Review if you please, keeps me going. Thanks guys, R.
The Slytherin common room during winter time had to be one of the worst things imaginable. And that was Draco Malfoy's excuse for accepting the bottle of whiskey that Crabbe smuggled in. But towards the 10 minute mark of passing around the alcohol, he began to wonder if his interests in the liquid burning the back of his throat was somehow a shitty metaphor for the house he so loathed.
Gryffindor common room in the winter time could not possible be as cold and wet as the dungeon room he now sat in. He'd bet his ass the house was warm right now. Under red throw blankets on auburn cushions, surrounded by books and friends. What a great time it must be to sit comfortably around your peers for a change. Instead he sat feeling alone in a crowded room of snakes.
Sure his house mates all had the capacity to be great people (and a few of them were very ethical) but when you knew what you yourself were capable of, you might develope a bad habit of becoming weary of those possessing similar traits, whether they were kind humans or not. His housemates might cover for one another from time to time but none of them trusted their peers farther than they could throw them. And considering Slytherins were not exactly known for combat, the chance of any of them having the strength to pick someone up was…less than probable.
Multiple sets of eyes narrowed in Draco's direction as he took another swig from the container. Feeling the passive aggression in the room, he quickly passed it along to a tan brunette girl sitting at his left.
The girl took a sip and her face screwed into a grimace. Fighting against instinct, Pansy Parkinson brought the glass to her lips once more and gulped. She handed it on as well, sputtering but looking quite proud of herself.
By the time the whiskey reached Draco again, his throat no longer burned but the images of red and gold weren't going away. On any other night he would have told himself that he loved the color scheme, that was all. He would never be caught dead wearing it (knowing full and well what exactly those colors meant in his current adolescence) but he liked the colors. No connotations attached. Cut and dry.
But tonight was not a regular night in the Slytherin common room. When his turn came around he realized that his control was gone and gave in to abstract thought as he absentmindedly drank from the bottle.
What would it have been like to have been friends with a Gryffindor? To be snuck into their house for parties, like the Diggory boy?
A thought struck him like lightning, churning his stomach faster than even the alcohol could do.
If Draco had been sorted differently, would his parents have disowned him?
He was proud of his house and knew that it was truly where he belonged. But he'd known Slytherins who sat at the Gryffindor table from time to time, chatting about classes and no doubt feeding the inter-house rumor mills. So why was it such a hard thing for him to do?
Maybe it wasn't about houses at all.
"Draco." Pansy hissed from beside him.
He realized that he'd been examining the whiskey container for longer than necessary. So as not to raise too many eyebrows, he handed the bottle over to the brunette and stood up, mumbling an excuse about "cheap whiskey" before heading towards the boy's dormitory.
His head felt fuzzy and ideas of gold and red were still dancing behind his eyes. He didn't know what to make of the onslaught of random thoughts. But he knew one thing; he wasn't going to be passing around fire whiskey again anytime soon.
Blaise Zabini was already preparing for bed when Draco entered the room and threw himself down on his own. Blaise had helped Crabbe smuggle in the liquor and from the looks of it, he'd hoarded some of the contents before anyone else had the chance to get their paws on it.
"S' Draco." The long haired boy's words were slurring and he nervously began to brush his bangs out of his face. This meant something awkward was about to come out. "Do ya…you know. Wanna talk—"
"Zabini shut it." The blond yanked the currents around his bed closed in frustration. Rarely did he use his best friends last name. But he supposed this situation called for business. Blaise was always trying to have feeling sessions. And a drunk feeling session was the last thing Draco needed when his censor was currently weakening by the second. "If I've told you once…I've told you once."
Shit—fuck. That wasn't what he meant to say. He scowled and glared at his curtains.
"Drake sounds a little tipsy."
"And you're dating a mudblood, look at that, we can all state the obvious."
Draco knew that he had gone too far the instant the words had fallen from his mouth. He all but felt Blaise stiffen. It was safe to assume that Draco was no longer the only one glowering at emerald curtains. A heavy silence fell over the room, the only noises being that of Blaise getting comfortable in his bed.
After what could have been five minutes or a half an hour, Draco shocked even himself by whispering, "I'm sorry."
There was no response on the other side of the curtain for quite some time while Blaise processed the apology. The blond had almost accepted that his apology had come too late when Blaise mumbled sleepily, "S'okay Drackey. Some of us still have internalized shit to get through."
Draco was left to ponder the backhanded comment while Blaise drifted off to sleep.