"I'm not a lightweight," Draco scoffed. "I just have a refined palette. And no tolerance for alcohol. Totally different." He laughed softly.
His smiles faded as Potter asked what moving forward would look like. Honestly, Draco had no idea. He had proven over the last five years that he was utterly incapable of doing that for himself, forget everyone else.
"Hell if I know. I don't think the bloosy castle knows either, or it would be picking different people to bring here. We should, we should have some sort of actual plan though, right? Like, beyond setting up gardens and farming and getting food from the muggles. But fuck if I know what it should be. And it's not like we're the only wizards left in the whole world, right? Eventually other governments will catch wind of us. The French, the Americans, someone. And what will they do then? Try to assimilate us? Help us? Kill us all to keep the status quo?" He'd been thinking about this a lot, and now Potter had opened the floodgates.
"I mean, maybe we should reach out the them ourselves. Its not like we have doppelgangers running around in 2038, so we won't erase our future selves or whatever. They're already dead. I don't know."