Now that he was prompted, Draco found that he didn’t actually know where to start.
While he had had many very real and concrete feelings while he had been in the situation, he found that he wasn’t actually sure if any of it was going to be relatable to Harry in the least.
“I guess that it’s just a weird situation to me, you know?” He started out, finding that that really was the best way to sum up his thoughts.
“You know, when I started dating Peter, I knew that i would never be able to be with him publicly, so I never really considered anything in that regard,” he stated, looking at the road ahead rather than his companion in the car. He feared that he was going to appear incredibly shallow for what he was about to say, but he needed to get it out and he had a feeling that Harry was going to be less judgemental than Pansy.
“And it’s not like his parents were anything new to me, I have met more people like them than I care to count, but everything about it just felt wrong, does that make sense?”

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Even though some of the nuance of the conversation was surely lost in his driving, Harry thought he was able to grasp the complexity of Draco’s discomfort. The almost sombre reflections Draco spoke into the darkness ebbed over with context Harry either didn’t have or couldn’t grasp while merging onto the motorway, but for all intent and purpose, Harry probably didn’t need to understand it, only to lend an ear to it.
“Yeah,” he said, more an encouragement than a true agreement. “I think so.”

While Draco wasn’t certain that Harry actually understood his plight, he found that he greatly appreciated the encouragement, needing to be able to let it out more than he needed someone to actually understand what his problem was. Hell, he barely understood what his own problem was, he just knew that he had felt wrong the entire evening and he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he was making a mistake in all of this.
“I know I’m rambling, I’m sorry,” he stated, running a hand through his hair before leaning back against the car seat with a defeated sigh. It was all too much and he had a hard time wrapping his head around it all, so it felt like a relief to get to say these things out loud to someone.
“I guess I just never considered whether or not I actually wanted to be proper committed to Peter, you know? It was never an option before all of this, so I didn’t have to think about whether or not I’d be able to live with being told that I’m lucky that I take after my father so much, all things considered for the rest of my life.”

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Despite any efforts to keep a neutral face, Draco’s words brought a twitch to Harry’s brow, knitting together in a furrow for just a moment.
“He said that?” he asked, eyes still on the road, trying not to seem too appalled.
Harry hadn’t known much of Draco’s mother, but his father was certainly a character in the tapestry of English politics; and privately, Harry wouldn’t particularly consider it a favourable or flattering comparison.

Despite everything, the very visceral reaction from Harry brought a faint smile to Draco’s lips, relieved to finally be around someone who seemed to understand why he might not find the comparison to his father a particularly flattering kne.
“His mother did,” he corrected, finding that the statement was no less offensive coming from Peter’s mother, especially considering that Peter hadn’t seemed inclined to tell his mother why Draco likely wouldn’t appreciate a comment like that at the given time.
“Both of his parents kept going on and on about how they’d met my father a couple of times and what a lovely man he is and how he must be so proud of me for becoming a doctor and how I must be ao proud to have such a great father,” Draco rambled, feeling some comfort in the fact that Harry clearly listened and understood his frustration with the situation.
“Sickening crap like that, you know?”

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At the sound of the things Draco had had to sit through during dinner, a knot formed in the pit of Harry’s stomach, uneasy discomfort surging at the mere sound of it. Rarely, if ever, had Harry been forced through a situation like that; he couldn’t blame Draco for arranging a quit exit.
“You’re father is -” he started, not even knowing how to describe him to his son, the harshness of the descriptors curdling on his tongue.
“Malfoy’s not a common name,” he tried instead, glancing over at Draco with a furrow between his brows, trying to make absolutely sure Harry wasn’t confused on who Draco’s father was.

It was only then that Draco realised that Harry had no idea who his father was.
With the closeness of the relationship Draco had seen between Harry and his fathers, Draco had just assumed that they would have shared that fact with him, and a sense of gratitude bloomed in Draco when he realised that they hadn’t.
It wasn’t that Draco didn’t want Harry to know, he had come to trust him just as much as he trusted Sirius and Remus, but it was nice that it was something that he got to disclose on his own terms.
“Yes,” he stated, realising that he had never actually had to tell anyone who his father was before and unsure exactly how to do it.
“My father is Lucius Malfoy. The politician.”

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Harry made an involuntary face at that, brows furrowed for an instance, before regaining control of his expression. He had had an inkling - really, with a name like Malfoy odds were as much - but still it felt almost unlikely; both in Lucius Malfoy feeling as an abstract, awful entity rather than a true man with genuine morals and feelings, but mostly for the sheer and startling differences between father and son.
“Yeah,” Harry exhaled, unsure what else to offer but his sympathy. “No, that’s - that’s not really a compliment.”