niffed 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.

“This was just a ploy to get me into one of your hideous jumpers, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Potter said with a cheeky grin. “It looks good on you.”

Draco snorted, looking down on himself once more. It was like he was wearing a tent. Potter was about his height, and while his shoulders might have been a bit broader, it didn’t explain why he was choosing to wear clothes that looked like they could fit that half-giant, Hagrid.

Draco’s eyes roamed Potter’s face, his torso…Now that he thought about it, it looked like Potter had put on a few pounds. Good. The thought that his Muggle relatives had starved him still made Draco want to scream. But Potter looked healthier now and Draco suddenly felt weirdly grateful for that.

“Are you still in touch with your Muggle relatives?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

“Let’s not talk about that anymore. Let’s change the subject,” Potter said, wearily. No, Draco wanted to say, we’re talking about this, but Potter’s tortured expression pulled at his heartstrings. He nodded, trying not to be too obvious about watching Potter as he cut into the pot roast.

“Oh,” he blurted as he swallowed his first bite. “This is…good.”

Potter’s face immediately lit up. “Did you just give me apliment?”

Draco snorted, distracting himself with another bite. “Don’t get used to it,” he muttered. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Potter hesitantly lifting a forkful of pot roast to his mouth. His heart gave a little jump when Potter started to chew. He never would have thought watching someone else eat could feel that satisfying. Was that weird? Probably.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Potter said. “Doesn’t your mother want you to move to France?”

Draco let out a humourless laugh. Oh, the discussions they’d had about that.

“I’m just curious,” Potter added.

“Looking for a way to get rid of me?” Draco quipped, even though he felt a little stab to the chest. Potter getting sick of him was such a horrible thought.

“First of all, it’s not like France isn’t just a portkey away,” Potter said in an amused tone. “Second, I’ll admit, I’m…not too mad you didn’t move to France with your mum.”

Huh. Was he saying—

“So why didn’t you?” Potter asked.

“It would have looked like I’m running away,” Draco responded. “Not that I blame mother, but I just…I just wanted to stay,” he shrugged.

“Not taking the easy way out,” Potter said with an approving nod. “I think that’s admirable.”

Irritation flared up in Draco and he was just about to snap at Potter, when he added, “I’m glad you decided to stay.”

That…sounded…genuine. But…He was glad? What did that even mean? Draco felt so confused, he grabbed at the air, instead of his wine glass. Which was empty. Because he had destroyed the wine. Ugh! Potter couldn’t just say something like that. Especially not while they were having a candlelight dinner, which Potter had prepared himself! That was just—

“But are you thinking of moving there in the future?” Potter asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Ha, I don’t think my fiancée would approve of that,” Draco snorted. “She doesn’t like—”

There was a loud bang as Potter’s cutlery hit his plate. What was—

Oh. Fuck. Fuck!

“You’re engaged?”

They stared at each other in silence while Draco hoped Potter wasn’t able to hear his erratic heartbeat. He should have stayed away from Potter. He should have kept his mouth shut. He should have—

“You’re engaged,” Potter repeated. Only, this time, it didn’t sound like a question. “I can’t believe this.”

Draco pressed his lips into a tight line.

“You’re fucking engaged!”

Draco startled. Why was Potter getting so mad? Yes, Draco had kept his engagement a secret, but there was no reason for him to—

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Draco was surprised at how hurt Potter sounded.

“It’s not official, yet,” he said, trying to collect himself.

“Oh, of course!” Potter threw his hands in the air. “Were you seriously going to string me along until I read about it in the paper?”

“You don’t read the paper,” Draco retorted.

“Draco!” Potter suddenly seemed livid.

“What!” Draco snapped. Potter had no right to get mad at him. He wasn’t the one with the inexplicable, tedious crush! But…what was it he had just said? ‘String him along’? Surely, he wasn’t implying—

“What exactly was the point of this, then?” Potter asked, gesturing around. Draco wasn’t sure if he meant the dinner or…their friendship?

“You were the one who wanted to be friends,” Draco pointed out.

Potter raked his fingers through his hair, causing it to look as if he’d just been out flying. “Then you—You don’t—”

Don’t what? What was he trying to say?

“I guess I’ve been…reading the signs wrong.”

Signs? What signs? Was…was Potter saying—

“Let’s just, um, et about this.”

Draco blinked. Did Potter mean this conversation? This evening? Everything? Whatever he meant, Draco didn’t want to be here anymore. He wanted to curl up in his bed and die.

“I just remembered, I was supposed to firecall mother this evening. I better get going before it gets too late.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Potter said. Draco almost shivered at how cold and distant his voice sounded.

“Thank you for dinner, it was—” He broke off, having no clue how to end that sentence. Potter refused to look at him which, thankfully, made his flight a little easier at least.

Unfortunately, Potter’s stony expression, averted from Draco’s gaze, was all he could think about as he lay awake that night, unable to find any rest.

Saturday, 1 March 2003

“Happy birthday, Ron!”

“Thanks, Luna. Oh, what’s this?”

“Your present, of course,” Luna beamed. Weasley took it with a bright grin, which quickly faded when he realised whatever was in that package was moving.

“Luna,” he said, sounding alarmed. “What’s in there?”

“It’s a surprise, obviously. Be sure to tell me when you open it. I want to see your face.”

Draco wasn’t sure whether to laugh at Weasley’s worried expression or to be worried himself. Luna was such a wildcard.

He cleared his throat and extended his arm. “Happy birthday, Weasley.”

For a second, Draco thought Weasley would decline his hand. How ironic would that be? But he didn’t, and he didn’t squeeze as hard as Draco would have expected. Without further explanation, Draco handed him the bottle of firewhiskey under his arm. Some might have said it was a boring gift, but these people obviously had no taste. Which was why Draco was far more concerned about the fact that this was probably throwing pearls before swine.

“Oh wow, that’s some premium stuff! Thanks, err, Malfoy.” Huh. He almost sounded genuine. Still, it didn’t make Draco less ufortable to be here. Yes, he could have declined Luna’s offer to apany her to the party, but…well. As always, it was all Potter’s fault.

Draco hadn’t seen him since that dreadful dinner and neither of them had made contact again. Even though Draco wanted to explain his…situation, he had a feeling it would only make things worse.ing here probably wasn’t the smartest move, given these circumstances, but it was also the perfect opportunity to see Potter again without having to initiate it. And even though Draco would rather have been dead than admit it out loud, he missed seeing the stupid prat.

As soon as he and Luna stepped into the living room, Draco scanned the crowd. There were a few people he didn’t recognise. Probably people Weasley worked with. Great, just what Draco needed, a bunch of drunk Aurors! Well, they didn’t look that professional now, all dressed very casually and surrounded by colourful balloons that were floating around the room.

He spotted Granger, who was talking to some people from school; Thomas and Finnigan, who were apparently joined at the hip these days, Longbottom, a few other Gryffindors whose names had escaped Draco, and…no Potter. Ugh.

“So, should we get a—” Draco looked around when he realised he was talking to nobody. Where was Luna? Ah, there she was, talking to one of the Weasley twins. Draco’s heart sank a little when he realised he had otten his name again, identifying him instead as ‘the one who survived’. Draco couldn’t have cared less about his name before, but now…Maybe it was time to make some real effort.

Bracing himself for the ufortable conversation he was undoubtedly about to have, he walked over to them, his joints bing more stiff with every step.

“Hey, Draco,” Luna beamed. “You remember Ge, right?” Thank heavens for this girl!

“Hey…Draco?” It almost sounded like a question, as though Ge was trying to navigate the unfamiliarity of his first name.

“Ge,” Draco said with a small nod. Yeah, this was really weird.

“You guys are friends?” Ge asked, his voice dripping with scepticism.

“Oh, yes,” Luna smiled. “Draco can be really nice. Although I think he prefers to let people think he isn’t. Not like in the past, though. He wasn’t nice when he was a Death Eater. But I think he’s trying to make up for it.”

As always, Draco’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “You really just say whates to mind, don’t you?”

Luna cocked her head. “Don’t you? Oh, no wonde

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