Private Ale
It was silent, deathly silent even as a cool rain danced methodically across windowpanes. Even as thunder applauded the rain and lightning lit its stage.
The day had carried this show for the past week and it did not look like it would be leaving anytime soon. For anyone else, this would put a damper on their once lively moods; angered at the rain and its allies for such treacherous acts. They would have to move their family trips to the amusement parks to the following week, while some would curse the rain for they had just washed their car. Children would be stuck inside for the remainder of the day, or the more daring would sneak out to jump in muddy puddles. However, that was for anyone else…
On the fourth floor, in a flat on 62 Westmoreland Street, a certain Draco Malfoy was lying on his bed in a deep sleep; his left arm hanging over the side, slender fingers buried in tan carpet. He was still dressed in his work outfit; his black dress shoes kicked off at the front door and his grey suit jacket thrown haphazardly over the couch in the living room.
His hair was still gelled back in its proper manner, though a strand fell out of place as he turned onto his side. He opened his eyelids slowly to reveal tired and glazed crystal eyes. Draco groaned as he lifted his head to look at the VCR where the time was blinking green. 7:45, he rubbed the back of his neck where it felt sore. He cursed himself feeling the crisp white collar of his dress shirt and knew he had done it again.
Draco rolled out of his bed that was still made, except for where he had previously been sleeping. Unbuttoning his shirt, he threw it on the hamper lid next to the open closet door and pulled out a blue faded shirt. He put it on, not bothering about his pants and closed the closet door.
Ambling out of his bedroom, Draco walked into the kitchen dragging his fingers across the marble island. He opened the refrigerator door and glanced through the shelves, trying fruitlessly to find something to eat. Unfortunately, there was nothing worth eating – rather nothing still fresh to eat and he slammed the door shut with a disgruntled sigh.
"And I actually expected something good to happen? Merlin forbid I wanted to eat sometime in this life." Draco muttered to himself sardonically.
Draco put on his shoes, and even though they were his good work shoes, he did not care. He pulled on a black high-collared jacket from the hall closet as he walked back into the kitchen to retrieve his keys. Grabbing them off the bar table, his motion was so forceful that he knocked over the picture frame sitting there only having it shatter to the floor.
"Bloody hell!" Draco growled, pulling out his wand and muttering a simple repairing charm. He leaned down and picked up the picture, replacing it on the bar table.
He pulled the front door shut behind him and made sure that it was locked before making his way to the elevators. Draco pressed the down button, the two metal doors in front of him sliding open. Stepping inside, Draco pushed the button ingeniously labeled Ground Floor and waited until the elevator stopped.
The ground floor of his apartment building was not anything special. On the left side of the elevator was a room with a sign that read Storage and on the right, his landlord resided. Draco found him to be a nice fellow, not like the stereotypical landlords that were callous, penny-pinching gits. Following the hall down to the front doors of the building, his landlord pulled open one of the glass doors with his left hand, his right hand clutched around a bag of groceries.
"Oh, hello Draco." He smiled, holding the door open for Draco to walk through. Draco smiled and nodded in gratitude.
"Hello Mr. Krasin." Draco replied, letting the door close behind him. He pulled the collar of his jacket up farther and sighed.
It was still raining outside but it had subdued to a slight drizzle since Draco had returned home from work earlier in the day. People were buzzing about hunched under ridiculously large umbrellas acting as if they were in the middle of a hurricane. The cars sped along the street splashing the water in the gutters onto the sidewalk or the unfortunate people who happened to be standing there. Draco stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and quickly crossed the road on his way to Kingham's, a small restaurant a couple of blocks away.
.
The bell above resounded with a low ding throughout the restaurant as the door was pushed open. Draco entered and proceeded to take a seat in one of the last booths along the right wall. He had been here many times in the past week; more times than he liked to admit, but enough for the waitress to know him by name.
Pulling off his jacket, Draco hung it on the hook just to right of the booth. He slid down onto the woven brown and gold fabric of the seat. He did not mind sitting in the back secluded from everyone. Contrary to popular belief, Draco had learned something from his father in all his years of teaching the quote unquote paths of right and wrong. It is better to be where you can see everyone else though no one else can see you.
"Evening Mr. Malfoy, what can I get for you tonight?"
Draco looked up unconsciously, not realizing that he had been focusing on the small burn mark in the wood table the entire time. He smiled pleasantly.
"Hello Nicola. How are you and the baby of course?"
Nicola beamed her dark green eyes full of happiness as she rubbed her bulging stomach. She had told Draco earlier in the week that she was already six months along and did not how much more of pregnancy she could take; all of which she explained with a smile on her face.
"We are both fine, though Cade seems to be taking a liking to dry Kool-Aid at three in the morning." She remarked, tucking a stray blonde hair behind her ear from which she retrieved her pen moments later. She pulled a pad out of her brown apron and flipped to the third page.
"So, what will it be?" Nicola asked taking a seat across from him to relieve the pain in her feet.
Draco grinned. "Just a cup of tea and a bowl of clam chowder are good. Oh, and those little packaged crackers if you have any."
"Of course. You want your regular tea?" She inquired; scribbling down his order in her chicken scratch excuse for handwriting.
"No, I'm not really up for black. Maybe the raspberry?" Draco questioned, tapping his index finger on his chin in thought.
"Raspberry is good, much better than black I say." Nicola remarked looking up from the pad, chewing on the end of the pen cap.
"All right then. I'll take your word for it." Draco winked while he passed the saltshaker back and forth between his hands.
"Great. It will be out in a minute then." Nicola said replacing her pad into her apron and pen behind her ear. With Draco's help, she pulled herself out of the booth and disappeared amongst the rows of tables on her way to the kitchen.
Draco rummaged into his jacket pocket for his copy of that day's Daily Prophet being careful as not let the moving picture on the front page to be seen. He skimmed through the endless articles marking the day of Voldemort's demise and the wizarding world's freedom. Draco could really care less; they all said the same thing anyway.
He flipped to the back though, in search of any new job offerings that may have popped up over the wizarding world when a certain article caught his attention. The heading read: Lucius Malfoy: Dead by Hands of Son… Draco scoffed; the reporters still thought that this was fresh and exciting news. Like anyone cared if another Malfoy was ridded from the world, especially a Malfoy by the name of Lucius. It was not as if he was a great and charitable fellow.
The article hit quite close to home for Draco though, as he skimmed through the quarter of the page it took up. It recalled, if not so much in detail, the events that took place that day and brought to light memories that Draco had rather forgotten.
Seventeen-year-old Draco stood with his back facing his father, one hand holding back the heavy velvet curtain from the window allowing in pale moonlight; the other hand in his robe pocket clutching his wand. He was at home for the weekend from his seventh year at Hogwarts, by request of his father. Lucius had told Dumbledore something about his mother falling ill and needing Draco to be by her side.
'Horse shit.' Draco thought to himself, gazing out at the grounds of the Malfoy Manor. It had been years since he last stepped foot in this room; his father's study. The room was a hard one to forget even after years of not being there. The familiar smell of burning wax lingered in the air, the same feeling of a deep void within you that you could never get rid of no matter how hard you tried.
"Draco." Lucius said his son's name in one harsh and swift movement of the lips. No emotion was in his voice, he spoke as if the name itself struck sheer boredom in him.
Draco did not bother to turn around, just cocked his head slightly to the right, his eyes ablaze from the moon's wash. His blonde hair was gelled back as his father found approving; not one strand was out of place. His facial features were clear and unblemished by the light streaming in, giving his pale skin a somewhat ethereal glow.
"Look at me, son." His father spoke, grinding the end of his cane into the carpet while he slightly twisted the snakehead under his hand.
"I am looking at you. Father." Draco replied, spitting out the word father as if it were poison on his tongue. He turned his head back to stare out the window, out of the barrier holding him in. Draco could hear the faint click of his father's wand unlocking from the slender cane and held onto his own wand tighter.
"Stupefy!" His father yelled, the charm narrowly missing Draco as he moved quickly to his left. Lucius followed his son's movements quickly, watching as he ran and ducked behind his rosewood desk.
"Incendio!" Flames erupted from the top of the desk, reaching out trying to pull Draco toward them. His crystal eyes shifted back and forth across the heated desktop and he steadily took a step backward. It was not until his back hit the bookcase that he realized for the first time in his life; his father was the higher power.
Draco watched as his father's frame was silhouetted by the rising flames. His face, which appeared every so often when the flames reached to try to caress him, was twisted into one of sick glory. His wand was extended in front of him, his upper lip curled in malice. Draco watched as Lucius' eyes flicked with his every emotion moving back and forth like a slide show.
He took a deep breath, feeling the man that he called father raise his wand between his eyes.
'Procrastinator.' Draco smirked as he raised his own wand in defense. 'You are not a higher power over me anymore.'
The younger Malfoy opened his mouth, shouting his most deadly curse. "Draco, here's your food."
Draco blinked, trying to focus his eyes once more. He looked down seeing that he still had the Daily Prophet laid out in front him and he quickly closed it, setting it next to him on the seat. Draco looked up to see Nicola hovering above him with his bowl of soup and cup of tea. He smiled.
"I'm sorry, Nicola. I was thinking." Draco remarked, taking the hot bowl of soup from her hands as she set his tea down. Nicola grinned and patted his shoulder lightly.
"Oh, really? I do that as well. Just don't tell anyone." Nicola muttered, covering the right side of her mouth with her left hand as if she was telling him a secret. Her eyes shifted back and forth as if looking to see if anyone was watching.
The blonde raised an eyebrow at her before turning back down to his bowl of soup casually. "Don't worry about it; your secret is safe with me. After all, this is the first that I have heard of you actually thinking. I am going to want to keep this news to myself for awhile."
"Draco." Nicola laughed, swatting his arm before walking off obviously to tend to other customers. He chuckled to himself as he turned to his steaming dinner.
Draco poured broken crackers and ketchup into his soup and slowly began stirring it around, turning it from a creamy white color to a more deep salmon. He was so engrossed in separating the potatoes from the clams, that he did not hear the ding of the bell atop the door. It was not until a familiar voice made its way to his ears that he looked up from his cooling soup.
"Oh Ron, it is only a little bit of water. You won't melt." The voice giggled and Draco's eyes narrowed as he saw the Weasley in question blush to the tips of his ears. It was quite a hideous shade of crimson, clashing awfully with his orange hair.
"It's not that. I just don't like the rain, horrible weather really." Ron replied, pulling off the brown woolen scarf that was tied so tightly around his neck, Draco wondered if it was cutting off the circulation to his brain.
"You don't like the rain, but I don't see you having any qualms about playing your insufferable Quidditch in it." The voice said a smile evident in her voice. Ron chuckled at her statement and waggled a finger playfully at her.
"Now, Hermione, you know that Quidditch is not insufferable. Besides, that is a whole other subject." Ron smiled as Hermione nodded in agreement, her bushy curls bouncing with every nod of her head.
Draco watched as Nicola approached the two people who, by now, had settled into the booth, their coats and scarves hung on their appropriate hooks. The couple accepted the menus that she had handed them and began to flip through it, talking amongst them about what sounded good or simply ghastly. Draco turned back down to his luke-warm soup, making figure eights in it with his spoon.
"Have you decided?" Nicola inquired, pulling out her pad and pen turning to Draco and rolling her eyes. Draco shook his head and laughed quietly to her gesture of the two Gryffindor's taking so long to order.
"Umm…yes." Ron began, seemingly uncertain of what he wanted to order. If that was in fact the case, he should have just said no, Draco thought. "I'll have the shrimp pasta and a glass of firewhisky."
Nicola looked up from her pad confused. "A what?"
"Ron!" Hermione hissed and looked up at Nicola, a fake smile plastered to her face. "It is a type of drink that he found at a bar. I highly doubt that you would carry it, so how about an ale instead?"
Draco knocked his head against the table, his body racking with silent laughter. The Weasley did not even realize that he was sitting in an entirely muggle restaurant ordering an entirely wizard drink. It reminded Draco distinctly of why he never liked the red-haired man. Nicola stole a look at Draco with a weird expression on her face and then turned back to the couple.
"Of course. And your drink, ma'am?" She asked, shaking her head slightly the thought that these people were mental running through her mind incessantly.
"Ummm…just a cup of black tea please." Hermione replied turning back down to the menu as Nicola turned away to the kitchens. As she disappeared, the brown-haired woman looked up at Ron and sighed.
"Ron, you really must be more careful."
"Sorry 'Mione, I hadn't realized." Ron's excuse came up lame, Draco thought, just like always. He saw Hermione nod, obviously satisfied with his answer and continued scanning the menu for the third time that evening.
.
He sat watching the two chat and occasionally sip on their drinks until their food would arrive. Draco found it rather odd that neither had noticed his presence behind them, considering it was known fact that the 'Golden Trio' had trouble radar implanted in their brains. Nevertheless, their conversation went in one ear and the other with Draco as he sat deep in his own thoughts.
Ronald Weasley, twenty-one years old and as lanky and full of freckles as he had been the day of graduation five years ago. His hair was still the trademark of his family; being the fact that you could see the man a mile away at least.
Draco had overheard Ron and Harry talking one day at school about what they wanted to do when they graduated; Harry's never ending quest for mischief, mayhem, and saving people leading him into the Auror business and Ron's wanting to become a keeper for the Chudley Cannons. In the years to come Harry became the Auror he had always wanted, whether it was because he had talent or because he defeated Voldemort, Draco did not know nor did not care. On Ron's part though, he never got the position he wanted and was even denied the position for their water boy.
Therefore, he followed in the footsteps of his father and his brother becoming Junior Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Ironically being the department that Draco worked in as well.
Draco had a tough time obtaining a job at the Ministry… Hell, he had a tough time obtaining a job anywhere! It was not as if people were just breaking your door down to work for them when you are the son of a former Death Eater. Moreover, even though his father was now dead and probably in a better place for everyone, it did not change anyone's outlook of him. For Draco, it reminded him of something a person had said to him once:
"Once a bastard, always a bastard. No matter how hard you try to change, no one will ever see you as anything more."
They were right; even after the tormenting from him ceased, even after he helped the other side, even after his father died, he was still labeled as something foul. Therefore, when the opportunity arose that there was a job available at the Ministry and they were willing to hire him, Draco took the job with pride. He needed to feel the sense of independence that he had never felt with his father; that and he needed money. Lucius Malfoy never left even a knut to son; Draco needed a job with good income because he sure as hell could not get through life on his good looks.
As it ended up, in an ironic cycle of 'never be mean to anyone because one day they may be your boss', Draco worked under the youngest male Weasley. Naturally, Ron said snide remarks as he passed by Draco's desk or left him out when he ordered lunch for his department, but the blonde was not interested in becoming Ron's friend. He was there to do his job, not play grab-ass with his colleagues.
He shifted his gaze to the brunette girl sitting across from him, her hair as unkempt and full of volume as it had been the first day he met her. Hermione Granger, twenty-years old still as smart and vivacious as she had been underneath the mask she never wanted anyone to see.
Draco saw under it though and for a period of time, she had let him.
It had been their seventh year at Hogwarts and as expected, Hermione made Head Girl while Draco made Head Boy. People threw nasty comments at him, saying the only reason he had made Head Boy was because of his father, Hermione included. No one bothered to see that he was number two of his class, that he sat up and studied late into the night, that he made his own grades…not his father.
Just because he knew differently did not mean that anyone else did.
As customary, Draco and Hermione shared a common room with separate dormitories and bathrooms. The two rarely talked with each other unless they were planning balls or trips for the school, attending prefectorial meetings together, or having instructions given to by their professors. However, over the Christmas holidays, both students stayed by request of Professor Dumbledore for, even to this day, unknown reasons.
Hermione was beginning to tire of living with a man that never spoke two words to her and tried to be a bit nicer to Draco. Draco being a creature of habit and never once speaking in a civil tongue to Hermione, pushed her away as soon as she got close. It only stimulated something inside of her to try to become something to him, not another person he would remember in the years to come as his enemy.
For days, Draco pondered how anyone could hate a person for as long one did, but still find something decent about the other. He was between a rock and a hard place considering he could not give into her inquiries about a truce, he could not become her friend, and he did not know why.
Draco strived, even if it was only known to him, to become something different from his father. It was not because his father was a terrible man; he just did not want to be thought of as a mini version of Lucius. He wanted to a make a name for himself, but Draco did not know the first steps to making it that happen for him.
Ergo, Draco went against the only question he never had a logical answer to and jumped in headfirst. He became friends with someone he never thought he would, someone he never thought that he would be happy to have an agreement with…Hermione.
Over the holidays, Draco and Hermione slowly progressed into a friendship. At times, both of them stepped back from what they had gotten themselves into and evaluated their decision. True, they were not falling in love or engaging in any sexual activities, but becoming friends with your enemy in a rate of three weeks was not exactly something to take lightly.
Draco did not know how it happened, but he saw her differently. The way that she walked, the way she talked, even the way she smelled. It was as if his senses went into high alert every time Hermione was even in a three-foot radius of him. He knew that he liked her in a way other than a friend, but Draco did not know how to express that feeling inside of him, the heat in him that now did not die.
Sometime in March, Draco got the courage to tell Hermione how he felt. Not to her face of course, he was too afraid of rejection, or perhaps humiliation. Scrawling his note to her on a fresh piece of parchment, he attached it to his snow owl and sent her on her way. It took two days for him to get a reply all the while trying to avoid Hermione because he did not want to look her in the face. It took two days for her to tell him nine simple words.
I do not love you as you love me.
He was broken.
He had told her things that he had never told anyone else, that she was capable of making him love. She did not love him in a passionate way, but only in a platonic fashion.
Draco was hurt, devastated, and for the rest of the year he never spoke another word to her.
At graduation, she wished him luck and hoped that one day she would be able to see him happy with someone who loved him. Hermione then ran off to her boyfriend Ron, laughing and joking with her friends every so often gazing at him with a small smile playing at her lips. Draco turned away from her, not knowing what to do with himself, leaving his graduation ceremony early…leaving the only person that he had ever loved.
Now, five years after that day she was sitting in front of him never knowing that he was there. Draco wanted to stand and walk over to her, smiling and telling her that he still loved her. Telling her that it was okay, he would wait until she loved him. He knew that he could not, that he would not, and it pulled at him.
The feeling pulled at him so hard, that for the first time since his graduation he realized something.
As the couple left Kingham's, he paid his check and pulled on his jacket. It was time that he healed his own wound and he needed Hermione for that.
.
It was raining again as Hermione fumbled with the keys to her home. She was almost soaked to the bone and her keys were not helping her in the slightest. Pulling her jacket closer to her body, she slowed down pushing the keys over the silver chain for the one to her house.
"Hermione." A voice behind her echoed and she jumped at the sudden presence, dropping her ring of keys. Hermione turned around, throwing her wet hair over her shoulder in the process.
"Who is it?"
The figure was wet with their jacket zipped to their neck, blonde hair plastered to their forehead. He looked so familiar…
"I came back Hermione, to tell you that I have never found that person."
Hermione drew in a sharp intake of air, dropping her arms limply to her sides. She never thought that she would hear his voice again much less see him.
"Draco…" She said, more as a statement than a question. Her heart told her that it was he. Merlin how she had missed him!
She had told Draco that she did not love him as he did, but she lied. Hermione was always a stubborn person and she would be the first to admit it, she just could not admit to loving her enemy. It was something even she could not believe and Draco's admittance to her of his feelings only made it harder.
The Gryffindor knew that it was her fault for their love, but she could not let it become something real. She could not let him, of all people, in. For a while, it was nice to imagine, to dream about late at night. Only when the dream became something real enough to touch, she jumped back as if burned from its flames.
Draco wanted her to love him, he wanted to be with her, and she wanted it too. However, she could not allow herself to be dragged into that; the old saying of 'better to be safe than sorry' had flashed across her eyes.
And that was what she did.
Hermione sacrificed her love because she could not handle the reality of his touch, of he himself.
Hey, I wanna crawl out of skin
I apologize for all my sins
All the things I should have said to you
She walked down the steps leading to her door and stood in front of Draco. Hermione was short compared to him, craning her neck to look at him properly. Both were dripping with water, staring at each other lips parted in silent awe of the other.
"I came to tell you something." Draco croaked his voice hoarse from the cold. Hermione nodded, the left side of her mouth rising in a smile.
"What?"
"It is really hard for me to tell you, after all of these years because it still hurts. A part of me still yearns for you, for your love, and your touch." He pushed back the hair framing her face, cupping her red cheeks in his hands.
Hermione latched onto the sides of his jacket, holding onto him if only for a bit of comfort.
"Tell me." She whispered, rubbing her thumbs over the material of the fabric under her hands.
Draco blinked trying to tell his mouth to speak. He had asked himself many times on the walk here if what he was doing was right. The blonde smiled down at his love, knowing that this was right.
Hey, I can't make it go away
Over and over in my brain again
All the things I should have said to you
"Do you remember the letter that I wrote to you?" Draco inquired, closing his eyes for a moment remembering the letter himself.
"Of course." Hermione replied, knowing that she kept it a crystal box that sat atop her dresser.
"I want to take it back…all of it." He said, letting go of her face and replacing them on the arms that held his jacket. Hermione shook her head.
"What do you mean, Draco?"
"I want to take back what I told you. The letter, the feelings, the lust, the love." He remarked, pulling her hands off his body. She backed up, bringing a hand to her mouth her body quavering slightly.
It was silent, deathly silent even as a cool rain danced methodically along empty sidewalks. Even as wheels turned inside the woman's head, processing what this man had just told her.
"But Draco, I never meant it. What I told you, it was not true. I loved you then and I love you now." Hermione uttered, looking up at Draco and opening her arms as if welcoming a hug or offering herself to him. "Understand that I was frightened, that I was too stubborn to realize the truth."
Draco shook his head, raindrops falling from his hair and from his jacket. It was not right; she should not tell him these things.
"You cannot do this to me, Hermione. You should have told me this long ago, when I confessed my feelings to you. It is not my fault that you chose five years after the fact to tell me."
"I was scared! I didn't know what would happen to us, what would happen to you." Hermione exclaimed, her tears mingling with the falling rain.
"Don't make this harder than it already is. It was your decision to go and break my heart, not my own." Draco replied, shoving his cold hands into his pockets. He kept telling himself that he would not comfort the woman, that he was past that now. Or so he hoped…he wished.
Counting stars wishing I was okay
Crashing down was my biggest mistake
I never ever meant to hurt you
I only did what I had to
Counting stars again
"Please Draco." She whispered. "Give me another chance."
"I have given you another chance, Hermione. When I prayed every night that you would come to me and tell me that you made a mistake. When you would tell me that you did love me too." Draco said, backing away to the curb of the sidewalk.
Hermione fell down against the cold cement of the steps. She had made a mistake, and that mistake was to never tell him how she truly felt. She realized how much she was paying for that now…
"You don't understand." She whispered and she heard Draco scoff.
"I don't understand? I waited five years too long for you." Draco said, scraping his shoe across the sidewalk not wanting to make eye contact with her.
Hey, I'll take this day by day by day
Under covers I'm okay I guess
Life is too short and I feel small
"But, I love you Draco! Doesn't that matter to you?!" Hermione screamed, pounding a fist against the wet cement. Draco looked up at her, his eyes narrowed and he threw his head back laughing.
"What? Don't you dare laugh at me, Draco Malfoy!" She cried, clambering to her feet her jaw set and her eyes lit.
"Why not, Hermione? You tell me now that you love me, when you are a day late and a dollar short for that. My love for you is a one-sided attempt for nothing, I realized that today as I sat behind you at Kingham's and watched you laugh with Ron. Never a fleeting thought of me in your mind." Draco remarked, cocking his head to the left, pushing a few strands of hair away from his face.
"You…you were there today? I never knew." Hermione said quietly, her lips forming a small o while she kept her eyes downcast.
"I know."
"If I would have kn—" She began only to be cut off by Draco.
"If you had known, you still would not have done anything. You are realizing what you have lost, Hermione that is why you are doing this to yourself. You don't really love me." Draco voiced, turning his head to stare up at the sky cool raindrops splashing across his face.
"No! I do love you, truly I do. How many times must I tell you?" Hermione shouted, her voice somewhat pleading at the same time. Draco turned down and looked into her eyes, his face softening slightly.
"Until you mean it." His voice was vindicating and harsh as he stepped off the curb, beginning to cross the street.
Counting stars wishing I was okay
Crashing down was my biggest mistake
I never ever meant to hurt you
I only did what I had to
Counting stars again
"I love you Draco!" Hermione called after him, in a last attempt to make him see that what she was saying was the truth.
Draco stopped mid-step, his back still to her. He turned his head slightly to where she could see his blazing eyes and platinum hair shining against the lightning that flashed across the sky. She watched him smile and resume walking.
"I loved you once too, Hermione. Until you made me wait for something that would never come."
Counting stars again
.
Author Notes: I finally finished, after nearly two weeks of writing and revising it is finally done. I am quite proud of myself after this achievement and hope that everyone that reads this enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. This is going to be a collection of short stories, which is why the title is different from the underlined title on the page. Two Dixie Cups and a Piece of String came as a good title to me because it is an old-fashioned, joking way of communication. I felt that it sounded appropriate for my D/Hr stories.
I would ask please that you review because I am eager to know what other people thought of this, but if you do not thank you for reading anyway. Thank you to all you read and watch for the next one-shot I put out.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter or related objects; it all belongs to J.K. Rowling. I also do not own the song Counting Stars by Sugarcult.