stumble into. If you're not careful, I'll probably trip and knock into you."

"So, Malfoys can be clumsy? I didn't think that happened."

Draco nodded. "Only when in the presence of someone as horribly uncoordinated as you. It's absorbed, I think."

Harry gave him a little shove that only pressed the two of them against the brick. Draco's smile faded when he realized he had nowhere else to go, and Potter's face was much closer to his than usual. He couldn't really complain, but this was odd. Unexpected. He was about to crack a joke when Potter leaned in and brushed his lips over Draco's.

Draco just stared back at him. "What the bloody hell was that?"

Potter looked instantly mortified. "Oh, God, Malfoy, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was-I mean, I thought-I’m so sorry. Forget next time if you'd like. I'll just be going."

He reached out a hand and tried to grab onto Potter's jumper to keep him where he was. "Shut up, you prat. I didn't say sod off. I just asked what the hell that was."

The other man still hadn't stopped looking like he wished a hole would open in the ground and swallow him up. "I think I tried to kiss you."

Draco laughed until his sides hurt while Potter just stared at him, still looking embarrassed. "You think? I'm pretty sure that's exactly what just happened. What on earth's come over you?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, have you ever done that before? Not with me, I mean, obviously, but with... another man?"

If it was possible for Potter to turn any redder, he did. If he wasn't careful, he might burst a blood vessel. That would be sort of a shame. Especially as he was just starting to get more interesting. Draco remembered the bit of flirtation he’d tossed around that night they were stuck inside the mausoleum. "Maybe once. Twice."

"I thought you said you weren't gay. Those were your words, were they not?"

Potter finally relaxed enough to smile. "What was it you said that same night? That with all the rule-breaking I've done in my life, surely I ought to be familiar with the concept of lying?"

"Really now?"

"Really. And I wasn't sure about it, so it wasn't exactly a lie."

Draco processed this all through his fuzzy brain. "But you're sure now?"

"Er. I think so, yes, unless it's just you. Didn't you say that everybody's-”

"Malfoy-sexual," Draco finished with him. "Yes. I do seem to recall something like that. It's true, you know. Muggle scientists are hard at work trying to prove it."

Potter gave up the most of the defensiveness and let out a cautious laugh. "Sure they are. Anyway, we should get going back to our places. Thanks for not cursing me into tiny bits for my lack of control."

Draco nodded. "Least I could do, I think. Coast clear for Apparition?"

Harry looked around the empty street and emptier alley. "Looks like."

Draco smiled, still feeling light and tipsy, and now strangely invigorated. "Good." He leaned forward, bit Potter's lower lip lightly, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, and Apparated away, stepping back just in time to see the shocked look on the other's face. That look right there would be worth the hangover he was going to be dealing with when he awoke in the morning, even if he found his potion bottle of remedy unexpectedly empty. Suddenly, the prospect of spending more time within this new friendship looked even more interesting. He hoped to Merlin neither would regret too much of the last two minutes. If it was nothing more than a drunken bit of playfulness, he could live with that, and fairly easily. As long as it didn't ruin anything else.

~*~

Continued and completed in Part Three