Chapter Text
“‘Mione?” Harry calls into the house meekly. “You here?” He sets his bag down next to the door, hanging his coat on the rack and undoing the top button on his collar. “I need… tea,” he shakes his head, stepping into the sitting room and staring with a blank, half-believing look in his eyes. “‘Mione?” he asks, even quieter.
Hermione looks up at Harry with wide eyes, the cup of tea in her hands halfway between her lips and the table. “Oh, Harry. You’re home early,” she returns her face to a neutral state and sets the cup down on the coffee table.
“Yeah…” Harry can’t help but focus on the head of silver hair and the shoulders covered in a black tee-shirt sitting on the couch across from Hermione. “You didn’t tell me you were expecting anyone.”
“It was a last-minute call,” there’s a clink of another cup setting onto the table. The silver-haired man stands up and turns to harry. “Potter,” he says with a slight nod of his head.
“Malfoy,” Harry said, his voice strikingly calm.
“I'll be off, then,” Malfoy reaches for the jacket draped over the arm of the couch.
“No, you can stay. I’ll make myself some tea then I'll go to my room. enjoy your tea,” Harry turns to the kitchen and walks into the door.
“Sit down, Draco, I’ll be right back. I'd like to make sure he’s alright,” Hermione’s voice is soft and friendly, which feels odd to Harry, given who she’s talking to.
Harry was already heating water, staring at the kettle. His mind was obviously elsewhere, his fingers fidgeting in his pockets.
“Harry?” Hermione calls softly from the doorway. “What happened, darling?”
“Nothing,” he shakes his head, reaching one hand up to rub his eyes. “Sorry. I’ll be off after I make tea,” he blinks slowly, pulling a mug down from the counter. He pulls the small mint plant from the window, pulling off a few leaves and tearing them into the mug.
“Harry, darling, please don’t drink bourbon tea tonight,” Hermione's voice is still soft, but the friendly tone has been replaced with a worried one. “You have work tomorrow.”
“I had a bad day. I’ll drink one cup, then replace it with plain tea,” he sighs, pouring the boiling water over the leaves. He stares into the cup as the leaves swirl slowly, setting the kettle back down on the base. “I’ll be fine. No hangover.”
“Do you need anything else? Anything at all, darling?” Hermione sets a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry shakes his head. “Alright… I’ll just be here when… if you need me, okay?” She kisses the side of his head gently before walking out of the kitchen to Malfoy again.
Harry adds bourbon - the cheap stuff - to his mug, cradling it in both hands as he makes his way up to his bedroom. He stares at the floor and thinks so hard about not thinking about Hermione and Malfoy sitting together that he isn’t really sure if it’s better or not.
He sits on the floor in the middle of his room, sipping the bourbon-mint tea slowly. It tastes familiar. It tastes like bad nights, bad feelings. It tastes like waking up from a nightmare to retch out his stomach onto the floor.
It tastes like Hell.
Harry's beginning to wonder if that’s why he likes it so much.