"So what happened between you and the Missus?"
Draco took a sip of the cheap beer Astoria had handed him, grimacing. "Don't call her that, Astoria."
Astoria merely shrugged. "Whatever. You're practically married. So, spill."
"I don't really want to talk about it, Astoria," he replied glumly.
"Was it a fight?" Astoria pressed on before taking a long swallow of her own beer.
Draco sighed. "I don't really know," he admitted. "Yes? I guess? She was upset and then Potter just showed up and I just—apparated here."
Astoria nodded, deep in thought. "Well, maybe all you need is a little bit of a break," she replied brightly. "I was planning on going out tonight anyways. You can come with me, let loose a little bit!"
"I don't know, Astoria," Draco replied, "Hermione probably wouldn't like—"
"Hermione's not here," Astoria interrupted, her voice initially harsh before it faded, and she was smiling once more.
Draco raised his eyebrows at Astoria, confused by the shift in her expression.
Astoria sighed before standing and sitting down on the couch directly next to Draco. "Just, come have some fun with me for once," she begged, pouting slightly.
Draco snorted. "You know that doesn't work on me, right?"
"Drink your beer," Astoria ordered, rolling her eyes and patting his arm. "I'm going to go get dressed, and then I'm going to show you a good time."
She was up and out of sight before Draco could even respond. "You know I haven't said I'd go with you!" he shouted.
"Yet!" she called back.
He rolled his eyes and took another swig of his beer. "You have terrible taste in beer, by the way!"
Astoria reappeared, now clad only in a sports bra and a pair of joggers, and walked into the kitchen. Draco could faintly hear the sound of a cupboard opening and slamming shut, before Astoria was standing in front of him, depositing an unopened bottle of Ogden's and a crystal tumbler onto the table in front of him. "Here, this should soothe your delicate sensibilities," she said before disappearing back into her bedroom. Draco stared at the bottle. A beer was one thing, and he had rationalized it, but firewhiskey was another thing entirely. Several minutes had passed before Astoria called out again, "Pour me a glass while you're at it, won't you? There should be some clean glasses in the sink."
The kitchen. Good. This was good. The kitchen was away from the bottle. Draco surveyed the sink, but there wasn't a clean glass to be had. Good. This was also good—a task to distract him. He turned the water on and waited for it to grow warm. There was no dish detergent, so Draco settled for using a bar of hand soap and a washcloth that appeared to be reasonably clean, and set to washing the dishes the Muggle way.
When Draco never appeared with the requested glass of firewhiskey, Astoria emerged once more, her blonde hair pulled up in a bun on the very top of her head, with one fine section hanging past her shoulders. When she found him elbows deep in the sink, she laughed. "What are you doing?"
"This place is a mess, Astoria," he replied, "I'm doing your dishes."
She laughed again. "Like a Muggle."
Draco looked at her warily. "It's relaxing," he said defensively.
Astoria merely rolled her eyes. "Hand me a glass then," she replied, holding out her hand.
Draco pulled a glass tumbler from the sink and dried it off with the hem of his jumper and handed it Astoria. She smiled at him in thanks and disappeared. From the living room, he could hear Astoria opening the bottle of Ogden's—the sound of the cork popping free from the bottle for the first time, the faint sound of liquid filling a glass, the clinking of a crystal tumbler. Every one of his senses felt heightened, and suddenly he was extremely thirsty. Draco swallowed, and nearly choked. His throat was so dry, and his tongue felt so thick.
He turned the water off and gripped the sink, closing his eyes. His fight with Hermione rushed back to him—her voice, so calm and controlled, her fingers, shaking faintly. His confusion over the entire thing—then Potter—
He was a complete and utter piece of shit.
Draco didn't even remember walking to the living room. The only thing he was conscience of was the smell of firewhiskey, the initial acrid taste of alcohol on his tongue, then the delightful flavor of cinnamon, and the heat that filled his belly as the alcohol slid down his throat. It was delicious, it was perfect. Draco smiled.
All was right with the world. How could it not be? Everything became hazy, and colors became brighter. Everything was beautiful.
Everything was okay.
Hermione faded into the background for the first time since he'd first walked into Elixir, and the thoughts of his mother dissipated. For once, Draco was alone, his thoughts dreamy and wholly unencumbered. "This bottle is fantastic," Draco called thickly, his tongue rolling lazily in his mouth.
Astoria was applying makeup now, one eye was dark with shadow and liner. "Vintage," she said, winking her made-up eye at him.
Draco grinned. "Indeed."
"Soooo," Astoria drawled, "you're coming with me?"
Draco sighed. "Yes, Astoria," he replied, smirking.
"There's that smirk," Astoria said excitedly, disappearing back into her bedroom.
Why did people keep mentioning his smirk? Had he been smirking less? He didn't think so—
He took another sip of firewhiskey and reminded himself that it didn't matter.
Nothing mattered.
He'd snuck a few glasses of firewhiskey to ease his anxiety, to provide social lubrication with the Potter's, or to deal with the collapsing of his relationship with Hermione, but it had been such a long time since he'd been well and truly smashed.
Gods, how he'd missed it.
He gulped at the tumbler of firewhiskey, and several pin prickles of pleasure raced up his spine. Draco leaned back against the couch, relaxing into it. Gods, he felt so good—so loose, and relaxed. He felt like he could do anything.
"How do I look?" asked Astoria, who had returned to the living room. She was dressed in a short black dress that ended at the middle of her thighs and hugged her curves precisely. The straps of the dress only just covered her shoulders, before the fabric dipped low, showing off her cleavage.
"Damn, Astoria," Draco replied, grinning at her.
"So, good?" she asked, adjusting her dress, pulling it lower so that more of her breasts were exposed.
"You look lovely," he said.
Astoria rolled her eyes. "Ever the aristocrat. I wasn't really looking for 'lovely.'"
Draco took another sip of firewhiskey, wrinkling his nose. "You look—" he paused. "Hot." The words felt strange coming from his lips.
Astoria laughed, doubling over. "Have you ever told a woman that before?"
"I happen to be a very respectful lover," Draco sniffed.
"Certainly," Astoria drawled sarcastically before joining him on the couch with her own glass of firewhiskey. "So here's the plan," she said hurriedly, taking a sip of her own beverage. "We'll be meeting Tracey at The Three Broomsticks for drinks and a bite to eat, before heading to Muggle London."
"Tracey?" Draco asked. "Tracey Davis?"
Astoria nodded enthusiastically. "Yes."
"I haven't seen her in years," Draco mused.
Astoria smiled toothily. "She's hot, too."
The firewhiskey was now coursing through his bloodstream at full force, and Draco didn't allow himself to think too much about that comment.
Astoria drained her glass before standing before him, looking him over. She sighed. "Handsome as always," she said, shaking her head a bit. "Would it kill you to even try?"
"I'm quite certain I don't know what you mean, Astoria," he replied.
She rolled her eyes again. "You apparate here without warning and you look perfect. I've just spent two hours to look like this."
Draco did his own once over on Astoria. She was attractive, and always had been. But as she stood before him, Draco found he thought she was too made up, too artificial. Draco had always preferred girls who didn't try so hard, girls like—
Hermione.
Draco shook his head. He had managed to not think about Hermione for several hours now. It would not do to think of her now.
Astoria's smile faltered for a moment. "Are you all right?"
He nodded. "Of course."
"Okay, good!" she continued excitedly, reaching for his hand. "Come on, are you ready?"
Draco took her hand and she pulled him to standing. He wobbled a bit, but his hold on his glass of firewhiskey did not loosen. "Yes, I suppose," he replied, draining the glass in one gulp and placing it indelicately on the coffee table with a clatter.
"I'll apparate us," Astoria said, continuing to hold his hand.
"Okay," Draco agreed.
Astoria was particularly good apparition, Draco thought as he was pulled through space and time, landing elegantly on both of his feet right in front of The Three Broomsticks, which was brightly lit and appeared to be quite busy. Despite the firewhiskey he had consumed, Draco felt a wave of anxiety rush over him. There were too many people, too many people who could hurt him, or spit at him, or insult him, and it wasn't Hermione by his side, it was Astoria, who—
Inadvertently, Draco dug his heels in even as Astoria pulled excitedly at his hand. "Come on, Draco," she encouraged, ignorant of his anxiety. "Tracey is probably waiting for us at the bar."
Draco steeled himself, calling on his nonexistence Occlumency walls before following behind Astoria.
The Three Broomsticks was even more crowded on the inside than it appeared to be on the outside, but Draco hadn't been sure what to expect—the establishment was popular, and it was a Saturday night. Astoria had to drag him through the crowd, and Draco apologetically knocked shoulders with several people as they made their way to an equally packed bar, where Tracey Davis was visibly waiting for them. "Tracey!" Astoria called, waving excitedly to the other witch.
It had been years since Draco had seen Tracey Davis, and he had never been overly familiar with her to begin with. His brain, slightly fuzzy with alcohol, vaguely recalled a short, rather chubby girl with a face full of unfortunate pimples. The witch sitting at the bar, however, was vastly changed from the girl he remembered. Even seated, Draco could tell that Tracey had grown several inches, had dropped several pounds, and her face was blemish-free. She turned at hearing her name shouted above the din of the crowd, and Draco's immediate thought was that Tracey Davis was rather pretty, with her long, dark hair and her wide, blue eyes. Tracey smiled at Astoria, showing off her straight, white teeth.
In another life, perhaps he would have found her attractive, he thought, but everything about Tracey Davis was wrong. She was too tall, her hair too straight and too dark. Draco shook his head vaguely. Stop thinking about Hermione.
They took a seat at the bar next to Tracey, and the stranger to Draco's left took one look at him before hurriedly vacating his seat. Draco's stomach plummeted. It had become markedly easier for Draco to show his face in public since he'd begun his relationship with Hermione, and them subsequently becoming public about it, but wherever he went, he always ran the risk of being recognized, and subsequently hated. The only reason he was even allowed inside The Three Broomsticks was because Madame Rosmerta had sold it in the aftermath of the War. Draco looked towards Astoria, who was already absorbed in a conversation with Tracey, and had not noticed Draco's predicament. He wasn't sure whether he was glad of it, or whether it hurt.
Suddenly, he felt very lonely.
Hermione would've noticed and would have probably hexed the man.
Hermione is not here, he reminded himself unhelpfully.
"Can I get you anything?" asked the harried bartender as he stared at Draco as if he were personally responsible for everything that irked him.
"Firewhiskey, on the rocks. A double," Draco replied without hesitation.
The bartender slammed a glass onto the counter and hurriedly poured firewhiskey into it, liquid sloshing messily over the sides.
Draco thanked the displeased bartender with a nod of his head and set to draining the glass as quickly as possible.
"What have you been up to?" Draco heard a voice ask, vaguely recognizing it to belonging to Tracey. It took several seconds to realize that Tracey was looking at him expectantly. She had been talking to him.
Draco stuttered dumbly for a moment before answering: "Nothing much." His voice sounded dull, and he grimaced at himself.
Tracey's expression faltered for a moment before she once more plastered a smile on her face.
Astoria laughed lightly. "He's just being modest. He's taken over for his father," Astoria replied knowingly.
Draco looked over to Astoria, furrowing his brows. While it was mostly true, he had never taken Astoria for caring about his finances.
Tracey's smile widened. "Is that right?" she purred, leaning further towards Draco and into Astoria's space at the bar.
Draco nodded noncommittedly, returning his attention to his firewhiskey and taking a large gulp. Her stared hard at the bar. He was content to sit and drink with Astoria and Tracey, but he didn't feel much like making idle conversation.
If Tracey sensed this at all, she did not show it. She pressed on. "And how is the Malfoy estate?" she asked.
"You'd have to ask the Ministry, I'm afraid," Draco replied sardonically, not meeting Tracey's eyes. "It is no longer in my possession."
Tracey's expression flickered. "So where do you live?" she asked, somewhat in shock. She immediately shook her head. "I apologize, that was rude. It is simply unfathomable that the Malfoy estate is in the hands of the Ministry." She shook her head once more, derisively. "A bunch of criminals, if you ask me," she continued. "My father has been horrified by the direction the Ministry has taken."
Draco did not reply, feeling vastly uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. Draco caught the eye of the bartender and motioned to his nearly empty glass. With a scowl, the bartender grabbed a bottle of bottom shelf firewhiskey and filled Draco's glass to the brim, presumably so he would not have to be summoned again. Draco gulped greedily at the liquor, ignoring Astoria and Tracey, who had gone back to conversing.
He'd very nearly drained his glass when he felt Astoria poke him between the ribs. The alcohol had dulled quite a bit of sensation. "Are you ready?" she asked.
Ready? His mind stumbled. Ready for what? He felt himself nod and speak, "Yes," his voice said, seemingly far away.
Astoria smiled at him and took his hand, pulling him from the barstool. He slid from the leather seat and stumbled slightly. Oh, he'd had too much to drink—that was for sure. His brain was moving slowly and the edges of his vision were extremely hazy, as if he peering through a crystal ball. Astoria led him from the bar, and Draco idly wondered if he'd even paid for his drinks. Had they eaten? He couldn't remember if he had.
They must've apparated, but Draco hadn't felt it. They were outside somewhere, the sky an inky black, before Astoria was pulling on his hand once more, leading him down the street. The lights around him suddenly becoming brighter, drowning out the stars above him. He missed the absence of them acutely and he felt himself frown. He wanted the stars back. His indignation was quickly replaced when he heard the thrum of music from further down the street. Right—Astoria had told him they were going to a club. Draco had never been to a club.
As they got closer, the sound of the music became louder, and Draco could feel the thump of it in the soles of his feet. The building was nondescript, dark and windowless, but it was loud. Draco couldn't hear anything but the music. He was aware of Astoria yelling something at him, but he couldn't make out the words. He nodded anyways.
Draco was pulled inside, and the music sank into his bones. He closed his eyes as Astoria continued to lead him. The thrum of the music was so delightful, climbing pleasantly up his spine. A glass was shoved into his hand and Draco sipped at without question, pleased to find that it was another glass of firewhiskey. Oh, how he loved firewhiskey.
And music. How had he never realized how delightful it could be, how it could feel?
He opened his eyes and found a room packed with people. It was dark, lit only by colorful flashing lights—blue one moment, then red, then a luminous green that reminded him of an Avada Kedavra. He did not like the green. It flashed to purple, and Draco's good mood returned.
At some point, Astoria had dropped his hand, and Draco turned to his right, finding Astoria holding a Champagne flute in one hand as she began to dance with Tracey, their pale skin reflecting every change in the lights. Tracey noticed him watching, and smiled widely at him before grasping Astoria's hips and pulling her more firmly against her. Draco raised a brow as he watched the girls grind against each other on the dance floor. He took another sip of firewhiskey, and the haze in his vision grew steadily.
The music changed, becoming faster and louder, and Draco felt himself begin to sway instinctively to the beat of the music.
The atmosphere of the club enveloped him, and he became immersed in the lights, the colors, the beat of the music, and the feeling instilled by the firewhiskey, sinking into his consciousness and taking over him. His body began to move against his will, swaying to the beat of the music. There was no pain here, there was no hurt. There was nothing and it was delicious. Draco tipped his head back, relinquishing every semblance that remained of his control. He didn't want to be in control—he'd never been in control anyways.
Draco didn't know how long he stood there, simply feeling the beat of the music and watching as the color flashed overhead, until a new sensation occurred. Fingers, running lightly over his right forearm and up to his shoulder. The fingers flattened into a palm, gripping his shoulder lightly. Draco's eyes finally left the ceiling to find that Tracey was in front of him, touching him and standing much too close.
Tracey was staring up at him, her wide blue eyes slightly glazed and hooded as she looked at him. Draco briefly met her eyes and Tracey licked her lips before coming in even closer, so she could speak into his ear. "Draco," she cooed.
He needed to pull away. She was too close, and he could smell her perfume mixed with the scent of her sweat, and it was all wrong—the smell was wrong, the way she was touching him was wrong, the way she said his name. Why wasn't he pulling away? He couldn't seem to make his legs work despite the fact that he wanted to put as much distance between him and Tracey as possible.
"I always thought you were so handsome at school," she continued when Draco failed to push her away. "But I never had the courage to approach you. Imagine my excitement when Astoria walked into The Three Broomsticks with you." Tracey finished speaking and licked his earlobe.
Finally, Draco's body was working again, and he jerked away. Placing his hands on Tracey's shoulders, he forcefully pushed her away. "Tracey," he slurred, even though there was no way she could hear him over the din of the club.
Tracey looked stunned, and then hurt. She pulled away from him and disappeared into the sea of people.
Suddenly Draco couldn't breathe. The club was stifling, and there were far too many people. Someone walking by knocked Draco's shoulder and Draco flinched away, suddenly terrified that someone was going to attack him—to hurt him. His panic made him sober somewhat, despite the vast quantities of alcohol he had consumed that evening. He needed to get out of here—
He never should have come—
Where the fuck was the door—
Slim fingers wrapped around his forearm and he startled so badly that he wrenched his arm from the grip so forcibly that he very nearly hit someone in the face. "Draco!" Astoria had to practically scream so that Draco could hear her over the music. He was trembling now, and Astoria, who once more had wrapped her fingers around his forearm seemed to sense it, because she frowned and started pulling him towards the front of the club.
Astoria forced him to the door, and Draco sucked in great gulps of air once they were outside. He doubled over and Astoria kept dragging him until they found an alleyway, which she pulled him into. Draco leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, continuing to breathe heavily.
"What happened?"
Draco shook his head against the wall, feeling the rough brick against his scalp. "I shouldn't have come out."
Astoria frowned. "What do you mean? You looked more relaxed in there than I've seen you in weeks."
"I'm fucking wasted, Astoria," he lamented.
"So?" Astoria asked petulantly. "It's Saturday night—we're having a bit of fun."
Draco opened his eyes to look at Astoria. She swam slightly in his vision. "You know Hermione doesn't want me drinking."
Astoria snorted. "Please, you showed up at my door looking absolutely miserable because of Little Miss Perfect—" she cut off, clearing her throat. "I'm just trying to show you a good time. You looked like you needed it."
"Tracey fucking hit on me," Draco spat.
"So!?" Astoria cried, gesticulating wildly.
"I have a girlfriend, Astoria!" he shouted back.
"You're not fucking soulbonded, Draco!"
"What is your problem with us, Astoria? Are you jealous—is that it?"
Astoria laughed, but did not meet his eyes, nor did she answer the question. "You're right. You shouldn't have come. I'm going to find Tracey. Go home, Draco," she said bitterly before walking away.
Draco wanted to go home, desperately. He wanted to crawl into his bed, pull the covers up over his head and hold Hermione so tightly that all his hurt went away. Draco stood in the dirty alleyway and fought the urge to cry. He was wasted, much too drunk to apparate, and he had no idea where he was. Even if he could apparate, he knew Hermione was already in bed or much too angry at him—he would only exasperate her anger if attempted to apparate home completely wasted and splinched himself. His face felt wet, and Draco reached a hand up, realizing that he had begun to cry unwittingly. He wiped hastily at the tears.
"Are you all right?"
Draco looked down the alleyway, finding Tracey standing several feet away from him, twisting her hands nervously. "Yeah," he said shortly, his voice crackling slightly.
Tracey sighed audibly. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I had no idea that you had a girlfriend. Astoria never told me."
Draco clenched his jaw. "Of course."
Tracey looked unsure for a moment before continuing. "I never would've tried anything if I'd have known. I'm not—I'm not like that. I would've never—" she cut off. "I just always had a crush on you," she admitted. "I knew you weren't with Pansy anymore—so I just—I thought—I'm sorry."
Draco looked at her fully. She was far away and blurring in his vision, but she seemed to be sincere. He sighed. "It's all right."
She took several steps towards him. "Why are you out here?" Tracey asked quietly.
He laughed bitterly. "I just realized I shouldn't have come here."
Tracey nodded. "You've looked miserable all night," she said.
Draco laughed again. "According to Astoria, I looked more relaxed than she's seen me in weeks."
Tracey wrinkled her nose. "You're wasted. Of course you looked relaxed."
Draco nodded. "I am wasted. Argued with Astoria, and she just left me out here and I'm too drunk to apparate."
"Astoria is a mean drunk," Tracey said, before looking vaguely uncomfortable. "My flat is just down the street, which is why we came here to begin with—so no one would have to apparate drunk. You can come and sleep it off—on my couch, of course, if that would be okay with your girlfriend," she added on hurriedly, looking down at her shoes.
"She might actually Avada me if I showed up now, in this state," Draco admitted.
Tracey smiled at him—a genuine smile. "You're slurring all your words—I'm surprised you're even still conscious."
"Firewhiskey and I are old mates."
"Come on, you can sleep it off at my flat."
Draco nodded. "Okay," he said quietly. "Thank you."
They walked down the street in an uncomfortable silence, several feet apart, until Tracey asked, "Who?" she asked.
"What?"
"Who's the girl?" Tracey clarified.
"Hermione Granger," Draco replied stiffly, daring Tracey to comment on Hermione's status as a Muggleborn.
Tracey only nodded. "Wouldn't have been my first guess."
"Because she's a Muggleborn?" he challenged.
Tracey looked at him with a bit of surprise. "What? No!" She shook her head vigorously. "There's a reason my family never took a side in the War," she said quietly. "I just—you hated her so much during school." Tracey laughed.
Draco shrugged. "Maybe," he said vaguely.
"This is me," Tracey said abruptly, motioning towards a decadent building outfitted in marble and gold towards their right.
"So close to a club?" Draco asked.
Tracey shrugged. "The rent is absurd. The silencing charms are the best." Draco followed Tracey inside the building, which was even more decadent than the outside, bordering on downright gaudy, before they entered the lifts. "She was nice," Tracey said after a moment. "Hermione. I used to get bullied a lot. She saw it happen a few times and stopped it. Always gave them detention and made sure I was all right afterwards. She stayed with me in a classroom for an hour once while I sobbed. A lot of the prefects ignored it when it was a Slytherin being bullied. But not her."
Draco felt himself smile. "That's Hermione," he replied. "She's the most righteous person I know."
"She was nice to me when no one else was. If I'd known—I'd never—I'm so sorry," Tracey said again.
Draco sighed. "It's fine, Tracey. I just want to sleep. Do you have an owl? I'd like to send a letter to Hermione."
Tracey nodded hastily. "Yes, of course." The lift opened directly into Tracey's flat and she motioned for him to step inside. "I'll get my owl," she said, disappearing into another room. She appeared a few moments later with a stout barn owl perched on her forearm.
Draco penned a quick note to Hermione—his eyes were having trouble focusing, and his brain was moving sluggishly:
Hermione,
Am ok. Staying with a friend. I love you.
Draco
His handwriting looked sloppy even to his drunk brain, but he was too tired to rewrite it, so he sent it before promptly collapsing on Tracey's couch and passing out.