Disclaimer: All hail J.K. Rowling.
A/N: Completed for PinkyGreen's Pick a Phobia Challenge. Definitely AU, definitely different to what I usually write. No magic at all in this story. I feel like I could possibly lose a lot of readers, or gain them. I'm not sure. Either way, enjoy.
"What are you afraid of?"
It was whispered loudly in his direction by a blonde girl with dangerously smudged scarlet lipstick and raccoon rings of black liner around her eyes. She looked dirty. Draco Malfoy coughed distractedly and dug into the pocket of his artfully torn jeans for his pack of Marlboro Reds hoping that the girl would forget her question. She didn't and she laughed madly when she caught on to his avoidance. Strongbow sloshed out of the can she was gripping tightly in her right hand and splattered across her pale bare thighs. Where was her skirt? Draco stared at the grimy burgundy rug of the living room of the house of a stranger wondering what would happen if he hit the girl with the cocaine-crazy eyes.
Draco stood from the ratty, stained brown couch he'd been sunken into and made his way through the crowd to what he thought may be the kitchen. From somewhere, heavy music was playing, screaming through lyrics and pounding through bass lines. Draco looked for the door, breath quickening. Scanning the packed kitchen quickly, Draco headed towards the sliding doors leading into the back yard, subtly snatching a forgotten red Bic lighter from the counter.
Once he was out in the clean night air, Draco felt like he could breathe again. Why was he here? He didn't want to answer that question. Just as he hadn't answered that girl-stranger's question. Draco slid a slim cigarette out of the packet and into his waiting fingers. With a quick flick of his thumb, he lit it's end, inhaled deeply, paused, and exhaled. The smoke billowed out in a harsh cloud and he held in another cough. Why was he here?
Hermione Granger's fingers tapped impatiently against the laminate table top, sending small ripples across the surface of her mug of instant coffee. Her delicate eyebrows were furrowed in a scowl and for about ten seconds, Draco Malfoy felt guilty. Only for ten seconds, though.
"Answer me, Draco," Hermione said a bit more forcefully than she had only moments ago. "Where were you last night? Harry and I waited forever at the train station for you to show up. Where were you?" Her face softened and Draco knew she was worried. Laughable, it was, that Hermione Granger would be worried about Draco Malfoy. But times had changed, and war had brought sworn enemies to be close friends.
"I went out," Draco said quietly, voice clogged with sleep and phlegm. "I just went out."
"You didn't, did you," Hermione asked quickly, eyes flashing with some unknown feeling. Or, maybe it was known, and Draco just didn't want to put a name to it.
"No, I didn't," Draco said, his voice laced with annoyance. "I promised you that I would quit. And I have." Surreptitiously, Draco glanced at the inside crease of his elbow, showcased as he rested his forearms tiredly on the tabletop. Hermione caught his glance, however, and reached over to grab his hand.
"I know," she whispered, "and I trust you. Harry was worried, though." Her thumb made wide strokes along his knuckles. Draco bit his tongue and didn't snatch his hand away. No matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he glared at her cup of coffee and wondered when he'd suddenly become so cheap as to let her drink instant.
"You look good," Hermione said too loudly, too quickly. A change of subject that wasn't very effective. "Happy." That was a lie. "Healthy." If that meant being drug-free, then he supposed it were true. He forewent saying thank you; she didn't need to hear it again.
"Hermione," Draco began, idly running his finger along the rim of his cup of tea, "I have History of NRA in an hour. I'll catch up with you later, yeah?" He stood from his vinyl cushioned chair and leaned down to chastely kiss Hermione's cheek. She blushed and Draco pretended not to notice.
"What did you think about those Dürer slides? Did you prefer his engraving, or his painting? I think his attention to detail is positively brilliant," Seamus Finnigan said chattily, strolling casually alongside Draco. Draco pulled a bit frantically at the collar of his shabby black tee shirt and wished that Finnigan would fall over dead.
"I don't know, Finnigan," Draco said, tired, running a hand through his too-long platinum blond hair. "I really don't give a flying-," Draco's harsh words were cut off as he caught sight of something completely distracting. Or rather, someone.
Blaise Zabini was headed towards Draco and Seamus, his knit bomber hat flattening his black curls across his forehead. A bright grin lit up his tan face when he spotted Draco and he nodded in greeting. Draco thought he might curl up and die with happiness.
"Alright, Blaise," Draco said almost shyly. Where was his confidence? What had happened to his ego? Blaise continued his infernal grinning and Draco thought he may go into cardiac arrest.
"Where are you two headed," Blaise asked eagerly, pulling on the straps of his grey book bag.
Seamus sighed deeply and scratched behind his left ear. Draco noticed that he had dried clay smudged below his thumb. "Ah, I've got Critical Theory in twenty minutes." He looked a bit disappointed that plans could potentially be made without him.
"I was actually going to go to the studio," Draco said, staring off across the university's campus in the direction of the old brick building that housed the studio. "Andrews wants me to complete an independent project for him, aside from what we're already doing. I haven't even started yet."
"I'll go with you," Blaise said enthusiastically. "I've got an essay due tomorrow that I've barely begun. I'll work on it there." With a mock salute to Finnigan from Blaise, the two boys left the third and headed towards the studio.
"So how've you been then, Draco," Blaise asked, his long legs keeping him almost a full stride ahead of Draco. Draco felt like bats were beating around inside of his stomach, fluttering up his throat and when he opened his mouth, would fly out and swoop around his head.
"Okay," Draco managed to croak out, with the absence of any bats. "You?"
Blaise bit his lip in thought. "Pretty well, I suppose. Went to that film screening on Saturday. It was a bit overrated. I mean, the kid that directed it is a bloody Francophile, and I could care less about the fucking Eiffel tower and shoddy clips of the Champs de Elysees," Blaise ranted. As he continued, Draco found himself drifting away from the rather one-sided conversation. Why did he feel the way he did? All tingly and girly and shit? Blaise smiled again and Draco absently thought that he had very nice, full lips. What the fuck?
Draco Malfoy was not gay.
"Don't you ever wash before you leave the studio," Harry asked absently, thumbing through his Aeronautical Engineering textbook. Draco rolled his eyes from where he lay on the hardwood floor of their studio flat and flipped over onto his stomach.
"I have to finish my monochromatic painting for Smith tonight," Draco said matter-of-factly. "So why clean up?"
"Because you look stupid," Harry retorted with a laugh. "You have a smudge of purple right about there," Harry said, swiping his pointer finger from his cheekbone to his chin. Draco threw Harry a rather rude hand gesture as the door to the flat swung open with a loud 'bang'.
"Draco Malfoy, you utter bastard," Hermione growled as the man in question stood quickly from the floor. Tears were standing in her eyes and Draco thought she may've been shaking.
"What? What the hell are you on about," Draco asked, confused, walking over to the distressed girl and grabbing her gently by the shoulders. Harry looked up from his reading, mouth gaping open unattractively.
"Get off of me," Hermione bit out, shoving Draco away. Draco had the sense to look hurt and reach out for her again. She smacked his hands away from her and pushed past him.
"Hermione, what did I do," Draco all but begged, and Hermione stopped in her tracks to Harry. "Please, Hermione, look at me." Hermione spun around, chocolate curls flying about her head, eyes intense with anger.
"You fucking lied to me, Draco," Hermione said, "To us." She motioned to Harry. "You said," a mutinous tear slid down her cheek, "you said you would stop," she finished weakly. In her hand was a small plastic bag that Draco only now noticed. He recognized it almost immediately. Hermione held it out and away from her body and Harry let out an audible gasp when he realised the contents of the bag. A small, gleaming silver needle was attached to a short plastic syringe. The syringe was empty, but was quite obviously used. There was also a band of rubber, used for cinching tightly around his arm. He'd even left his spoon in there. Draco's mouth fell open.
"I did stop," Draco said desperately. "I have." Harry looked upset and unconvinced. "You both were there; you saw me go through withdrawal. You were fucking there!" Draco's voice rose hysterically as Hermione's shoulders began to shake. "Hermione. Hermione, you know I wouldn't do that to you both. I've been clean for over a year!" Draco's long fingered hands gripped at his hair, pulling, distressed. "I forgot about that syringe. I forgot to fucking throw it out, okay? I don't use it!" Draco shoved his arms out, inside-up, for Hermione to see. "I'm clean, okay? I don't have any marks. Fuck, you can search me all over- I'm clean." With a small whimper, Hermione's tiny hands flew to her face, anxiously swiping at her tears.
"How am I supposed to trust you? Just this morning, you told me you'd stopped," Hermione whispered unsympathetically. "You said you'd gotten rid of everything. And I find this on the floor of your room." Hermione threw the bag at Draco's feet and he controlled his urge to dive after it. She made a hysteric noise in the back of her throat and jammed the heels of her hands into her eyes. "When I went to look for you, you weren't where you said you'd be. You told me you'd be in the studio. Where were you, Draco? Where were you?"
Draco's heart sunk to somewhere near his feet and he could hear the blood rushing around between his ears. He wasn't planning on telling them where he'd been, who he'd been with, but now if he didn't tell he'd most likely lose both Harry and Hermione. Draco hadn't exactly told a lie – he had been at the studio, if only for about ten minutes before Blaise had attacked him with those nice, full lips and all thoughts of actually getting work done had gone to shit. How could he tell his roommates that, his friends that?
"I was with Blaise," Draco spat out, turning away from Hermione. He couldn't look at her anymore. He couldn't stand that hurt. "I was with Blaise and we weren't doing anything wrong." He said that last word with particular emphasis and bit his lip. "Well, morally, maybe, but I assure you, it wasn't illegal," Draco spoke quietly, still turned away from his flat mates. It wasn't enough that he was currently warring with himself, reassuring himself that he wasn't a homosexual and that everyone experimented. It wasn't enough that he was so bloody confused he wanted to vomit his guts onto the flat's floor. It wasn't enough for them, was it?
Two thin arms wrapped around Draco's torso and squeezed tightly, bringing tears, which he wouldn't admit he had, to his eyes.
"I'm sorry." Hermione's voice was small and she was pressed flush against Draco's back. "I overreacted. I should've just called you when I found it." Damp spots formed on the back of Draco's shirt from Hermione's tears and he instantly felt guilty. He really should've gotten rid of the contents of that plastic bag, he really should've. It wasn't fair to put her through this, to make her worry so much. Not when she cared as much as she did.
"Well," Harry's voice sounded from across the room. "That was quite the emotional rollercoaster in all of five minutes."
"I'm not gay," Draco mumbled against Blaise's lips, before being silenced by a rough kiss. He groaned as Blaise's tongue slipped past his lips and explored the warmth of his mouth.
"Neither am I," Blaise murmured, chuckling. His teeth nipped at Draco's swollen lower lip and the blond boy squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He couldn't take it anymore.
"Why are we doing this?" Draco's cold fingers traced lazy patterns across Blaise's defined abdominal muscles. They'd been a pleasant surprise the first time Draco's fingers had discovered them. The Italian boy always looked more lanky than muscled. Blaise bit into Draco's earlobe, soothing his tongue over the bite and the shell of his ear. Someone moaned, but Draco wasn't sure who.
"'Cause it feels good, doesn't it," Blaise whispered as his fingers slowly dragged Draco's pants' zipper down, freeing his erection from its confinement. Draco could only whimper his assent as Blaise gently stroked him, the rhythm pleasurable after a few weeks' practice.
"This is wrong," Draco groaned as Blaise replaced his hand with his mouth. Anxious fingers gripped onto Blaise's hair and the black duvet covering his bed. Why did something so absolutely wrong, so absolutely depraved feel so fucking good? Draco was currently in limbo, floating between extreme disgust and bliss.
"You don't really mean that," Blaise spoke confidently, tongue poking the corner of his mouth, catching the last of Draco's seed. Draco clamped his eyes shut and tried to catch his breath; he felt as if he were drowning, the weight of the water dangerously crushing his chest, his lungs. Blaise crawled up his bed to lie beside Draco, smoothing his lips against the blonde's in the barest of kisses. "Admit it. You like me."
Draco thought he might be ill.
"What's wrong, butterfly," Draco managed to ask around his cigarette, not tearing his eyes from his sketchbook. His fingertips were stained with black charcoal and he absently itched his nose.
"Nothing," Hermione murmured, back arched and arms outstretched, legs splayed in a split. She was scowling, whether she realised it or not and Draco thought she actually looked kind of cute in her tight dance leotard. The black material pulled tightly around her perky breasts and Draco cleared his throat and swiped at his nose again. He left a black thumbprint.
"Something obviously is," Draco said, pulling his cigarette from his mouth. He exhaled a cloud of hazy smoke and sighed. "Talk to me?"
Hermione swiveled her hips and legs fluidly, bringing herself to a straddle. Leaning forward at the waist, Hermione bent her body forward until her forehead was nearly resting on the floor. "I dun' wanna talk 'bout it," Hermione's muted voice came from the floor. Draco snorted and dropped his charcoal and sketchpad onto the couch beside him as Hermione brought her legs in front of her and curled up into a backbend.
"I see," Draco spoke slyly, standing quietly from the couch and keeping close watch on Hermione's still closed eyes. "Well," he drawled, "if you do decide you'd like to talk to someone…" And at that moment he attacked her with his hands, tickling everywhere he could reach until she crashed loudly to the floor, giggling hysterically.
"Stop! Stop, Draco," Hermione managed to shriek through her laughter, flailing wildly on the floor. Draco smoothed his body over her own, pinning her down with all of his weight. Hermione brought her hands up to his chest, pushing as much as she could with her delicate limbs. Ultimately, she failed, and Draco merely pressed himself harder against her lithe, petite form, running his hands up her sides while she squirmed and protested.
"Really, Draco, stop!" Hermione choked on a laugh and began to whimper uncomfortably. "I'm gonna pee myself if you don't!" Hermione wriggled against Draco's body, wedging his body, somehow, between her legs. Immediately blushing at the intimacy of the situation, Hermione bit her tongue to stop her laughter and resumed her efforts to get Draco to move.
"Fine," Draco said in a sarcastically sullen tone. "I'm moving, I'm moving." Rolling off of Hermione, Draco panted, lying next to her on the floor. "Just don't think that this is me letting you off the hook, because I assure you, it most certainly-," Draco yelped in surprise as Hermione quickly maneuvered her body on top of his and slammed her lips on his. If he were being completely honest with himself, he'd been expecting something of this nature to happen for a while now, if Hermione's abundance of blushing when in his presence meant anything. He didn't really mind it, honestly.
Hermione was a pretty fantastic kisser, and well, he'd had quite a bit of practice, so together they were something like phenomenal. The curly-haired witch on top of him pulled away, tugging his bottom lip with her teeth as she went. He didn't groan even though he wanted to. Hermione smiled smugly, like the cat that got the cream, whatever the fuck that meant, and Draco wasn't sure how he was going to tell her. Instead, he just gave her bum a quick squeeze, because it was really a rather nice bum, and rolled the tinier girl off of him.
"Hermione," he started, ignoring the girl's protest to not say anything, to just not say anything.
"I have a boyfriend."
"So she attacked you then," Blaise said with a smirk that was not at all jealous or bitter. Draco was mildly confused. Weren't significant others supposed to get jealous when you went around kissing random people? Not that Hermione was really that random, but the principle was the same.
"Well," Draco began, "I suppose you could say that. Although, I was the one who started it, really. I was tickling her because she wouldn't tell me what was wrong and then-."
"Say, do you want to go to a party with me, tomorrow night," Blaise cut-in, turning to look at Draco. "Charlotte's having a bit of a thing."
Draco bit into his lip to stop from looking offended. It was okay; Blaise wasn't a very good listener anyway. He was good at other things though, which more than made up for his occasional lack of sensitivity.
"Charlotte who," Draco managed to say lightly, complete with a small smile.
"That bird from your NRA class. With the huge tits. Blonde. Sexy as sin. C'mon, how can you miss her?" Blaise reached down and slid his fingers through Draco's, swinging their interlaced hands as they walked towards his flat. Draco frowned. Why was his relationship with Blaise so conflicting, so damn confusing? It wasn't right to talk about some girl and then hold his hand. It wasn't fair.
That didn't stop Draco from saying yes, however. Yes, he would meet Blaise at his flat at eight. Yes, he wouldn't mention it to Hermione because of course, she'd just worry. Yes, he'd definitely come inside for a bit. Yes, he'd try being 'bottom' this time.
"Yeah?"
"Hello Draco. Is that how you answer the phone when your father calls?"
"Sh- Sorry, dad. Didn't realize it was you. Is everything alright?"
"Yes, why do you ask? Am I not allowed to simply call to speak with you?"
"You never do, dad. You never just call to speak."
"Well I have today. I feel like I've been absent from your life lately. How are your classes?"
"Fine, dad." I've skipped the last three to have raunchy sex with my boyfriend.
"How is living with the two paupers?"
"Fantastic, dad." That's right father, boyfriend.
"Any new love interests? I know that lovely Parkinson girl goes to your University. We're close with her parents you know."
"No, dad, but I'll have to look her up." Yes, father, I have a boyfriend with the most amazing cock and the most brilliant mind and I'm pretty sure I'm in love with him. And as for Pansy Parkinson – she's a muffdiver so I hardly think she's interested.
"Good, good. Well listen, your mother and I were talking, and we really think it's about time you give up this silly art school notion and enroll in some law courses. Law is respectable, a great career for someone of your status."
"Okay, dad, I'll look into it."
"Very well. I have to be going now; I have an estate meeting in ten minutes."
"Alright, dad."
"I'll speak with you soon, son. Goodbye."
Love you, dad. Be safe.
"Where are you going all dressed up," Harry teased through a mouthful of Spaghetti Bolognese. Draco paused on his way to the door, like a door caught in headlights.
"I've, erm, got a date," Draco covered smoothly. It wasn't exactly a lie; he did have a date. His date merely included about fifty other people crammed tightly into a townhouse consuming as much alcohol and other substances as they could before passing out. Not something he really wanted Harry running off to tell Hermione about. He tugged anxiously at the collar of his black tee shirt.
"You should've told Hermione you were seeing Blaise, you know." Harry really meant "you should've told me," and Draco knew it.
"I didn't think it was that big a deal," Draco murmured, a bead of sweat forming at his temple. What was this, the Spanish Inquisition? Harry chewed thoughtfully and pointed his spoon at Draco.
"She's in love with you, y'know." Draco bit his tongue and winced.
"No, I didn't know," he responded. "Since when?"
"Well, let's just say that it wasn't my idea you move in with us. I wasn't for housing a heroin addict, a lost cause, someone that hated me."
The cheap lighting flickered in the hallway outside of Blaise's flat and Draco knocked on the door again. Jiggling the loose doorknob, Draco let out a heavy sigh. Locked. Stuffing a hand into his pocket, Draco retrieved his mobile and punched anxiously at the keys, grasping his mobile to his ear. One ring, two rings and then the pre-recorded voice of his lover saying to leave a message if it was that important. Two rings is not long enough to make voicemail pick up and Draco knew the ignore button had been hit. Instead of becoming angry, Draco became worried. What if something had happened to Blaise, something really bad? Why wasn't he answering his phone?
Instead of sinking down to the scratched floor outside of Blaise's apartment and crying into his hands like he really wanted to, Draco stomped down the stairs and out of the building, heading towards the townhouse that Charlotte still shared with her parents.
At the door of the townhouse, Draco found a group of skinheads, who parted genially when they saw the thinner boy approach. They'd all seen his artwork, and it was pretty fucked up; Draco wasn't someone to be messed with. Stumbling across the threshold of the home, Draco's eyes searched frantically for that familiar head of black hair, ears straining to hear that familiar, deep chuckle. Not finding him in the entryway or living room of Charlotte's, Draco headed towards the kitchen, bypassing Seamus, who was wrapped around a platinum haired, skinny bloke. Draco shuddered.
Where was Blaise? Shouldn't he be here, if he wasn't at his flat? As if the devil himself heard Draco's thoughts, Blaise's familiar laughter floated out from behind a closed door. With a smile of triumph, Draco pushed on the sticker-covered door until it gave way, flooding the dark room with light.
The first thing Draco noticed was Charlotte, sitting on the floor in a lacy black lingerie set, leaning over with a rolled five pound note pressed against a tiny mirror. She sniffed daintily, wiping a finger under her nose to catch a drop of blood. Smiling, Charlotte turned to the door, her already unfocused eyes trained on Draco.
The next thing Draco saw was his boyfriend, topless, a girl latched to his neck by her lips, topless. Blaise laughed again and tightened the shoelace that was tied around his bicep. Draco watched silently as Blaise held a Barbie-shaped lighter under a gleaming kitchen spoon, watched silently as the tar heroin melted in the water into the perfect substance. Draco watched silently as his lover sucked the liquid into the clear syringe, watched as Blaise gave a quick push with his thumb to make sure the syringe worked.
Draco watched silently as Blaise held the syringe angled into the vein of his arm, pushing the fluid into his bloodstream with the utmost precision.
Running blindly from the house Draco knocked into Seamus, who called after him and made to grope at his arse. All that Draco knew was that he needed to get out of Charlottes house, he needed to get back to his flat, he needed to get as far away from Blaise as possible. How had he not noticed? How had Draco missed the bruises, the bleeding, the tell-tale marks of an addict?
Slamming through the door of the flat, Draco startled Hermione, who looked up from her perch on the couch, frightened.
"Fuck, Draco, are you alright?" Hermione closed her thick romance book gently, setting it beside her, and removed her reading glasses from her nose to the coffee table. Draco just stood in the doorway, nostrils flaring with each heavy breath. Tears stood glistening in his silvery eyes and he swore to himself that he wouldn't cry in Hermione. She'd seen him weak too many times; he didn't need to add tonight to that list.
"Did something happen with Blaise," Hermione asked gently, doe eyes blinking with innocent curiosity. Draco pounced. His smooth lips smashed into hers, teeth colliding with the unexpected force of his kiss. Hermione squealed at his attack, hands flying to Draco's chest as he hovered over her, against her, pressing her back into the couch until she was rendered helpless. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, twining with her own eager counterpart. Hermione whimpered. Draco shook.
Groping roughly at her breasts, Draco continued his plundering of Hermione's mouth, only breaking their connection to inhale quickly before diving back in. Hermione's dainty hands skimmed over Draco's back, crawling under his shirt and pushing it up and, eventually, over his head.
"Harry's asleep," Hermione managed to breathe out, "We need to be quiet." There were no questions, no expectations, no foreplay. Hermione tugged her own over-sized sleep shirt over her head and pushed hurriedly at her geometrically-patterned underwear. Kicking his shoes off, Draco nudged his clean white socks off with his toes, leaning down to gently play with and suck on a hardened nipple. Hermione clutched at his baby-smooth hair. Draco shoved her hands away when she tried to help him with his belt buckle and wrestled both his pants and boxers to his ankles, and eventually to the floor.
Hermione groaned when she felt Draco's hardened member press against her wet entrance. Bending her leg so that her heel pressed into his bum, Hermione urged Draco on silently, mouth opening in a silent scream when he finally pushed in roughly. There was nothing delicate and loving about the meeting of the two.
Draco took everything Hermione offered and didn't even bother to say 'thank-you'.
In the dark, Draco could make out the burning orange tip of a cigarette and the silhouette of Hermione, hunched over, nude, at the end of the couch. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, glanced past her to the window and saw the flashing red lights of an ambulance going by reflected off the adjacent buildings. The digital clock on top of a stack of used text books flashed four-twenty-six in the morning. Everything came back to him.
"Jesus, Hermione, I'm so-," but Draco was cut off by the girl.
"Don't Draco," she said lowly, tiredly. "Don't apologise for what I wanted. You might want to go shower. Or at least go to your bed. Harry wakes up around five every morning." Draco sat up on the couch, closing his eyes as Hermione shied away at his movement. His head was spinning; he felt like someone had taken a hundred hammers and a hundred nails and slammed them into his skull. Everything was so fucked up, so completely and utterly fucked up. How did he manage to do this to himself, how had he managed to do this to her? He wanted to blame it on Blaise, but he knew that in the end, it all rounded back on him. So many thoughts were pushing around in side his head, slamming against the back of his eyes, he felt mad. He felt like he was going through withdrawal even though he'd been clean for longer than he ever would've thought capable.
What was Draco Malfoy afraid of? Going absolutely and untreatably insane.