Iniquity

Part VI

November 6th, 2000

Draco decides to spend his evening off resting and finds himself drifting in and out of concessions until the mess that is his apartment makes him wake up, beginning to clean. He mutters a few spells under his breath, the faucet flicks on, the sponge beginning to swipe at the dishes piled in the sink. He reaches down and grabs the bottles and cans that litter his living room carpet, tossing them into his small waste tin before flicking his wand once more. He casts a charm to the floor and the dirt begins to rise to the top of the carpet, and he mummers another charm to send the dirt flying into the waste bin.

He leaves the living room to its own devices, picking up his clothing scattered about the floor, and shakes at them. A few Galleons fall from the pockets and then Granger's black knickers gently float to the ground. He stills, looking at them, and leans down to pick them up, grasping the material with his thumb and index finger.

"Naughty minx," he mummers, halting on each word. Draco places the garment inside the drawer of his nightstand, closing it roughly, ignoring the image of Granger propped on the sink for the third time that day.

-

Blaise drags him out of his flat that evening and they spend their time taking shot after shot until Draco can no longer stand on his own.

"So, Granger is still giving you a hard time, yeah?" Blaise laughs, rubbing his jaw, to which Draco shakes his head.

"The annoyance is unbelievable," he replies. "Makes me want to fuck her brains out." Blaise sputters his drink, and Draco howls in laughter, banging his hand down on the table.

Their waitress, a pretty witch with dark hair and a sleeve of ink walks up to their table, leaning over so that they could get a perfect view down her shirt. "Another round?" she asks, her voice elevated so they can hear her in the loud atmosphere.

Blaise holds up his hand, two fingers up. "Make it a double!" he commands, and slaps Draco on the back. "This one wants to fuck the witch he used to bully!"

Draco rolls his eyes at that, a small twinge of guilt twisting somewhere in the back of his throat, and glances around the bar. It's dimly lit, the floor sticky with alcohol and sweat, and there's a few people on the dance floor. The waitress returns, placing the shot glasses down and eyeing them. Draco ignores her stares, instead looking intently at her arm.

"You got any ink?" she says, jutting her chin out to him when she catches him looking, and he shakes his head.

"I'm too rich for that," he replies, and the words ring in his head.

"Come on. Let me test my new machine out on you," she retorts, and the glint in her eyes reminds him of Pansy.

He grimaces, but Blaise shakes him by the shoulder. "Let's do it." He grins. "Let's get matching ones!"

The air is suddenly too hot and it's suffocating. The alcohol has worked its way into his head and suddenly, Draco wants to take as many shots as possible until he forgets the ink that will be on his arm forever, courtesy of the Dark Lord. Can he even blame himself? It was really his parents and their blood purity views and their weak minds. They didn't protect their son, never had, even when he was tasked with the impossible; they simply stepped aside, leaving him to the mercy of the cruelest wizard to ever live.

Draco scoffs, reaching towards his arm before he wrenches off the sleeve to reveal his Dark Mark.

"We've already got one," he sneers, standing up on his wobbly feet. "Or have you forgotten?"

The waitress blinks, looking between Dracos Dark Mark and Blaises stone expression before she turns on her heel, walking away from them.

The music is pounding loudly but all Draco can hear is the blood pulsing in his ear. Blaises face is closed, his eyes almost grey with the familiar sensation of Occlumency crossing his face and he shakes his head.

"You're really pathetic, you know," he spits, his voice low that Draco has to strain in order to hear him over the music. "Like, I always knew you were weak, but this? This is new."

Draco bites his cheek so hard he can taste copper. Before he knows it, he's shoving his best friend.

Blaise falls, his shoulder colliding with the wall of the pub and he curses, standing up quickly and bushing his shoulders off. "It's like that then, yeah?" he shouts, and people begin to turn to watch.

Draco rolls up both his sleeves, shrugging. "Guess so."

Blaise's fist collides with his cheek before he has a chance to brace himself and he hurdles to the floor. Draco groans, already tasting the blood from his nose that is dripping into his mouth.

"Fuck you," Blaise says, and he walks away, leaving Draco bleeding, drunk and surrounded by curious bystanders. A hand reaches out to help him, but he swats it away, swaying as he stands and tumbles from the pub.

It's dark as he fumbles in his pocket for his wand and his hangover potion. He has learned many cures in his time amongst adult murderers and a hangover potion was one of them; He carried them everywhere. Knocking his head back, he downs the potion, cringing at the taste, and wipes his nose. The blood smears on his face and fingers, and he rolls his eyes as he walks on. He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut as he begins to feel the potion take effect. When he opens them, he finds Granger's brown orbs gawking at him. Next to her, the ditzy Luna is staring at him as well, except there's no judgement in her eyes.

Not like in Granger's, anyway.

"Hello, Malfoy," she greets him, crossing her arms. "Funny seeing you here." She looks him up and down and he knows he must look like a disaster.

"Piss off, Granger. Gods, your timing is the worst," he sneers, the venom in his tone harsh.

Luna looks between the two of them, her arms dangling limply at her side. "I think he needs some help," she hums, and begins to walk straight forward. "I'll assume you got caught up if you don't show, but no worries, I'll tell Ginny what happened!"

"Luna that's not necessary!" Granger cries, but the blonde is already skipping down the sidewalk nearly out of sight. "You prat," she spits. "What's wrong with you?"

"Me?" he gasps, blinking rapidly. "The fuck you mean what's wrong with me? It's not my fault your friend ditched you."

"Yes, it is," she huffs, and leans forward, grabbing his arm. "Now hush so I can get you home, and don't you dare throw up on me."

-

When Granger Apparates them to the front door of his apartment, Draco nearly doubles over in nausea. After a bit of a struggle, he stands and grasps the knob.

"How'd you know where my flat is?" he remarks, twisting it.

She shrugs, looking up and down the hallway. "I'm in charge of paychecks. I know everyone's address."

He thinks about how, in order to Apparate there, she must have physically been to his flat before and not just know the address, but he doesn't question it and waltzes inside.

"You coming, Granger?" he muses, watching her face.

Her expression is blank, but her fingers are drumming against her thigh, her bare thigh he notices, and he smirks. "I shouldn't. Luna and Gin are waiting."

Draco stands at the front of his doorframe, leaning against it slightly, sobriety mostly filling his mind as he looks her up and down slowly, his eyes lingering on the exposed flesh of her chest.

She sighs in defeat. "Fine. Ten minutes." She pushes him inside the flat and slams the door, dropping her wand on the carpet as she turns to him. "Make them count."