High and Dry
Draco stared at the glass of Firewhisky held between his long, thin fingers. He felt a pair of glistening brown eyes protruding into his back, and he suppressed a deep desire to turn around and meet those haunting eyes. His long blonde locks brushed past his eyes with the wind, he shook them away from his head and turned to meet a young man with shaggy black hair standing at his elbow.
His thin terse lips smiled slightly, and then snickered in contempt at his arch nemesis' glaring, narrowed emerald eyes.
"To what do I owe this pleasure, Potter?" he waved his hand in nonchalance, looking around the room mockingly, carefully avoiding those brown eyes.
"You know it, Malfoy. You piece of filth." He spat out, running his eyes up and down Draco's body with disgust, from his disheveled blonde hair to his old, worn out black Armani shoes.
"Get to the point, Potter. I don't have all day for shooting clever insults your way. Merlin knows I've already won that battle." He smirked.
Harry Potter, the leading Auror in that age's battle against the hidden Death Eaters left over from The Great War a decade ago, straightened up and squared his shoulders. He wasn't going to succumb to Malfoy's childish ways. It was well known his family had nothing to recommend themselves to even the poorest Stan Shunpike out there. It was a wonder the last Malfoy had even the nerve to show his face around a busy, crowded bar as that.
"I'm here because of the one thing I think we feel similarly about."
Draco snorted.
"Or rather, what you used to feel strongly about."
Draco stiffened and gulped down the last dregs of his Firewhisky.
Harry clenched his teeth. "My wife is staring at you right now, Malfoy. And if you don't get up right now and leave, I'll make sure that limp excuse for a human, Parkinson, won't want to house your sorry arse any longer."
Draco smiled an empty smile, and let out an empty chuckle. His frozen lips widened into a grin, his hard unsmiling eyes traversed his completely empty glass of firewhiskey before he stood up and towered over Potter. Yet his chair looked as empty as it had been with him hunched on it; the thin wiry man in front of Potter was empty air. Draco Malfoy had dug himself into a hole where people didn't even take care to see or hear him anymore. He'd erased himself from all societies one could ever belong to, he'd purposefully left himself to live a useless life, vacant of any other people, things, feelings or emotions of any sort.
He had been left, by everyone around him, by himself, and most importantly by that one person, utterly high and dry.
"Okay, Potter. Say hello to Granger from me." He said very quietly, moving around Harry and his long, billowing cloak to remove himself.
He passed the table where she sat, and failing the will to look away, caught her eye. She sat alone with her hands clasped tightly in front of her, long brown curls cascading down her back, warm brown eyes currently full of pain, pity and the one thing he hated the most, remorse.
He looked away quickly and resumed his path to the door. The once mighty Draco Malfoy tried to make his way around all those he once shoved in hallways, those that he willed with a feeling of sheer fear to remove themselves from his path. She watched him, trying desperately to eliminate all those stirrings of feelings she had whenever his name reached her ears, or his altered face met her warm, healthy one.
Hermione's husband approached her and sat down opposite to her, acting in total ignorance of how he had just stalked over to his wife's ex-fiancee and demanded him out of the room without a word to Hermione.
"Darling, what's on the menu tonight for us?" he smiled encouragingly, reassuringly but also as if it was strained, trying to get a deeper meaning across to her. She understood; Forget about him, you're with me now was what he was saying.
She beamed in response, reaching out to touch his hand with hers. "Bacon?" she suggested.
He grinned. "Bacon it is."
Satisfied, Hermione sighed contentedly and looked out the window as her husband informed the waiter. She saw him, standing there gazing at her in dejection, but with a strange sort of smile of joy around his haggard face. He widened his eyes, as if trying to memorize every line of her face. Hermione felt her heart sink as she watched how the walkers by shoved him around, swearing at him for not getting out of everyone's way. Draco couldn't care. He wanted only to watch the woman he loved, as she silently cursed her husband, her friends, everyone she knew and didn't, for treating that beautiful god like a puddle of mud, jumped on, stamped on, just for the fun of watching water splashed around out of it.
Draco saw her turn away, smile and say something to Harry Potter, resuming to forget about the man who had left her alone in bed one night, and gone to commit a deed the whole world would never forgive him for. He watched her talk to the man in front of her, and then finally, let his feet lead him away. He had to. He had to leave her to enjoy breakfast with her husband. Who was he, anyway?
A/N: That was just a drabble I guess; the effect of long lasting boredom and solitude. I think writing it has brought me down even more. Review please. Take pity and review. :)