Draco Malfoy (muddied) wrote in afic, @ 2010-12-25 11:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | !completed, character: draco malfoy, character: ernie macmillian, player: deb, x player: julia |
Who: Ernie and Draco
When: 25 December, late evening
Where: Ernie's flat
What: Draco's stopping by for drinks with an old (somewhat estranged) mate
Rating: PG?
Status: completed
Ernie couldn’t deny the surprise he felt when Draco wrote him to request drinks at Ernie’s flat. The pair hadn’t been friendly since they were children and even if they made small talk since the war’s end, Ernie didn’t know if Draco cared about him one way or the other. However, Ernie wasn’t a daft soul either. He knew Draco probably needed something if he was seeking Ernie out. The former Hufflepuff only hoped everything was all right. He had been worried when Lucius died in that fire and knew the flowers and heartfelt condolences he sent could never ease Draco’s pain. Ernie knew because he would be devastated if he lost his own parents. He assumed, considering everything Draco did to protect his family during the war, that Draco felt much the same. Either way, Ernie had been on pins and needles since writing back to accept Draco’s appeal.
Ernie didn’t know what Draco might like so he bought wine, champagne, and fire whiskey for the occasion. He didn’t drink too much, but he figured he could get a few guests over and polish off whatever they didn’t use. He also brought over an armload of leftovers from Christmas dinner. He had promised Draco he wouldn’t tell anyone they were meeting, but his parents didn’t count. Heck, Ernie’s parents still had a soft spot for the Draco they remembered as a little child.
This was insanity, Draco was certain of it. He had managed to live his life in peace, balancing between London and Paris, for several years. And in this week alone he had been hunted down by Potter, gifted to Hermione as an account, and now stood on the doorstep of Ernie MacMillan, a man who had been a boyhood friend and little since then. And yet. He suspected Ernie might have connections, or a way to find such, that could help him protect Alyssa if he planned to bring her into Britain.
And now that Potter had found them, Draco knew it was only a matter of time before it all unraveled. He needed to put a plan in place before that happened.
A box held loosely in one hand, Draco rapped sharply on the door with the knuckles of his other hand. When the door opened, he offered the box. “A gift, for my host.”
Well, that was a very Malfoy thing to do. Ernie would later reflect that he shouldn’t have been surprised by the gesture. “Whatever it is you need,” he said, “You don’t need to bribe me for.” Ernie could never suffer pretense and while he was glad Draco was coming to him for whatever it is he needed, he wouldn’t pretend like they had been anything other than casual acquaintances for years. Nonetheless, they shared a childhood which connected Ernie to the former Slytherin no matter how much he convinced himself that he didn’t mind Malfoy went off and abandoned him like an annoying puppy when they reached Hogwarts. In fact, it also didn’t bug Ernie that Draco nearly went and got himself killed rather than confide in the MacMillans.
All those years later and Draco could still rile every last one of Ernie’s emotions. “Come in,” Ernie added quickly, moving aside so that Draco could scoot past him. “Thank you,” he continued, accepting the box. “Happy Christmas, Draco.”
The box was about eight inches square, and rather heavy when handed off to Ernie, containing, as it did, a small bronze statue, a piece of limited edition art by a French Muggle artist. Draco remembered Ernie having a fondness for art, and hoped that was still true. “Happy Christmas, Ernie, although that,” a nod at the box, “is hardly a Christmas gift. Nor a bribe. Consider it a thank you for hosting me tonight.” Draco had a small, tight smile. “I do remember how to be polite.”
Draco was dressed casually this evening, as if he were relaxed, but there was a tension in his body that the Christmas celebrations had been unable to release. But then, he was back in England, and had seen his mother, both of which tended to raise his tension. He tried to stand as if nothing was wrong, but a faint frown furrowed his forehead as he looked around, taking in what he could see of Ernie’s flat. “You’ve had a good holiday, oui?” Having only returned a few hours before, the speaking patterns lingered.