Potter smirked. "Sorry, I was over in Westminster right before we popped in. We were looking for a late-night pub for Ron's stag party. I just happened by."
                              
Draco rolled his eyes. He needed to say something. That's probably what Potter was waiting for. The icing on Potter's delicious revenge-filled cake. "Thank you."
                              
He took a deep breath. "You're welcome. I'm sorry it happened to you. I'm glad I was here to stop it from... being worse. But you don't have to thank me. I was just doing the right thing."
                              
"You probably wouldn't have if you knew it was me. Probably think I deserved it."
                              
"Hey," Potter's voice growled with irritation, but he took a deep breath. "Malfoy... Draco?"
                              
He looked at him, surprised he had used his first name.
                              
"No one deserves that, especially not you."
                              
"I was a Death Eater."
                              
"Are you really? You just called your Dark Lord a bloody insane lunatic."
                              
"Mass-murdering lunatic, Potter," Draco corrected and his eyes finally stopped tearing up. "He was... a complete... fucking prick. Why did anyone follow him willingly?"
                              
Potter stared at him, incredulously. Draco ran his finger across his faded mark.
                              
"I wanted nothing to do with joining, but... I didn't have a choice. Death or slavery," Draco sighed. "You see what one I picked. Of course, you picked Death."
                              
"I'm pretty sure I didn't have a choice. Voldemort picked death for me when I was one."
                              
Draco shrugged and they were both silent for a few minutes. "So, what now?"
                              
"You want to grab a tea? Or a coffee? It'll help settle your nerves."
                              
Draco shook his head. He barely had money to eat, much less spend it on four-pound coffees. Things had improved slightly when he found this job. As a busser, he got to pinch bites of food off the plates.
                              
"Alright, I can take you home," Harry said.
                              
Draco jerked his head up. "No, that's okay, Potter. I can walk myself."
                              
"And I can Apparate you there instantly."
                              
"You can't Apparate us there. There are muggles."
                              
"Oh... do you want to walk? Or we can take a cab?"
                              
"I don't need an escort home, Potter. I'm fine."
                              
"I'm not letting you wander around London by yourself. Protocol says that I have to escort you home."
                              
"Fuck protocol. I can refuse."
                              
"I can refuse your refusal. What are you going to do, sneer at me?" Potter said, smirking.
                              
Draco glared but said, "You just want to know where I live!"
                              
Potter considered that. "Possibly. We might need you to make an official statement. I do have the bar address. But really, now that I found you, I'd rather check up on you... make sure that you're okay."
                              
Draco's mouth popped open. "Why?"
                              
"Because you were just attacked. You look overwhelmed and lonely... and going through a bad time. Maybe you could use a friend."
                              
"We aren't friends, Potter."
                              
Potter smirked. "But we do know each other and have for nearly a decade. Come on, Draco. You aren't getting rid of me, until I get you to your bed."
                              
Potter climbed to his feet and held out a hand for Draco to take. He didn't. Stubbornly, he used the wall to get up. Fuck... he was tired, like he just run ten kilometers. His legs were shaky and his arms were sore. Potter grabbed his bag and cleaned it with his wand. He handed it to him, stepped back, but his hand was still held out, for some reason.