Shots in the Dark | By : squirrelchaser Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1767 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Title: Shots in the
Dark
Author: Squirrelchaser (squirrelchaser12@yahoo.com)
Summary: Sequel to Fine Lines, but can stand
alone. “There was so much that Draco still wanted to do, but was too afraid to
do it by himself. Draco was crushed. Life had gotten the last laugh.”
Warnings: Slash H/D
Disclaimer: I don’t
own any of these characters, nor do I profit from this or anything else on this
website
Shots in the Dark
They
could wait. Whoever it was that saw fit to knock on someone’s door at 11:37 at night could just wait.
Draco
Malfoy stretched out his long legs to rest on the
open drawer of his desk, leaned back in his chair, and glanced at the clock on
the wall. 11:38. Twenty two more minutes.
With
a lazy flick of his wand the liquor cabinet across from his desk swung open,
and he narrowed his eyes as the bottles shuffled around on the shelf. Too many choices. Gin, brandy, rum,
whiskey, scotch, vodka. Vodka in its self provided too many choices.
Sighing,
Draco shook his head. Choosing a drink really defeated the whole purpose of not
wanting to think. He waved his wand again and all the bottles flew off the
shelf to empty their contents into the line of shot glasses in front of him.
“Draco,”
came a woman’s voice, muffled through the door.
“Please open the door. I came all this way…”
The
glass was cool and smooth in the curve of one hand, nice and familiar. Draco
lifted it to his lips and tipped it back. Shot one. Vodka.
He
dropped the empty shot glass back on his desk with a dull chink, and sighed as
the person knocked again.
“Please,
Draco-“
Draco
lifted the second glass, wondering if the person would beg or demand next, if
they persisted at all. After all that had happened since the War, who was
around to care about Draco Malfoy?
Shot
two. Tequila. He dropped the second glass on the desk
top and poked it with his index finger, lining up the empty glasses parallel to
the full ones.
“I’m
not leaving until you open this door!”
So
now it was a power struggle, Draco thought. Stupid of them really; I’m winning.
11:43 p.m.
“Come
on, Draco,”
She
was back to pleading. “Ron’s waiting; I know you’re in there so please-“
The
speaker was cut off mid sentence as Draco lifted his wand, clicking the latch,
and the door popped open.
Hermione
Granger stood on the other side.
Draco
hadn’t seen her since the night he left Potter’s cottage almost a year ago to
the day. Her hair was still brown and bushy, the familiarity a drop of comfort
in his misery.
“What?”
Draco said flatly, as if she were already boring him as he downed shot three. Vodka again.
“Professor
McGonagall said you weren’t doing so well,” Hermione eyed the growing line of
empties, light from the dying fireplace making them glow a dull orange in the
dim room.
Draco
was eyeing her round, pregnant belly. “Drink?” He
offered innocently.
“You
know I can’t,” Hermione said briskly, conjuring a soft, cushy chair and
collapsing into it clasping both hands over her stomach.
“Shame. It might be run,” Draco said, meaning
to say fun, thinking it might be rum. Shot four. He smacked his lips,
clattering the glass down as noisily as he could. “Nope, it’s vodka,” he
announced, weaving back and forth in his chair, and it took him longer than a
few seconds to focus on the clock.
11:50.
“I
heard you were teaching while finishing your last year,”
“Yes,
courtesy of McGonagall. What an incredibly rewarding profession, Granger, let
me tell you. Sweet little suckers with their faces so bright and eager, ready
to learn. Probably almost as gratifying as being a healer,” he gave her a nod,
running one finger back and forth over the full glasses, contemplating.
“How
are you?” Hermione said softly, though the open liquor cabinet and parade of
empty shot glasses told her enough.
“You
could’ve saved yourself the trip. Hogwarts is connected to the Floo network, in case you didn’t know.”
“It’s
more personal this way.”
“Lovely,”
Draco drawled, slurring as he continued. “I’m just lovely. Kiddies are
progressing nicely,”
Hermione
wasn’t sure if he was referring to her and Ron’s progress, or his own with his
pupils.
Shot
five. Brandy.
“Draco,
we’re worried about you.”
“Who’s we? You know, Hermione, I wouldn’t have placed you for
one of those wives that gave up her own identity…Have you taken to referring to
yourself as we, as you and Weasley are obviously
breeding like rabbits? Or do you mean we as in “Ron and I,” collectively
referring to yourselves as we being husband and wife…you know equals?” Draco
wavered a bit, setting the glass down so it tipped onto its side. He picked it
up before it could roll into his lap and pushed it into place with the others.
“It’s
just, I know it’s been rough-“
“-Because
I’d really like to know, you know…Weasley and I never
could stand each other so if both he and you care about me, I’m touched,” Draco
said sweetly, dropping and spilling what would have been shot six (whiskey)
onto the desk. He stared at it, just so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact.
Hermione
knit her eyebrows in a motherly fashion. “I wanted to see if you were doing
better than you…have been.”
“Heard
about me, did you?”
“Yes,
a while ago.” Her tone grew dry and critical. “And I see that you haven’t
changed a whole lot since.”
“You
know me. Resistant to change. I just love my old
ways,”
“Draco,”
Hermione’s voice was soft and low. “You and Harry were close and I know it’s
been hard…”
“Hard?”
Draco barked. He narrowed his eyes. “Granger, you don’t know what hard is.” He
turned his head and stared at the clock. It was midnight, and now it was officially November 1st.
“Go away,” he said. “You came and said what you wanted to say, and I don’t
care. So just…”
“Your
liver must be made of rock. That could kill you, you know, drinking like that.”
“Maybe
that’s what I’m hoping for.”
Hermione’s
face went soft, with a mixture of pity and horror.
“These
are small. You take life too seriously, Granger. It hasn’t killed me yet.” Rising
uncertainly to his feet he stalked to the window, bracing his hands on either
side of the frame and pressed his forehead to the pane of glass. “Go away. I
just want to be alone.”
“Look,
maybe you could-“
“I
said go away! McGonagall had no right to let you down here. Or
to talk about me to you at all.”
Hermione
stood slowly, sadly, and Vanished her chair. “Draco,
Harry wouldn’t have wanted things to be this way.”
“In
case you didn’t notice, Granger, Potter got off easy.” Draco squeezed his eyes
shut and waited until he heard the door latch click shut. Turning, he reached
for the seventh glass. It was water. He swore and reached for the eighth. It
was water too.
Damn
Granger! He swore again and threw the glass into the fire, where it shattered
against the back of the fireplace.
“You
said I’d go on with my life, after you were gone. Sorry Potter,” Draco said,
staring into the flames. “But you’re wrong. I win.”
He
wasn’t a Death Eater anymore, now he was just lonely. As a Death Eater, there’d
been camaraderie. There was still a small circle of Muggle
hating, Dark Arts obsessed followers but he’d made enough mistakes, gotten
himself into the wrong place enough times to know that it would be unwise for
him to tempt fate and luck anymore. Besides, Potter wouldn’t have wanted it
that way.
Something
in his chest tightened and Draco knew this would be another night where he
wouldn’t be able to make it all the way to bed. He slumped to the floor and
pressed one cheek against the cold stone. The only thing he could think of
being grateful for was that he didn’t teach History of Magic.
TBC
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