FIC: Scotch Neat

Title: Scotch Neat
Author: Emma Grant
Rating: PG
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Summary: Draco Malfoy shows up at Harry's front door out of the blue one night, years after the War.
Words: 1840
Note: Written for almost_hd's Almost a Kiss challenge. Thanks to jedirita for the beta!

~*~

Harry closed his eyes, squeezed them shut long enough to wipe the image out of his mind, and then opened them again.

It didn't work. Draco Malfoy was still standing on his front stoop. Draco Malfoy -- a man Harry hadn't seen in ten years, whom he'd assumed was dead, or destitute, or being kept by some wealthy and not-so-bright witch somewhere on the continent. Harry wondered if he was dreaming, because the situation was too bizarre to be real. But there Malfoy was, standing on Harry's front stoop for no apparent reason. Harry found he could only stare in disbelief.

Malfoy's expression changed from guardedly neutral to annoyed. "You still haven't any manners, have you?"

"What? Oh." Harry stepped back without thinking, holding the door open. It was only after Malfoy had stepped into the front room of his small house that he had second thoughts. He'd let down his guard in the years of relative quiet after the end of the War. Back then, he wouldn't have answered the door without casting a series of shielding spells first.

But Malfoy didn't appear threatening, standing on the worn rug and peeling his gloves from his hands, looking around the room with a wrinkled nose. "So this is where you live," he said with a disdainful sniff. It wasn't a question.

Harry closed the door and folded his arms over his chest, struggling to make sense of this intrusion. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to offer your guest a drink before you interrogate him?"

"Aren't guests supposed to owl before turning up at half ten?" Harry retorted.

"A gracious host doesn't point out the poor etiquette of others," Draco replied with a smirk. "I'll take a scotch. Neat."

Harry gritted his teeth, but could think of no reason to refuse him. Other than the fact that Malfoy had been a thorn in Harry's side for most of his childhood, and then a bitter enemy during the war years. Well, Harry had been wrong about some of that, hadn't he? He wasn't usually one to hold a grudge, but with Malfoy, it was terribly tempting. Still, it was all in the past, and it was rather pointless to dredge up old injuries now. The sooner he got Malfoy a drink, the sooner they could get this over with and Malfoy would leave.

He fixed Malfoy with a stern don't touch anything glare before heading to the kitchen to fix drinks. As it turned out, he had a bottle of single malt scotch tucked away in a high cabinet, something he'd got as a Christmas gift from Remus years ago. He wasn't much of a liquor aficionado, though, so the bottle had never been opened. He poured two glasses and took them back to the front room.

Malfoy had shed his stylish wool coat and settled on Harry's sofa. He was studying the room as if he couldn't quite believe anyone lived in such conditions. Harry bit his tongue and handed Malfoy a glass, then sat on the opposite end of the sofa. This felt far too civilized, considering the circumstances.

Malfoy swirled the glass and raised it to his nose, then lowered it again. "Well, Potter. How have you been?"

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again before answering. "I… fine, I suppose. Can't comp--" He frowned. This wasn't how it ought to go. "Why are you here?"

Malfoy took a sip from the glass and shrugged. "I was in the area and thought I'd drop by, you know. Pay a visit."

Harry stared at him for several seconds before realizing that his mouth was hanging open. "A… a visit?"

Malfoy leaned back against the sofa cushions and smiled. "Yes, visit. That's what friends do, you know."

"We aren't friends."

"Of course we are."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Malfoy was up to something; that must be it. "What's this about, Malfoy? I have to be at work early in the morning."

Malfoy gave a long-suffering sigh. "I see you haven't changed. What do you do these days for work?"

"I work at the Ministry," Harry replied, still suspicious. "You still haven't told me why you're here."

"Visiting, of course," Malfoy said, his eyes twinkling over the glass as he raised it to his lips. "Did you ever get married?"

"I… no." Harry shifted, uncomfortable. He really didn't want to have this particular conversation. "Erm, you?"

Malfoy laughed. "Have they made it legal yet?"

Harry blinked at him, catching on. "Actually… well, the Muggles have -- about five years ago."

"Have they?" Malfoy asked, not missing a beat. "And yet you're still single?"

Harry blushed. He'd just broken up with someone a few weeks before, but he wasn't going to tell Malfoy about that. He kept his personal life quiet, as he was still well-known enough to make the papers. Nothing much had happened in the Wizarding World lately, so the latest gossip was the big news most days.

He frowned. How did Malfoy know he was…?

"I've been thinking about you quite a lot lately," Malfoy continued, smiling pleasantly as if they really were old friends. "You look well."

Harry set his untouched scotch glass on the sofa table. "Look, I don't know why you're here or what this is about, but could you drop the act and get to it? I've got to get to bed."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you're in that much of a hurry to relive old times--"

Harry laughed before he could help himself. "You're delusional, aren't you? You've been in a nuthouse all these years, is that it?"

"Harry, don't be such a tease," Malfoy said. He set his glass down and slid closer, his expression predatory. "We were too young, but it was good while it lasted."

To his horror, Harry felt himself blush. He slid backwards until he hit the arm of the sofa. "I've no idea what you're talking about."

Malfoy moved even closer and reached across Harry to place one hand on the arm of the sofa, effectively trapping him. "I was in London for business, and I thought we could give it another go, you know. For old times' sake."

Harry shrank back into the sofa cushions, his mind reeling. Malfoy was completely mad.

He moved even closer, so close Harry could feel warm breath against his cheek. "I was thinking about that night in that filthy little shack in Scotland, when we were hiding from Lestrange and you were licking my--" And then, Malfoy paused and pulled away, staring at Harry's face. His expression changed. "You really don't remember."

It was probably wise not to point out the insanity of this story of Malfoy's, so Harry just shook his head. "Not in the slightest."

Malfoy sat back, looking stunned. "I don't believe this. I asked them not to obliviate you. They said they wouldn't."

"What?" Harry spat, startled.

Malfoy shook his head. "They promised."

"Who obliv-- What are you talking about?"

Malfoy stood and gathered his coat, and didn't reply. Harry had no idea what to think about what had just happened. It sounded ludicrous, and it couldn't possibly be true -- but Malfoy seemed to believe it. It certainly explained his odd behavior.

Well, there was also the possibility of madness, but he didn't seem mad. In fact, he seemed quite disappointed.

What if it were true? Harry's memory from the War years was spotty, as many of his worst memories were safely locked away in pensieves, some in the Ministry's archives for safe-keeping. It was difficult to tell what he'd chosen to forget and what had been taken from him in the interest of "Wizarding World Security".

Harry felt an odd flip in his belly. What if Malfoy was right?

"Wait," Harry said, jumping to his feet as Malfoy slipped into his coat and headed to the door. "You've just told me I was obliviated years ago, apparently after we…" He waved his hand, unable to finish the sentence. "You can't just say something like that and walk away, with no further explanation!"

"What does it matter?" Malfoy replied, not quite meeting Harry's gaze. He tugged his gloves back on, shaking his head. "From your perspective, it never even happened. There's no point in telling you more."

Harry grasped the lapels of his coat and pushed him against the door. "Oh, no you don't! You can't just show up on my doorstep, drop a bombshell like that, and then leave as if it never happened!"

Malfoy stared back at him and swallowed, and something about the expression on his face was almost familiar. Harry froze and struggled to catch that wisp of memory, but it slipped away so quickly he couldn't be sure it was real. Maybe it was just the way Malfoy was looking at him, practically inviting him to come closer, or the way his lips were parted just a little, and wet, as if he'd just licked them. Malfoy closed his eyes.

Harry blinked. They were far too close together. It would be easy to close that gap and press his lips against Malfoy's, and anything might happen after that -- anything at all.

But this was not what he needed right now. He wanted Malfoy to leave, and then he could think about this, maybe do a little research, go through some of his memories, try to find out what had happened, if anything had happened at all.

Malfoy's eyes opened again, and Harry released him, embarrassed. He backed away from the door and ran a hand through his hair. The silence that stretched out between them was awkward, but Harry could think of nothing to say. His mind was oddly blank.

"Well," Malfoy said at last. "I suppose I'll--"

"Lunch?" Harry blurted.

Malfoy's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Sorry?"

"Do you want to have lunch tomorrow? I mean, if you're still in town?" Malfoy just stared at him for several seconds, so Harry blundered on: "I don't know what happened, if anything happened, but… give me some time to think about this. Maybe we could talk a bit, at least?"

Malfoy nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips. "All right." He straightened his rumpled coat and then turned to the door and opened it. "I'll send you an owl in the morning."

He closed the door behind him. Harry stared at it for a moment before returning to the sofa and settling into the same spot he'd been in moments before, when Malfoy had been so close to him, his arms nearly around Harry, trapping him there against the cushions and practically whispering dirty things in his ear.

It was quite surreal.

Harry sighed and reached for his untouched glass of scotch, giving it a swirl and a sniff before taking a sip. It burned his tongue and felt warm going down his throat, but the taste it left behind wasn't unpleasant. It was mildly sweet, in fact, even through its initial harshness.

Harry wasn't sure why, but suddenly he was looking forward to lunch tomorrow.

~*~

fin

A/N: Whether or not this fic depicts something that is almost a first kiss depends on whether or not you believe Draco's story. In either case, it would have been a first from Harry's POV. ;-)