Draco meets Smith’s saccharine smile with a sulky stare. “I doubt that any of the people for whom you’d come to me for social updates would be invited to any reunion thrown by Potter and his lot,” he says coolly, trying to bury the wound of his friends’ absence with his usual scorn and derision toward his oldest enemies, but it doesn’t really work – possibly because his feelings towards Potter are so conflicted, now that he owes the man not just his freedom but that of his parents as well; possibly just because he’s grown tired of the vitriol that boiled between them for so long and used to be such an ingrained part of his every day and deed.
Zacharias’s commentary about Draco’s lack of interest and his marriage inspire a withering glare that would probably be more effective if it wasn’t half-pout and half simmering confusion. “You sound like my father,” he grumbles, and for once in his life he doesn’t mean that statement as a compliment so much as a complaint. His amorous pursuits – or rather, his lack thereof – were one of the few areas in which he had utterly and abjectly failed to live-up to his father’s expectations (one of the few areas that wasn’t a direct result of the Dark Lord and the war, at least, for all that Lucius insisted that it was and thus was no fault of Draco’s own for which he should be judged) and what rankled most about that was the fact that Draco didn’t really mind that failure. It just wasn’t something of which he’d ever seen the point – which was, of course, precisely what his father said was the problem. Whatever that meant…
“And yes, of course Pansy was invited to the wedding, why wouldn’t she have been?” he continues waspishly. It hadn’t been a very large guest list – Astoria had never been a gregarious woman, and most of Draco’s friends had deserted him in the aftermath of the war – but while his parents had lamented the smallness of the affair, Draco had been quite satisfied not to have a large party; he no longer craved a spotlight the way he once had. “And I got married because Astoria didn’t drop stupid hints, she just came right out and said what she meant. Which is the way things bloody should work. How is it that everybody but me is so fixated on the idea that the best way to express your feelings is not to express them?” he whines. How many times had he sprawled across Goyle’s legs, or Crabbe’s, or both of theirs in the Slytherin Dungeon? That hadn’t been a marriage proposal – or a proposal of any other sort – they’d just been there, so Draco sat. How was he supposed to know that when Pansy did the same, it came laced with hidden meaning?
“Think Merlin that Astoria’s not like that,” he mutters, not really meaning to talk to Smith so much as he is musing aloud. “I suppose that’s the upside to needing rather than wanting. If she’d been ‘subtle’ about needing help with her potions back at Hogwarts she’d be dead now…or at the least still impoverished.” Draco’s pointed nose wrinkles in a grimace, less over the dusty old shop that his wife had once called home – he might be a snob, but he can appreciate the sort of products they offer, and Astoria’s subsequent expertise, regardless of the trappings in which they’re sold – than over the idea of not being wealthy. He doesn’t know how Astoria put up with it for so long, but he supposes she didn’t really have a choice…not until she found a suitable subject (himself) to approach with a deal to solve that problem, anyway.
His attention returns to Zacharias, but the grimace doesn’t fade; merely shifts into a furrow of bewilderment. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. What tension? And why would somebody resist something if they wanted it? That’s just stupid. If you want a thing, you should try and get it. End of story.” How was everyone else in the wixen world so dumb? It was almost enough to make him want to find Granger and strike-up a conversation of insults. The Mudbl–woman was horrible, but at least she wasn’t an idiot. Although she had decided to fall in love with Weasley, so perhaps he should revise that estimation…
“Is there anyone else you’d prefer to give me social updates on? I’m not picky, I’d take any gossip. Also who even says ‘whom’ anymore, geez. You gotta get with the times, Malfoy. Be more ‘hip’ as the kids say.” It’s a whole different question that the word ‘whom’ has never featured in Zacharias’ vocabulary anyway, but he’s not surprised in the least that Malfoy, with all his fancy and needlessly complicated words, would be the type of guy who says whom. “Come on, say ‘dope’. Example: Hey, Smith, hanging out with you is dope.”
He’s not sure if the comment about sounding like Malfoy Senior is supposed to be an insult. On one hand, it’s how Zacharias and, he’s pretty sure, every other sane wix on the planet, would take it. He might not know much about the man but he’d supported Voldemort and in Zacharias’ book, that’s enough to make him a shit person. But he has no idea how things work in Malfoy land. For all it’s worth, Draco seemed to fucking worship his father back in the day, if all the ‘my father will hear about this’ comments are anything to go by. So who knows, he might think Zacharias sounding like his father is a good thing. His pout doesn’t really clarify anything either, because honestly, it makes him look more like a petulant child rather than anything else. A drunk petulant child, but still. “I really don’t know how to take that, Malfoy, and I don’t really fancy being compared to anyone in your family so y’know what, I’m just not gonna ask.”
The news about Parkinson delighted him. “Oh, so she was invited!” That has to have at least stung, watching the guy you’ve been trying to get with for years get married to another woman. Poor Parkinson, really. Maybe she’s the one he ought to be sending edible arrangements to. “Did she actually come? Or did she just so happen to have an appointment that day that she simply couldn’t postpone?” He wonders, almost absentmindedly, how Astoria must’ve felt about that. Angry? Smug? Indifferent? “Oh she came right out and said it, did she? Did you at least propose to her or did she have to do that too? But here’s the thing, mate, if you feel everyone except for you has some ‘weird’ ideas about flirting maybe it’s not us but you. I mean, fuck, even corny chat-up lines have their charm.”
He didn’t expect to hear about the Malfoys’ love story, but apparently Draco’s in a sharing mood. Grudgingly, Zacharias will admit it’s sweet, Draco helping his future wife with potions. Then he has to go an add to that that she’d be dead otherwise and yeah, it gets somewhat less romantic then. “Look at you, being a white knight and helping her out. Y’know, you give the rest of us, mere mortals, shit for flirting, but I’d bet brewing potions together or whatever is your version of it.” He just can’t wrap his head around it, is what it all comes down to. Sure, he knows some people who are absolute shit at flirting, but they at least acknowledge it. It’s the first time he hears someone who’s so vehemently against it just ‘cause he doesn’t understand it. Which, huh. Makes a lot of sense, actually, in the grand scheme of things.
He can only stare at Malfoy at his continued refusal to understand anything Zacharias might be saying. At this point, he must want to remain oblivious because there’s no other logical explanation. What tension, he asks. Why would people resist something they want, he asks. Slowly, Zacharias shakes his head. “I don’t say this often, Malfoy, so consider yourself special if you want, but fucking shit, I’m speechless. Also I’ve only had one beer and I’m absolutely not about to explain sexual tension to you while I’m this sober. Fuck.” He takes another sip of his drink, another beer, as if it would help. “Y’know, I have a toddler at home and he doesn’t drive me nearly as insane. He cries all the time, he shits himself every few hours, he throws up on my fucking shirt, but somehow, you’re the one who managed to break me. That’s gotta be some kinda talent.”
