elf from the many things his father had taught him, there were still a few he had found himself unable to ignore.

It might have seemed archaic, but it was the only thing Draco knew. Besides, there was a difference between hating Muggles and upholding reasonable traditions. Well, okay, maybe not that reasonable. But still.

“There’s nothing wrong with waiting, Potter,” he finally snapped, his cheeks burning.

“Of course not,” Potter said, sounding startled. “But you aren’t—I mean…Are you waiting until marriage?”

That question raised so many red flags, Draco didn’t even know how to react.

“You know what, it’s late, you should probably go home,” Draco said, standing up. The room immediately started spinning. Still, he could see Potter blinking at him.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t. But I’m tired. You should go.”

Slowly, Potter got up. He hesitated, fidgeting with his jumper.

“We’re still…okay, right?”

Draco arched an eyebrow.

“We’re still…friends?”

Friends. Hearing Potter say that felt like soaring up to the sun…before free-falling and crashing to the ground. Head first. Friends. Did Draco want to be Potter’s friend? Of course not. He wanted…Well, it didn’t matter what he wanted. Being friends with Potter was as far as things could go. The only question was, would Draco be able to withstand that kind of torture?

He briefly closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. “Yes, we’re still friends.”

“Okay. Good.”

Draco watched him as he went over to the fireplace with slightly sagging shoulders.

“Well, good night,” Potter muttered, before he vanished in the green flames.

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