Whatever You Want, Draco Malfoy || Drarry

Chapter Twenty

Potter went to work the next day. Which was utterly beyond belief, as far as Draco was concerned.

He coped by spending the day with Mary. He did Mary's shopping for her first and then settled in to watch her programs with her and eat biscuits with weak sweet tea. He couldn't keep up with Coronation street, which often had long, convoluted storylines, but he adored listening to Mary's excited recaps. The comedies were more his speed. Draco liked being able to just laugh and not think.

Elle joined them during Father Ted, hearing Draco's laughter through Mary's open window. And Samuel showed up after his shift, squeezing onto the middle of Mary's tiny couch between Draco and Elle to watch a panel chat show. They all pitched in for fish and chips from a small local chippy down the street and laid the bag across Mary's little coffee table, chips tumbling out of the greasy waxed bags as they shared around.

Mary dozed off in her little gliding rocker, her gentle snores keeping them company as they watched some sort of mystery program. Draco wasn't following it terribly well, half-asleep himself, leaning against Samuel's shoulder. Elle was pressed to Samuel's other side, hugging a faded floral pillow to her chest as she watched the show. Samuel seemed the most interested, guessing what would happen next and mostly being right. None of them had a telly; Samuel and Elle preferred books, and Draco preferred company, but occasionally they all managed to come together and watch a few shows at Mary's like this. They were always Draco's favourite sorts of days.

Draco left when everyone else did, promising Mary he would visit again soon, waving as Samuel headed into his flat, giving Elle a hug before she went upstairs. He remained in the centre of the courtyard, standing perfectly still until he heard Elle's door close.

It was quiet. If he strained his ears, Draco could just barely hear cars passing by on the road outside, and even then, part of him thought it might just be in his head. His mind gently twisting the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears into something alive and real, so he wouldn't feel so alone.

Draco patted his jeans down until he found what was left of his battered pack of cigarettes. He finished out a bent cigarette, lighting it with his wand, hunched over slightly to hide what he was doing. He breathed in too deeply, making his lungs and throat burn, his eyes watering and fighting to keep himself from coughing. Draco pressed his wand back into his pocket, a simple extension charm holding his wand in a space the size of a pound coin. He wondered, with a bitter smile as he took another drag, if the Ministry would also call this misuse of muggle artefacts since he bought them in a muggle shop.

Draco closed his eyes, rocking onto the balls of his feet. He was already feeling it grow, that gnawing ache that lived in the centre of him. And with it, the desire to find a bar, a club, somewhere full of life and warmth, and alcohol to soften the jagged edges.

Draco flicked the butt onto the ground, ground it with the toe of his shoe, and went around to the back of the building to apparate back to Potter's flat.

The flat was dark when he arrived. And Draco almost apparated right back out before spotting a light coming from Potter's bedroom. He pushed open Potter's door and stepped inside.

Potter looked up from where he had been sitting on the edge of his bed, still wearing his work clothes.

"You're here," Draco said.

"It's late; I was going to bed," Potter said stupidly.

"Yes, well, it's rather hit or miss with you, isn't it?" Draco said.

"If we're keeping count, you're later than me half the time," Potter said.

Draco rolled his eyes, "Yes, but..."