Like Fine Wine

Chapter 6

Warning: fires and hospitals. Hopefully toned down enough for readers.

That had been the last day Potter had interacted properly with Draco. And Draco couldn't help but feel especially sensitive to the void the ravenette's absence created. He realised that he always had that empty space in his life all along, but with Potter's reintroduction, it became more significant.

Draco found himself waiting outside the Defence classes, hiding behind tapestries as he heard Potter ramble enthusiastically about magical creatures rated XXXX by the Ministry of Magic. Not once did he ever gush over his achievements like the toothy idiot Lockhart, and the students seemed to settle into the idea of treating him like a normal teacher.

Draco sighed. Maybe it was just the charismatic aura that surrounded Potter: everyone, known and unknown, was always drawn to him like moths to a flame. Maybe that was why Draco became another unfortunate moth, ready to be burnt by him.

But after much pondering in the Manor, he decided that his decision had been a good one. Call it insecurity, call it paranoia: he definitely could not let the future he saw come true. What if all of those scenes were part of a near future, and only tragedy was to await them as they grew older? His mind immediately went to the fates of James and Lily Potter, who everyone had thought would lead long, comfortable lives, but look what happened. He didn't want to endanger himself, and he certainly didn't want to be the cause for Potter's suffering. Even if they did end up together, who was to guarantee that the Chosen One wouldn't see the real Draco Malfoy and leave him? No, no, it wasn't a prospect he was willing to entertain.

Not even a fortnight after, Harry Potter was relieved of his temporary post; the original teacher had returned (much to the students' dismay). Draco was feeling more hollowed out than ever.

It's fine, he kept telling himself. It's for the best.

He still didn't stop wearing the perfume, his namesake. However, he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why Potter had named it so.

Until one morning, he saw that only one-fourth of the bottle was left. He had been practically bathing in it morning, noon, and night. The dilemma presented itself: should he go to Pulchra, should he get it by owl-post, or should he stop using Potter's blends at all?

The third option seemed enticing. But he had come to depend heavily on it over the last month, so he didn't have much of a choice. He decided to just owl the man.

But when he sat down with a quill and parchment, another doubt struck him. What if Potter, in all his glorious Gryffindorish pettiness, decided to not sell him anything anymore?

Bugger, bugger, bugger!

Draco exhaled heavily and stood up from his desk. Sorting the second stack of sample question papers away, he pulled on some plain robes, added some Glamours to his face, ensured that every inch of his skin was protected from possible contact, and set out.

Going to Diagon Alley was no biggie.

****

Draco inhaled. Then exhaled. And inhaled again.

I'm fine, he told himself. Just head to Madam Malkin's, look a little to its left, find Potter, buy your perfume, get out. Simple.

He had also chosen the afternoon to visit, while everyone would be going about their day jobs. That meant the streets were relatively empty, and he was free to shop in peace. To be entirely honest, he had missed the retail therapy he experienced when he was younger.

He spotted a group of people marching together, holding a protest about improving the Ministry Laws and opening another school besides Hogwarts for their children. Draco felt that was a fair enough demand. Hogwarts was crowded enough already, and he had overheard something about sharing twin beds amongst the students a little while back.