Letting It In (Harry Potter, Snape/Draco/Harry)

There were several places that Draco Malfoy considered ‘his’. The second booth from the back door of the Drowning Dragon was one such place, and he’d spent the last three hours there, alone in the near-dark, nursing an unhealthy number of pale ales. If he’d been at home, his drink of choice would have been firewhiskey, but that was no longer an option.

Someone sat down on the opposite side of the booth. There were only a limited number of people who knew he frequented this bar and fewer who were on good enough terms to want to join him for a drink. Draco looked up. This was not one of those people.

“Sod off,” Draco slurred and glared first at Harry Potter and then at his empty bottle. He debated ordering another but decided against it.

If Harry was affected by Draco’s foul mood, he didn’t show it. “I’m sorry,” Harry said, sounding honest and sincere and far too much like the do-gooder Draco remembered from their childhood. His voice dropped lower. “I heard about the divorce.”

Draco raised his hand to signal for another drink. Sobriety was over-rated. “Did one of your snitches at the Ministry tell you about that?” Draco sneered. The effect was somewhat ruined by his inebriation. “Let me guess, it was that mudblood, Granger?”

“It was Neville, actually.” The sympathy in Potter’s eyes made Draco want to bash Harry’s head against the table until he had a new set of scars on his forehead. His hand twitched against the countertop, wanting to reach out. The thought of leaving his own mark on Harry’s skin stirred a dark, primitive need inside of him. He curled his hand into a fist and pulled both of his hands away, hiding them under the table.