The Lonely Road
Part One: Detour
It was already dark when Draco arrived, apparating onto the middle of the quidditch pitch. Thank Merlin McGonagall had given special leave for him to apparate directly onto the grounds. He wasn't sure he could have brought himself to step foot through the front gates, for all to see.
The crack of his arrival echoed through the stadium, startling a flock of birds that took flight so swiftly he had to drop to the ground to narrowly avoid one colliding with his head. He supposed it was just his luck to be attacked by an animal no less than ten seconds into his latest assignment; it was just the latest piece of bad luck in a long series of divine maledictions. Adding insult to injury, it wasn't even a magical beast that he'd scarcely evaded.
"Bloody pigeons," he muttered to himself as the climbed to his feet, then rolled his eyes when he noted the grass and mud stains coating his previously pristine robes. He tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves, pulling the seams straight before they could bother him too much, then attempted to clean them with a questionable spell he taught himself a few days into his job - with visibly poor results.
Yet another fantastic start to another long night hunting beasts, Draco mused to himself. He could see the irony in ending up in such a profession, considering the grief he'd always given the Care of Magic Creatures professors in school - although he admitted to himself that his disdain for one Rubeus Hagrid largely stemmed from a place of jealousy than anywhere else. Regardless of the oaf's competence with animals, his blatant favouritism of certain Gryffindor students - even after his promotion - had been a constant source of irritation. Teachers should be above the taunts of a twelve-year-old, after all.
Draco took a moment to turn his head from shoulder to shoulder - one, two, three - giving his neck a brief reprieve from the knot that settled there a few days ago. With a quick spell, he set the stadium ablaze in bright light, keen to chase the shadows away. The war ended a year ago, but somehow dark corners still irked him, still put him on edge, ready to run from whatever demons lurked beyond.
There were many reports of the 'demon' he hunted tonight, and no one seemed quite decided on exactly what was currently running rampant through the deserted stadium; Draco, of course, had his own suspicions. If his hunch was correct, he needed only one dark corner to trap the beast.
If he was wrong? He'd return the generous retainer laid down by the Ministry earlier this afternoon, then spend a few days at the Hog's Head nursing his bruised ego. Perhaps he'd even find a witch to vent his frustrations on, if the right one walked into that dump. It was an unfortunate consequence that attractive witches were hard to come by at the Hog's Head, but it was a sacrifice Draco was willing to tolerate when it came to avoiding the very people he drank to forget. He'd much rather suffer in silence than subject himself to the scrutiny of the society he used to frequent.
He missed sinking into a woman's warm, supple flesh, though; draining his body until he forgot his name, his life, and the horrible choices that lead him to this miserable existence.
Multi-coloured banners flapped in the chill, evening breeze as Draco surveyed the arena, considering where to begin his search. Of the contractors on retainer with the Ministry, Draco was the most recent school leaver, which is why they reached out to him first when reports of a beast roaming the grounds of Hogwarts started to flood in. He'd be the most familiar with the school's landscape, after all.
The only saving grace of his job was that the Ministry of Magic employed him as an independent contractor; while he had none of the prestige of a fancy office and title, at least he could turn away assignments whenever he liked. Or, to be more accurate, he could wrangle a long-term deployment to escape the fortress of Malfoy Manor as the mood struck him, then spend the rest of his time drowning his bad mood in a bottle of firewhiskey and avoiding his father's scrutinizing gaze.
Draco's immediate reaction was to turn the assignment down; the last time he stepped foot in these halls, he'd vowed never to return. But after two weeks couped up at the Manor with his parents' disapproving sneers, and the last chill of winter deterring any beasts from rearing their heads, Draco was in desperate need of a distraction. He wasn't truly breaking his vow, he told himself as he pocketed the pouch of galleons the Ministry official handed him; the beast had only been spotted on the grounds. Under the Ministry's new regime, they weren't to interfere with the teachers' protection of the castle. Draco wasn't particularly interested in the politics of the whole thing, but this mandate suited him just fine. There was no need for him to enter the castle itself.
As Draco swept a detection charm over the stadium's bleachers, he absently wondered when he'd last stepped foot on the quidditch pitch. He was certain he attended a quidditch match during his farce of a seventh year, recalled sitting in the bleachers with Blaise Zabini, but he struggled to remember how long ago that had been. Before Zabini gave away his freedom for a pretty face, he was sure, and as Draco tried to count the months since Zabini's engagement to that Lovegood girl he realised it had been too long since he'd last been in contact with his friend.
Not that Draco really considered Zabini a friend - said as much to his face, in fact, when Zabini asked him to be his best man once they made the announcement. Draco didn't consider anyone he attended Hogwarts with a friend, if he were being truly honest. Perhaps he might have, earlier in his youth, but certainly not following those last hellish years he spent isolated and terrified thanks to his parents' actions.
His prospects hadn't really improved much for himself since the war ended, though.
Merlin, how can a year have passed already? Draco glumly wondered to himself, then shook off his surprise. The time passed so quickly - too quickly - but that was yet another reason to add to the list why he was better off on his own. Things seemed to move at a different pace for Draco, as though he were running in fast-forward, when everyone else was standing still. Yet he never seemed to progress - didn't want to progress - while the people around him pushed on with an irksome sense of determination.
As he continued to work, Draco absently acknowledged the fact he seemed to be particularly moody today. Perhaps he really did need to get laid.
It was as he completed his final sweep of the stadium's seats that the distant shatter of glass pulled him from his dangerous thoughts. Draco whirled around, assessing where the noise came from, careful to keep his breathing even; he'd learnt very early on it was important to stay in control of himself. While he gazed across the pitch to where the change rooms and storage closets were tucked behind the teacher's stand, he listened for any other disturbances to the still night air.
When no other noise followed save for the brisk staccato of his heartbeat, he bolted for the low standing building, casting a silencing charm on himself so he could at least maintain the element of surprise if he ran into the creature. The building was dark as he stepped inside, and Draco cursed. Using Lumos would alert the beast to his presence; he'd have to continue to work in darkness. His fingers clenched tight around his wand to steady his shaking hand.
He crept through the building, efficiently searching and clearing each room for anything amiss, then proceeding to the next, the darkness pressing tight around him. Draco wasn't claustrophobic by any means, but somehow the darkness made the small storage rooms seem utterly oppressive, as though the oxygen had somehow been sucked out of them. As he crept down the main corridor of the building, a flickering light in the darkness drew his eye and Draco slunk toward it like a moth called to a flame.
The door to the girl's change room was ajar, creaking in its frame as the hiss of the evening's wind battered against it. Candlelight flickered erratically in the room beyond, dancing as though possessed by some malevolent spirit, growing closer and closer to extinguishing before bursting to life again whenever the wind gave it a brief reprieve. The darkness seemed heavier, blacker, every time the light came closer to extinguishing. It was as though the gloom were a live thing pressing down against his chest.
Draco approached, his earlier spell muffling the sound of his footsteps, listening for movement in the room beyond. I am the predator, he told himself tersely. I am not prey.
Crunch.
Draco tensed at the noise, the muscles in his hand aching as he raised his wand in his clenched fist. The adrenaline coursing through his veins felt like electricity; he half expected sparks to start erupting from the tip of his wand of their own accord.
Crunch... crunch.
The wind hissed louder as he approached, as though protesting his very presence, while something stalked its way across broken glass beyond the door.
Draco nudged the door wider, watching as a boy - only a little younger than himself - sauntered across the room.
"You thought you were rid of me," The boy said, his handsome face grinning in the flickering light. The manic smile pulled his features taut, and his pale skin seemed to glow in the darkness. The face was familiar, as familiar as the green Slytherin robes he wore, but Draco couldn't seem to place that cruel, mocking expression. "I've come to claim what is mine."
A choked sob cut through the din, and that was when Draco saw the girl cowering before him, clutching a towel to her chest.
He shoved the door open with a swift jab, aiming his wand for the boy's chest. "Riddikulus!"
The boy whirled on him, dodging the spell easily, face and body morphing in a whirl of black smoke as it fixed its eyes on its next target. "Draco," the voice rasped, red eyes gleaming in the gloom, spindly fingers reaching for him. "You have failed me, Draco."
Cold sweat broke out over his brow as he backed away, ready to bolt back through the doorway. "Not real," he muttered to himself as Lord Voldemort pulled back his sleeve, revealing his Dark Mark.
"It's time to pay." Lord Voldemort hissed back at him, raising his wand, the tip hovering over the Mark.
Draco braced himself, ready for the searing, unbearable pain in his left forearm, the pain he thought he'd left behind when the Dark Lord had been vanquished.
Something crashed over the boggart's head, and it yowled in pain, it's form morphing again, the thing's body contorting between that of the young man and the evil wizard. It stumbled about - one, two, three steps - dazed, as though it wasn't sure who it was trying to scare.
The girl stood behind the creature, a beater's bat clutched in both hands over her head and her towel wrapped haphazardly around her small frame, looking every bit like a warrior from some forgotten myth. Her loose curls flashed like copper in the flickering light and Draco absently wondered if she was some ethereal creature, come to drag him to his death.
"Don't just stand there, gaping!" She demanded, her chest heaving with shaky breaths as she visibly attempted to calm herself. "Do something!"
Draco shook himself, then levelled his wand at the creature. "Riddikulus!" He tried again, more forcefully. His spell hit the thing squarely in the chest, the creature shrinking while its heavy robes sank to the floor. Draco took a hesitant step closer to peer inside and saw an infant nestled amongst the fabric, a rattle comprised of bones clenched in its tiny fist rather than a wand.
The girl leaned in as well, laughing when she caught sight of the infant. "Some Dark Lord you are, He Who Must Not Be Changed," she commented, and Draco couldn't help his own snort of laughter.
With a pop, the boggart vanished into nothingness, banished away to Merlin-knew-where. All that remained was the howl of the wind, slipping its way inside through the shattered window across the room.
Draco sighed, grateful the assignment was over so swiftly. He'd been worried he would be forced to trawl across the grounds for days - told his parents to expect as much, in fact - but now he could disappear for a few days without fear of his parents badgering him.
"Can I have a hand?" The girl asked, gesturing to the glass beneath her bare feet through the dim light, and Draco cast a spell to illuminate the room properly.
"Malfoy," the girl commented, startled, and Draco scowled when he recognised the spattering of freckles across her nose and shoulders, combined with those burnished, carmine curls.
"Weasley," he greeted her, as he crunched his way across the glass.
She started to pull away from him, likely shredding the soles of her feet even more, but he flung an arm around her and pulled her to his side before she could injure herself further; the last thing he needed was a complaint and a suspension at work because she'd bled herself to death.
"Put me down," She screeched when he hefted her over his shoulder, her body writhing so much he was worried he'd drop her. He swiftly hauled her across the room and deposited her on a bench at the far wall, stepping back and placing his hands in his pockets in case she got the wrong idea.
"A simple 'thank you' will suffice," Draco said, straightening the seams of his mussed robes and nodding to the twin rivulets of blood trickling down the soles of her bare feet. "You may want to visit the infirmary to get those seen to."
Weasley rolled her eyes at him, then thrust her chin towards an open locker at the far wall, where she'd been cowering minutes before. "Pass me my bag, please?"
Since she asked so politely, Draco acquiesced, crossing the glass in three long strides and dropping the bag next to her without much care. He was every inch the reluctant gentleman his mother taught him to be, after all.
Weasley reached inside, retrieving her wand, and set about casting a spell to heal the cuts on the soles of her feet. She let out a hiss from between clenched teeth when a few pieces of glass were pushed from the skin as it knitted itself together, falling to the floor like raindrops. In the meantime, Draco tried not to look too impressed as he observed her skills.
Once one foot was healed and she set to work on the other, she glanced up at him. "Could you get rid of the rest of the glass?"
"I'm not one for domestic spells," he replied arrogantly, raising his chin a little higher.
"They're not domestic spells," she snapped, then proceeded to repair the window and vanish the remaining glass herself with a wave of her wand. "They're life spells."
He sneered back at her, taking more offense at her tone than her words. "So, are you scared of all Slytherins, or just one in particular?"
"Why are you still here?" She asked brusquely. "Scratch that - why are you here at all?"
"The Ministry sent me to get rid of that boggart - which you still haven't thanked me for, I might add." Draco wasn't entirely sure why he was bothering to provoke her.
"Were all of the third years busy?" She asked with a dry tone.
Her remark made him bristle, but the fact he felt the need to justify himself to her at all made him scowl. Instead of a childish retort, he quoted the new department guidelines to her. "'All unregistered magical creatures on Hogwarts' grounds are the Ministry's responsibility to preserve, displace, or abolish.'"
"You didn't exactly do much," Weasley raised a brow, and he tried not to stare at the place on her thigh where her towel parted just slightly. He was clearly doing a terrible job, because a moment later she informed him "And I'm wearing knickers, in case that was of particular concern to you."
"Do you people always brag about your use of undergarments?" He asked her, trying - and, he was sure, failing - to maintain his imperious tone. "Maybe you should put some more clothes on."
"Maybe you should leave," Weasley snapped back, giving him one last petulant look before turning around and letting the towel fall to the floor. Draco choked as he also turned around - too late to avoid the image of her beige, cotton undergarments and the unblemished expanse of her back, bottom and legs from being burned into his retina.
"I need a drink," Draco muttered to himself, heading for the exit and determined to apparate straight to the pub.
"Wait," Weasley said, and he stopped, tilting his head slightly enough that he saw she was facing him again. Draco wasn't sure if he was annoyed or relieved that she'd covered herself with a long sleeve shirt.
She shoved her legs into a pair of baggy trousers, and he tried not to feel disappointed as the creamy skin of her thighs was hidden from him as well.
"Where are you going?" She asked him, her voice small.
It was a moment before he responded, unsure why he even bothered at all. "The pub."
"Take me with you?"
xXx
Ginny gazed at the short tumbler on the table in front of her, the firewhiskey still burning her throat from her last sip. It wasn't a pleasant sensation - it seemed that she never grew more used to it, no matter how frequently or often she tried to force the liquid down - but the heat searing her throat helped her feel present, like she was real, like she wasn't about to fade away at a moment's notice.
Most days were good days for Ginny. Most days, she felt like a normal person; like she was valued by those around her, loved by them. Today was not a good day.
As often as she explained it to him, Harry never quite understood how she felt, or her need to give way to her unbridled impulses - at least, he couldn't seem to grasp that they served any purpose. He liked to joke that she grew wilder with every year, told her he loved her for it, but for some reason his sentiments always made her stomach drop. She told herself it was only butterflies, even though it felt more like doing a Wronski Feint without a broom.
It was part of the reason she ended things with him after Christmas.
Tonight, Ginny sneaked out of the castle after curfew; needed to feel the cold air whip against her skin as she looped aimlessly through the clouds on her broom. It had been weeks since she'd flown, and the heavy walls of the castle were starting to feel overwhelming, making her throat close, as though she couldn't breathe - as though she was an 11-year-old girl trapped in that chamber once again.
It was ironic that she indulged herself and revelled in that catharsis, only to open her locker and be confronted with her worst nightmare. Tom Riddle, flesh and bone, come to life. And if Tom Riddle was alive… that meant she was not.
That kind of thing really fucked with her head.
Ginny didn't want to go back to the castle, not so soon after the incident, and she didn't feel like being alone. She needed something - something to prove she was here - and she wasn't quite sure how to go about finding whatever that was. Drinking seemed like a good place to start, though.
She slid a glance to her drinking partner, seated in the battered armchair across from hers as though he were a king, wondering how on earth he'd stumbled across her path. Fate must be mocking her.
Ginny wasn't exactly thrilled to be in the company of Draco Malfoy, but at this stage her only alternative was to stare at the ceiling of her dormitory, awake and alone, until she felt like screaming. Besides, Harry told her what Narcissa Malfoy did for him at the Battle of Hogwarts, and what Draco failed to do at Malfoy Manor.
Luna had mentioned that Blaise Zabini was expecting Malfoy to be best man at their wedding. That Luna and Blaise knew each other well enough to become engaged at all was nearly as shocking as discovering Blaise wasn't a total arsehole. Ginny might have some reservations about his character, but Luna felt no qualms, and Ginny decided that was good enough for her.
It had been an adjustment, interacting with Blaise Zabini, but that certainly hadn't been the scariest part of the whole situation. The thought that she'd have to spend at least a whole day in Malfoy's company made her feel ill, but she'd spent the last while acclimating to the idea. Perhaps tonight would be a good practice run for her. Ginny might not be forgiving, and that arrogant smirk of his might make her want to throw a bat bogey hex at him like she did back in fourth year, but she'd have to be civil to him if she didn't want to ruin Luna's day.
"So," she said, needing to fill the silence - needing to hear her own voice, to make sure she was still real. "You work for the Ministry?"
"Sort of," Draco Malfoy responded, his spine stick-straight as he threw back another glass of amber liquid. She didn't know how he kept the stuff down, let alone manage to school the expression of his angular face so neutrally while he did it. Ginny wondered if he needed to practice drinking, like she did, or if he'd just been bred not to have feelings. When she reflected on previous interactions she and her friends endured with the petulant little git - she suspected it was the former of the two.
She lifted her glass, tilted it so the ice rattled as it slid around the inside, then threw it back herself. The familiar burn made her grimace. "Do you deal with creatures other than boggarts?"
He sighed, neatly reaching across the low table before them to refill her glass, then his own. "Sometimes."
"You drink a lot," she commented, hoping a provocative comment would get more than two words out of him.
"I'm aware," he replied, his tone cold. "And I prefer to drink in silence."
She blinked at him, genuinely confused. "Why?"
"I prefer to drink alone because I find people irritating."
Ginny couldn't help her frown; she hated being on her own. Sometimes, if she were on her own too long, she'd burst into song or start chatting away to Arnold, her pygmy puff, just to make sure her voice still worked.
As the youngest of seven children, Ginny could understand being overwhelmed by people - could easily recall memories of being buried and forgotten amid all those competing voices - but she couldn't imagine finding it quite that bothersome.
She gazed at Malfoy again, his strange misanthropy intriguing her. "So, what do you do when you want to talk to someone?"
Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her, his spine seeming to stiffen even more, and she would have enjoyed his obvious irritation more if not for his response. "Has it occurred to you that you are irritating me?"
"Putting up with me for one night isn't going to kill you," Ginny told him with a wave of her hand, her wrist rolling loosely as she flung it about. She didn't care if she was an irritation to him; she was very nearly drunk, and Malfoy's opinion of her was inconsequential.
He sighed again, tapping the nail of his middle finger against the side of his glass three times before he threw back his drink and slouched down in his seat rather than answer her.
Ginny rolled her eyes at Malfoy, then turned in her seat to survey the near-empty pub, hoisting one leg over the arm of the chair to make herself more comfortable. The bartender, a hunch-backed old witch whose wrinkles ran deeper than the Great Lake, pushed a dirty cloth in circles across an even dirtier bench as she gazed absently at them. The witch hadn't seemed to be bothered at their arrival; Malfoy marched in, tossed her a demand for two glasses and a bottle of firewhiskey, then proceeded toward a pair of armchairs positioned before the lit fireplace across the room that were already occupied. Ginny trailed behind him, ready to tell him they could sit somewhere else, but the patrons took one look at Malfoy, picked up their things, and vacated the pub.
The bartender filled the glasses on the low table in front of them before Malfoy even settled into his seat, and happily left the entire bottle behind for him - hadn't even stopped to question Ginny on her age. That suited Ginny just fine, and she quickly realised that she was being given the 'five star' treatment with Malfoy when she noted they must have the only two clean glasses in the whole establishment.
Looking back at Malfoy now, she examined the harsh planes of his face, from his sharp cheekbones down to the stubble covering his pointed chin, and realised he was far leaner and paler than she'd ever seen him in school. Although his shoulder length hair was secured at the nape of his neck with a leather band, the ends were ratty, and a few lank strands had escaped to fall loose around his face.
They were small - nearly imperceptible - differences to her memories from school but when she took stock of them all together, she reached a frank conclusion about him. Draco Malfoy was a mess.
"Do you see something you like?" Malfoy asked her with a sarcastic tone when he noticed her watching him.
Ginny scowled, mostly annoyed because he misinterpreted her interest - as if she ever would be interested in him, in that way. "Don't get the wrong idea, Malfoy. I flashed you so you'd sod off, not because I fancy you."
"And yet here you are." He said, his sharp gaze fixed on her. "Why are you afraid of Slytherins?"
"Now who's asking too many questions?" Ginny quipped, pouring herself another drink with a shaky hand and downing it quickly.
Malfoy watched her slop a good amount of liquid across the table, then leant forward and plucked the bottle from her hands. "Don't waste it."
"Why not?" She asked him. "You'll just scare the bartender into giving you another one."
"I pay Cressida very well for the service she provides." Malfoy told her, brow raised, then lifted his glass for another sip.
Ginny snorted. "You make her sound like a prostitute."
Malfoy choked on his drink, his eyes watering, and Ginny tried not to look too pleased with herself.
She smiled at him while he coughed and fought to regain his composure. "You're vulgar," he told her, between coughs, his expression horrified.
"Don't act so surprised," she advised him, sagely. "What Weasleys lack in decorum, we more than make up for in interesting conversation."
"'Interesting' is not the word I'd use," Malfoy muttered under his breath, frowning into his drink.
Ginny watched him a few moments more, still trying to understand him. Despite her better judgement, she found Malfoy intriguing, and she wondered if she could make him crack if she gave up something of herself - put a foot through the door, so to speak.
Ginny chewed on her lip, debating. She could give him something small, something people already knew about. There was no risk in exposing her fears after her experiences in the Chamber of Secrets in her first year; no judgement or criticism that she hadn't already suffered.
"The Slytherin was Tom Riddle," she said in a rush, her voice rasping in her throat. Ginny coughed once, trying to dislodge the sudden lump there, then continued with some emphasis. "Tom Riddle; The Heir of Slytherin."
Draco's eyes glanced up, his grey irises glinting like liquid silver in the light of the fire as she saw him making the connection, before they darted back down to his drink.
She tried again. "We have the same boggart, technically speaking."
That seemed to catch his attention. "Us and the rest of the wizarding world," he snapped at her, then released a rough sigh.
"And mum always told me I was a special snowflake."
Malfoy rolled his eyes at her, but she didn't miss the way the corner of his mouth twitched. "Interesting, that you'd fear him as a teenager more than as an adult."
She paused, debating whether she should reveal more to him, but in the end she figured she really had nothing to lose. Malfoy was a self-confessed antisocial git, so it's not like he had anyone to tell - and she didn't really care what he thought of her, anyway. For that alone, sharing more with him somehow felt safe. "What happened in the Chamber - it sounds silly, but it felt worse than dying. Like the dementor's kiss, in a way."
Malfoy tapped the side of his drink three times with the tip of his middle finger in a precise manner, frowning, as though he was considering his response. "Like fading into nothingness?" He said quietly, more a statement than a question.
Speechless, Ginny nodded, wondering how he understood her so perfectly with so few words. As she watched him, the way he unblinkingly stared at the fire in front of him with an attentive gaze, she had a sudden moment of clarity. Draco Malfoy felt the same.
Malfoy cleared his throat, as though he were suddenly uncomfortable. "How did the window get broken, anyway?"
"The first time I tried to hit it with the beater's bat, I missed." She told him simply, more than a little relieved he was making an effort at conversation.
He choked on a laugh. "You're a witch, yet your first instinct was to beat one of the most powerful wizards of all time into submission?"
Ginny shrugged, unwilling to show any contrition for her reaction. "My wand was across the room."
In lieu of response, Draco simply arched his brow and sipped from his glass.
"And yet you struggled to subdue the boggart with your wand."
"My boggart is a soulless monster, and my parents all-but sold me into his service. Yours is a snivelling teenager."
She couldn't help but roll her eyes at his defensive response - as though his parents were responsible for everything that happened to him. "You're the one that certainly sounds like a snivelling teenager."
Malfoy's knuckles went white as they tightened around the glass in his hands, and she belatedly realised her comment was more than a little careless. "How dare you," he hissed at her as he placed his glass on the table in front of them a little too forcefully and got to his feet. "You have no idea what I've been through."
She regretted her thoughtlessness, but his abrupt anger made her pause. She couldn't forgive him his whinging; they were adults, and being an adult meant dealing with your issues and getting on with your life. Merlin knew she'd been struggling with her own for years, now - she was more than ready to move on. "No offense Malfoy, but we've all experienced bad things over the past few years. Why don't you try resolving your problems, instead of whinging about them?"
"As though you are dealing with your own so successfully," he told her, with a pointed look to her drink. "You'd rather spend time with me than be on your own."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Don't sell yourself short, Malfoy. I am sure you could buy an audience to whinge at if you wanted."
"This is why I like to drink alone," he responded, his tone flat, collecting his coat. "So I don't have to deal with pious little know-it-alls needling at me, then passing judgement on me."
Ginny frowned up at him, feeling like she'd just managed to slot the last piece of a puzzle into place. "You have no idea how to do this, do you?" She asked, incredulous.
"What?" He snapped back, his tone impatient as he pulled on his coat and tugged at the sleeves with more force than necessary.
"Have a friend," She answered, the observation slipping from her lips without her realising, and a moment later she realised what a cruel thing she'd said. Just one of many thoughtless things Ginny voiced tonight, she acknowledged.
The belated recognition bothered her.
Draco Malfoy's expression stilled, as though transfiguring to steel before her eyes. "Goodbye, Weasley. May we never cross paths again."
With that parting comment, he stalked out of the pub.
The bartender - Cressida - appeared beside the table so fast she might have Apparated there, while Ginny still stared at the spot Draco Malfoy had been a moment later with an open mouth. "How old are you?" the witch questioned Ginny with a narrowed gaze, her voice flooded with suspicion.
"You should probably ask that question before you serve people," Ginny quipped at the witch, then grabbed her coat and the near-empty bottle of firewhiskey and chased after Malfoy.
"Wait," she called to his retreating figure once she made it outside. She shrugged into her winter robes, grasping them shut with one hand to fight the cool evening air while she ran down the street, rounding a sharp corner and spotting Malfoy's retreating figure.
Either he couldn't hear her, or he was ignoring her, because he didn't turn back. Ginny suspected the latter.
She came even with him, her breath a little short in the cool night air, and she struggled to keep pace with his long stride. "I'm sorry."
"I don't care," he said, his steps not slowing.
"Well, I am regardless," she snapped at him in frustration. "But I think we should agree to be civil with each other. For Luna and Blaise's sake."
That seemed to stop him in his tracks, his breath fogging in the cool air as his chest deflated with a huff. "What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"
"The wedding?" she prompted, wondering if he was being purposefully thick.
"I won't be attending the wedding," he informed her with an eye roll, as though she were the thick one, then turned and continued walking.
She grabbed his arm. "What do you mean you won't be attending? You're in the wedding."
Malfoy tugged his arm from her grip, crossing them in front of himself. "Blaise asked me to be Best Man, and I turned him down."
Ginny blinked at him, shocked. "Why?"
"Because it's customary to ask your friends to be in the bridal party."
Okay, maybe she shouldn't have been so surprised, considering all the revelations that she'd had about Malfoy this evening. "That's a little patronising, to assume that Blaise Zabini doesn't understand basic wedding etiquette, don't you think?"
"I didn't think Weasleys could spell the word etiquette."
"Very funny," she said, tucking the firewhiskey under her arm to slow-clap for him. "Apparently Malfoys don't know the meaning of etiquette; it's pretty selfish of you to have said no to your friend."
"You don't seem to be taking my point, Weasley, so I'll explain it to you in basic English: I don't have friends."
Ginny scoffed. "It seems to me that you have a perfectly good friend trying to include you in his life, but you're determined to be a loner."
"Perhaps I like being a loner."
"Perhaps you like being stuck in a rut," she said, and when his nostrils flared she realised she was dead on target. "That's it, isn't it? You're in a rut, and you like being there because it's safe."
Draco Malfoy scowled at her. "You don't know anything about me, Weasley."
"I disagree," she told him, mirroring his pose and crossing her arms. "I think I understand you perfectly, Draco."
He gazed at her another moment then turned and walked away without another word.
Ginny watched him leave, not bothering to chase him and persist, her point clear enough. The callous attitude she'd adopted this evening still irritated her; she couldn't remember the last time she acted so self-centred.
She'd tried her best, though. Hopefully Draco Malfoy would see reason and wouldn't totally ruin her friend's wedding… or perhaps he'd see reason, and she ruined the wedding herself by encouraging such a miserable wizard to partake in it. But there was nothing more she could do about it now.
As Draco's retreating figure reached the boundary of Hogsmeade village, beyond the anti-apparition wards, his figure vanished for good. With a sigh, Ginny uncorked the bottle of firewhiskey she held and took a long swig - then winced as the burn in her throat was intensified by the cold night air.
She shook her head at herself. This wasn't her. It felt more like she was pretending to be something else; or like she was making choices that someone else put in her head. The thought made her shudder, memories of the Diary forcing her hand trying to flood back to her. With a frown, she walked to the nearest rubbish bin and tossed the bottle in, the glass clattering against the contents within.
She'd have to find some other way to battle her demons. Something that didn't result in her turning into the pitiful creature Draco Malfoy had become.
xXx
Author's Notes:
This story was written for Juliette Deschemps for the DG Forum 2018 Fic Exchange (her original prompt is below).
The Lonely Road won five awards for this exchange: Best Oneshot Overall, Best Prose, Best Characterisation of Draco, Best Banter and Most in Need of a Sequel. Thank you for everyone who read, reviewed, enjoyed and voted - I am so grateful to you all, and the fact that you thought this story was worthy of any awards besides Most in Need of a Sequel is totally surreal (I'm not crying, you're crying)!
I plan to expand this story with an additional 2-3 parts, so I guess it's safe to say it's no longer a one shot (no promises though - sorry not sorry). This story features substance abuse and trauma. Any reflections of mental disorders are not based on anyone in real life.
This story was unintentionally inspired, in part, by the movie Bridesmaids, a book called The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang (which is, frankly, a fantastic read and I highly recommend it), The Winston Brothers series by Penny Reid (one of my all-time favourite series and authors) and the Court of Thorns and Roses series by Sarah J Maas. Please feel free to have a guess what aspects/themes/characters/whatever were inspired by these in your reviews. It was a challenging (and fun) mix of inspiration for me to draw on as I wrote, so I'm even more interested to see what you do/don't see of these materials in my writing!
Last (but not least), thanks to KieraRaelyn for being such a great beta during the exchange – your advice and feedback was invaluable, and I can tell you now that I would never have won half the awards I did if it weren't for you!
Julie's Prompt #1:
Basic premise: Draco finding Ginny when she's having a panic attack because of a boggart in the dungeons and is really curious as to why her worst fear is a Slytherin Head Boy whom he'd never seen before.
Must haves: Ginny Weasley recognised for the badass that she is. Draco Malfoy learning how to have friends. Hogwarts Era (the year doesn't matter).
No-no's: Bad ending that makes you wanna cry, Draco being shy and no Tom Riddle bashing.
Rating range: Preferably M. No need for any explicit smut, but shouldn't be a kids fic.
Bonus points: Draco Malfoy being a cute, clueless baby when it comes to actually having friends beneath all of his tough guy/bad boy exterior. "You have no idea how to do this, do you?"