A/N: Takes place year 2002, approx 4 years post Deathly Hallows.
Disclaimer: I, of course, am not J.K. Rowling. So I don't own anything she does. Also, feel free to read and review! I'd love some feedback.
Draco opened the door and entered his favorite of Malfoy Manor's six libraries. It was one of the few rooms that Piggles, the house elf, cleaned; he'd had all but the rooms he used covered in white cloths and shut up after the war. That left this library, a study, his bedroom, and the kitchen. He didn't need anything else. He walked over to the bar, pulled out the firewhisky, and poured himself two shots. He lifted the first glass, and thought, Here's to erasing the last two bloody years from memory. Down it went. He left the second glass for a moment, and wandered the room, occasionally looking at books. Nothing was new, he'd seen it all before. Nothing ever seemed to be new anymore. Every horrible thing he'd ever thought could happen had happened. His father was in Azkaban. Draco didn't actually care too terribly much about that, his father deserved it. After dragging Draco and his mother, Narcissa, into the clutches of Voldemort's grasp and the field of battle, Draco would have been happy to see his father rot in Azkaban until he died. Narcissa, however... Draco sighed. It was hard to think about his mother. She had not handled her husband's incarceration well. For the first few months, she'd tried to put up a brave face, but she slowly fell apart, drinking more and more until she was in such a state of alcoholism that Draco himself had intervened. He'd sent her off to therapy, but the shock of withdrawal and her attempted treatment had sent her into a coma. Draco had gone to visit her every day at St. Mungos, bringing her flowers and talking to her encouragingly. Nothing helped. After three months, Draco had stopped visiting every day. After six, he only went once every two weeks. It had been a year and two months since she went into a coma. He didn't visit her anymore.
He was standing back in front of the bar, looking at the second glass of firewhisky. He suddenly wasn't in the mood to drink.
Draco went downstairs to the back patio. Standing on the deck, he looked out at the vast gardens of his family's estate. They were extremely well cared for, especially now that the house needed much less upkeep. Piggles, Draco had discovered, was quite enthusiastic about gardening. He'd given the house elf permission to make any changes to the gardens, as long as it remained well kept. The house elf had praised Draco excessively.
"Oh, Master Malfoy is so kind! So so very kind! Piggles will not forget this, no sir, no sir! Piggles will take very good care of the gardens, master, very good care!"
A few minutes more of that, and Draco had sent the elf away.
Draco took one last look at the sun setting over the English hills, and resigned himself to another evening alone. He spent many of them too drunk to think, but did not drink every night for fear of falling into the same trap his mother had. He missed her. Piggles was a nice house elf, but house elves weren't much for company. They were too thankful and gracious. Draco was a bit vain, yes, and definitely one who liked being admired, but Piggles simply tired him most of the time. And so he spent his days and nights alone.
And, as he did every time he felt lonely, he found himself back in the library. He was perusing books, most of which he had at least looked at, if not read entirely. One book in particular caught his eye. "A Study of Ancient Curses and Hexes." He pulled it off the shelf, took a seat in an exceptionally over stuffed chair, and began to read.