Something about the reception changed the moment Draco Malfoy came into view, finally alone.
The chatter of conversation had calmed, a subtle indication that the evening was past its peak and would sooner rather than later draw to a close, and perhaps why Malfoy, seemingly the first time tonight, was without a conversation partner.
Harry himself had been at the bar by then. It was a new development that they had started to run in the same professional circles, tonight celebrating the jubilee of a member of the Wizengamot, and Harry had watched Malfoy with an almost humoured interest, having quite enjoyed seeing how he carried himself in this phase of life.
Now that the opportunity had presented itself, it felt almost too easy to cross the room to join him.
“Head Potioneer,” Harry said in lieu of a greeting.
He barely looked at Malfoy before he turned to stand at his side, but the glance he sent him was pointed with a sharp familiarity, the use of Malfoy’s recently acquired title a transparent display that, despite whatever time had passed, Harry hadn’t entirely lost track of him.
Without lingering, Harry turned both his front and attention back towards the crowd, raising his glass to take a drink.

The absolute worst part of having made the progress in his career that he had absolutely had to be all of these dreary social arrangements.
Draco wasn’t even sure what they were supposed to be celebrating this time, probably some jubilee or anniversary of some kind, but he was already bored to tears. All of the people present were quite senior within the ministry and their conversations were as boring as the party itself.
Draco had half a mind to just leave, trying to make up his mind on whether he had been present for long enough, when Potter suddenly slithered up beside him.
Despite both of them being very active in their ministry work, Draco hadn’t actually been face to face with Potter for at least 10 years; a fact that had been completely and utterly by design. After the war, Draco had been so desperate to build a new life that he didn’t want any kind of reminder of his old one, which had meant avoiding any and all reminders at all costs.
Now though, being head potioneer and generally having the life he had always wanted, he saw no reason to hide anymore. Even if Potter was going to have a problem with him being there, Draco knew that he outranked him by now, and that he had made himself quite irreplaceable.
“Auror,” he stated, not bothered with turning to look over at Potter, able to recognise that voice from a mile away, even if it had been slightly marked by age.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked in a tone that clearly indicated his displeasure with the situation.

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The returned title made Harry smile into his glass, the response a mirrored sort of image; he wasn’t in his formal uniform, just as Malfoy wasn’t in his.
He took in Malfoy’s question alongside savouring his fourth whiskey of the evening, but decided that Malfoy wasn’t really asking. Malfoy being present was arguably the most interesting facet of the evening, but that wasn’t saying much, and Harry doubted this was any pleasure, at all.
Instead, he took the question as an invitation to pose one of his own, having mulled it over for the last few hours of seeing glimpses of Malfoy socialising.
“Are you trying to get lucky tonight?” he asked quite casually.
Harry only looked over at Malfoy after speaking, a dangerous smile tugging at his lips with everything that hadn’t been reflected in his tone, allowing his gaze to skim over Malfoy.

The question almost made Draco choke on his drink, a glass of wine that he had been nursing for far too long, but managed to remain his composure. He honestly wasn’t sure what exactly he had expected when Potter showed up next to him, but that most certainly wasn’t it.
Ever since getting his job at the ministry, Draco had mostly been sticking to himself, seeing absolutely no reason to socialise with anyone and only keeping up with gossip just enough to avoid people from his past; especially Potter. Thus, he honestly had no real scope of what kind of Potter had turned into, though he was slowly getting confirmation that he was still as insufferable as he had always been.
“I beg your pardon?” Draco asked, feeling Potter’s gaze on him but utterly unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeming startled, Draco slowly turned his gaze upon Potter as well, eyebrow raised incredulously.

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When Malfoy turned to look at him, Harry met his eye unwaveringly, searching for any sign of recognition in Malfoy’s expression. Despite not necessarily seeing any, it made Harry smile, humoured. It offered an opportunity to transparently take in how age had settled across Malfoy’s features, seeing so much of Lucius in him.
“You’ve taken Felix Felicis,” he stated, even more certain of it up close.
Harry could feel the tug of the potion in his chest, hear it in the way it unwillingly softened his words as he spoke them. Even decades later, Harry knew how it felt to be around Draco Malfoy, and this wasn’t it, the differences sticking out like a sore thumb.

Honestly, Draco didn’t even know why he was bothering with being surprised by that very serious accusation coming from Potter. It really didn’t matter to him that it was true, that Draco had been taking Felix Felicis every single day for around ten years, what mattered was how Potter had found it out and what he was going to do with the information.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about,” Draco stated, feeling the soothing effect of the drug settling over him, telling him that they were going to be fine and would get out of this situation as well.
He allowed himself a brief moment to take in Potter, realising that the many photos of him in the Daily Prophet really didn’t do him justice. Age had taken away a lot of his boyish charm and replaced it with something more severe but no less attractive. His hair was still messy as ever, but looked more purposeful with its salt and pepper look.
“Do you have any proof for your rather serious accusation?”

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The steady calm with which Malfoy avoided the question was intriguing, different to the way he once was easily riled. Harry wondered if that was a change that had come with age or through substance abuse, an artificial sense of security; he wondered if the composure had a breaking point.
“People don’t ****ing like you,” Harry said with a smile, feeling the intended bite of his words come out more as a tease through the soft haze of the potion. It was probably for the better, however, the room still crowded around them. “They never have.”
Malfoy’s mere career trajectory felt like proof, such an unbelievable advancement given how he had spent his teenage years, that his appointment felt like proof alone. “But here you are, so I suppose it’s not only for tonight.”

While the statement probably should have hurt, Draco found that Potter really wasn’t telling him anything new.
A lot of people had been vehemently against his promotion and how fast he had managed to become a person of importance in the ministry. However, there was no denying the results that Draco had brought to his department, so it had been easy to shut down the haters.
“They don’t need to like me,” he stated calmly, feeling a flicker of anxiety underneath the warm and calm glow of the Felix. He knew that Potter was annoyingly perceptive when he wanted to be, and apparently he had decided to use that to bother Draco tonight.
“I know this may be a strange concept to you, but I am remarkably good at my job.”

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Harry’s smile widened, Malfoy’s response telling in its own way; given enough time to prod and push, Harry felt confident that that composure could definitely be shattered.
“Yeah, but they do, don’t they?” he said, his eyes squinting in a doubtful little expression. Feeling the whiskey warm him up from the inside out, it felt easy to lean into the conversation, never intending to make any formal accusation.
Finally, Harry’s attention returned to the crowd, raising his glass once again.
“Not many Death Eaters in leadership,” he said, almost taking a sip, before reconsidering to add: “Any longer, anyway. Either they like you, or its a tremendous amount of luck”

For how much Potter had apparently changed, it really was incredibly how much he hadn’t. Draco still found him to be the most infuriating person he had ever met, and he so desperately wanted to be able to knock that infuriating smirk off of his face.
However, Draco was also keenly aware that Potter indeed was right and that he knew it. It wasn’t that Draco thought he could convince Potter that he wasn’t right, it was just that Draco found him so incredibly annoying that he wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him.
“I was 17, barely a Death Eater at all,” Draco said, knowing that both of them were aware of just how untrue that was, but he had made this script through the years of having been accused of cheating, so it felt like second nature to him.
“People change, Potter, and that goes for me too,” he added, knowing that fighting the accusation was useless but still unwilling to let Potter just be right.

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While Harry’s eyes were still directed to the crowd in front of him, his attention was entirely on Malfoy, his choice of words making Harry smile. They really were too old for this, understanding rationally that he was accusing Malfoy of something he had done a lifetime ago, but still this felt like old habits to them, inevitable.
When he once again turned his head to look at him, the sight made his heart skip a beat, unexpectedly surprised. For whatever Harry had seen of his father when Malfoy was trying to keep cool, he saw so much of him when his annoyance seeped through. It was refreshing, a flicker of something that made Malfoy appear just as mean and handsome as Harry had always thought him to be.
“Have you?” he challenged with a doubtful smile; personally, Harry found him to be almost painfully familiar.

“You haven’t,” Draco said before he had time to consider it. For all the ways that Potter seemed to have changed and aged, Draco was struck by just how much their conversation felt like one they’d have while still back at Hogwarts.
In a way, it was deeply refreshing, for the first time in a long while talking to someone he didn’t feel the need to impress. As much as Potter was still the darling of the wizarding world, Draco knew that Potter probably understood parts of him better than anyone else ever could and seemed unwilling to judge him for those parts; the parts that most other people seemed to despise him for.

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Malfoy said it with an almost imperceivable fondness that Harry wondered if it hadn’t been meant as a compliment; It was Malfoy who insisted that being a changed person was better, not Harry.
“It’s good to see you,” he said, an almost-respone. Harry didn’t think he had changed himself, either, but saying it out loud felt redundant.
He turned away from Malfoy, downing the last drink of his whiskey and placing the empty glass on the nearest one of the many tables scattered about the venue. He barely glanced back at Malfoy before stepping away from him, but in that moment, his smile briefly turned spiteful. ”Best of luck.”

____
No matter how long Draco had worked at the ministry, he would never cease to be surprised by just how many nonsensical events that they seemed to host.
Once again, Draco honestly had no idea what they were celebrating, or if they were even celebrating anything at all, but he knew that he had to at least show his face. That truly was the one downside to his recent promotion and Draco was truly considering whether or not it was worth it.
To be able to give himself a breather, Draco had taken one of the glasses of champagne outside and had found himself a secluded corner in which to have a smoke. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he was a smoker, but he was desperate for a break and to no have to make polite small talk for thirty bloody seconds.

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Already several drinks in, Harry ventured out into the courtyard in search of a change of pace and a cigarette. Despite being quite the avid smoker when drinking, Harry had never gotten into the habit of carrying any himself, finding it almost laughably easy to come about if he just asked.
Rarely did that translate into actually striking up conversation with people, but skimming over his options tonight, it was inevitably different.
“Can I have one?” he asked as he approached Malfoy, a grin already tugging at his lips.
The way Malfoy was tucked away from the rest could hardly be considered an invitation, but yet again, Harry found that he couldn’t help himself, having thought quite a lot about how effectively he had managed to rile him up a few weeks ago.

It really didn’t surprise Draco too much that Potter decided to approach him, especially not when it was, apparently, just to ruin his private smoke break. Part of him wanted to deny Potter the smoke, but he knew that it likely wouldn’t mean that he went away.
“Classy,” he said as he fished the pack out of his pocket and handed it towards Potter. If he had to have his smoke break interrupted, he didn’t mind too much that it was Potter. At least with Potter around, Draco still didn’t feel the need to play nice and make polite small talk.
“So, our lord and saviour, Harry Potter, can’t be seen buying his own cigarettes?” He asked, not really minding the bumming of the smoke, but simply feeling the need to poke at Potter every chance he got.

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Accepting the silver tin, Harry considered reminding Malfoy that just a few weeks ago, he had cussed him out for still holding him accountable for the things he had done at 17. Harry wasn’t surprised that that grace wasn’t extended both ways, having always found Malfoy to be such a hypocrite.
“Consider it reparations,” he countered, with an easy smile, once again feeling the bloom of felix felicis making his words more amicable. He was more acutely aware of that than of the drinks he’d had already. “Or small tokens of society’s appreciation, if you prefer.”
The more practical reason was simply that Harry would have smoked through a pack in an evening, and too bored with it to buy another to replace it. Unlatching the silver tin - snakes, of course - he saw that Malfoy seemingly favoured hand rolled cigarettes.
Harry took one between his lips, trying not to think too much about Malfoy’s fingers in his mouth. Instead he closed the tin, lifting it to eye-level.
“This is ugly,” he stated, words muffled by the cigarette pinched between his lips as he offered it back to Malfoy.

Draco simply accepted back his tin with a roll of his eyes, unsurprised that Potter would feel the need to comment on it, but he was way past his days of being embarrassed by who he was.
“So are you, and yet they let you in anyway,” he stated as he slipped the tin back into his pocket.
He took a drag from his cigarette, lazily taking Potter in, not even bothering with feeling self conscious about it. It was clear to Draco that it wasn’t simply the Felix that kept pulling Potter closer to him, even if he had only recently stopped making the active choice of avoiding him. Maybe it was just something in their shared history that made them long for the simpler times of just sniping at each other, but no matter the cause, Draco found that he couldn’t entirely mind it.
“You really have nothing better to do than bother me on my smoke break?”

_________________

Having lifted his hands back to the cigarette to light it, Malfoy’s retort made Harry snort out a surprised laugh, interrupting the spell he was about to cast. Caught off-guard by the childish readiness of it, Harry was in equal measures humoured and reassured by how that language still lived just beneath the surface of the newly appointed Head Potioneeer.
Glancing at Malfoy overtop of his hands, a grin crinkled the corners of his eyes before a flame flicked from his fingertips, just long enough to light the cigarette. Straightening his posture, Harry picked it from his lips, exhaling the first puff of smoke.
“I can leave,” he said with an unbothered smile, the little gesture he made with the cigarette saying he’d already gotten what he came here for.

There was something so incredibly freeing in not having to pretend to be something that he wasn’t around Potter. Sure, he enjoyed his position as head potioneer and took the job seriously, but he also knew that this part of him had never gone away, and to see that that part of Potter still existed as well was satisfying in a way that Draco couldn’t properly place.
“Oh no, please don’t leave me alone to smoke my cigarette in peace, before going back in to mingle with ministry people who hate my guts,” he said in a tone so dry that he was almost a little proud of himself.
While the Felix did a lot to stop people from being outwardly hostile towards him, Draco was all too aware of the precarious position he was in and he could only take so much polite small talk before he felt about to explode.

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