A/N: I'm not really a Drarry fan, but I thought I'd give this a shot. It's not romance, though - more of how I think an encounter based off their angst and hatred against each other may go. If you don't like it, then don't read it. Flames are horrible things. If you do like it, though, then please review! I probably won't be writing anything like this again, though, haha. This was just an experiment I did over at the MNFF forums for one of the members :)

The dingy pub was almost empty. The smell of stale beer hung in the air, mixed with sweat and grime from the vagrants occupying the table a few feet away from him. From the corner of his eyes, Draco saw the bartender rubbing glasses with an extremely dirty cloth that he wouldn't even let his house-elf wear. The man would occasionally throw him dark looks, but he didn't actually tell him anything - thank Merlin for small mercies, he thought to himself irritably.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the noises that grated against his eardrums. A small radio on the bar was letting out pitiful squawks now and then, but it was mostly harsh static and barely discernible words. Dust rained down on his from above at regular intervals. Draco had a vague idea what that was about; he could swear he heard thumping and moaning from the gaps in the floorboards above. The pub was a rat's hole. It wasn't his type place, but she'd insisted to meet him here.

Three empty bottles of Firewhiskey sat on the rickety table in front of him. It had been an hour-and-a-half. An hour-and-a-half since he'd been sitting in that pub. Alone. It was no use coming here, he realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach. She hadn't shown.

He should have known it. She was playing him. He'd been foolish to trust her. For once he had decided to let someone in, and she'd stood him up.

It was amusing, how everyone seemed to do that to him.

Stupid, fucking Greengrass.

Sighing, he got up to leave, throwing a few Sickles on the table.

The noise turned a few heads, and the glances turned into full fledged stares when they saw who he was. He gritted his teeth to the point that his jaws hurt. Without as much as a look at them, he pushed open the door and strode into the empty alleyway which was lines on either side with high brick walls. The wind howled as it flew past him, and Draco hugged himself tightly against the cold.

The streets were almost empty, but a few people were scattered here and there. As he walked past them, their heads turned casually to see who he was. The careless glances turned into full fledged stares once they realised his identity.

Fuck, he cursed, walking faster.

He was tired of people stared at him wherever he went; that's what one got when they were an ex-Death Eater. Whispers floated around him in every corner and every alley, and stares and points were common to him. There was even one time when a small child of no older than five had suck out his tongue at him, only to be ushered out of his sight promptly by who he assumed was the boy's mother, as if he'd suddenly sprout fangs and bit into him. He'd have liked to, to be honest. Sneaky son of a-

"What's the Great Malfoy doing here?"

That voice. It cut through him like a knife and set his insides on fire. He loathed that voice more than anything else in the world.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palm. "Potter," he spat through gritted teeth, not bothering to turn around.

It was his fault, all Potter's fault that he was in this state. All bloody Potter's fault that people looked at him like he was a slug. All his fault that his family had lost everything in the war. Potter was the reason his father had gone to jail before. And to make it worse, he, thought, his hands shaking with fury, he owed Potter for saving his life! Potter had gone and ruined his and his family's life and Draco was actually expected to be grateful to him for keeping him and his mother out of Azkaban. Merlin, the balls on that man, Draco thought. Did Potter think of himself as a saint by trying to do what he thought was a fucking favour?

He knew how successful Potter was. At nineteen, he was the youngest Auror in the ministry, along with his Weasel friend. The saviours of the Wizarding world, Draco thought spitefully, had revolutionised the entire Ministry, while he and his family ran from courtroom to courtroom, trying to save as much of their wealth and name as they could.

Potter stumbled in front of him, his green eyes slightly unfazed, his hair- if it were even possible - more tousled than ever. There were huge bags under his eyes, and his cheeks were sunken as though he hadn't eaten for days. He looked worse for wear. "What are you… doing here, Malfoy?" he slurred, losing his balance and grabbing onto the jagged wall for support.

"None of your business," Draco snapped, fighting the urge to reach for his wand and hexing the Boy Who Lived Twice into smithereens. "Out of the way, Potter."

Potter, however, didn't move an inch, however. "Don't tell me where to go, Malfoy!" he hissed through gritted teeth, staring back at him in defiance. "I don't take orders from you."

"What's the matter with you?" Draco asked, frowning. "What's the Savior of our World doing in an alley, completely smashed?"

"None of your business," the other man replied, and Draco had a feeling Potter had just used his own words against him.

Son of a bitch.

"Looks like your girlfriend dumped you, if I'm not wrong."

Potter flushed, anger flashing in his green eyes.

"I'm right, aren't I, Potter!" Draco drawled gleefully. For once, after all this time, he was ecstatic. Potter was miserable, and he hadn't even needed to do anything. "I bet she realised what a worthless piece of shit you are. You couldn't even keep your blood-traitor Weasel girlfriend, Potter," he taunted, a sadistic grin on his face. "How on earth could you keep the Wizarding world in peace?"

Flushing even redder, if possible, Potter tried to push past him roughly. Draco, however grabbed his hand, crushing it in a vice-like grip. Quick as a flash, he had Potter pressed up against a wall, probably pressing against him a bit closer than he should have. "Where do you think you're going?" he whispered in his ear, relishing the upper hand he had over him.

"Malfoy!" Potter yelled, pushing against his shoulders with his hands. His legs kicked against his shins hard, But Draco didn't care. Potter might have saved his life, but it didn't undo the years of humiliation he'd had to suffer. They were so clear in his memory. The Quidditch matches he'd lost, his father's imprisonment, being called a Death Eater's son, and losing everything he had.

Including the girl he'd once wanted. Her red hair flashed in front of his eyes, taunting him, mocking his defeat at Potter's hands once again.

Weasley.

He'd wanted her so badly, and Potter had taken her away.

Draco grimaced. He didn't want her anymore, though. Not after he'd had her. He wasn't going to go after Potter's used things. "I can't let you go, Potter. Not until I'm done seeing how bloody miserable you are."

Potter stopped squirming, and looked straight at him. He went limp. There was an odd glint in his green eyes, Draco realized. Before he could wonder what it was about, he felt a rough pair of lips slam into his own.

Flabbergasted, he let go of Potter.

That, he found out after a second, was a big mistake.

Potter had pushed him up against the wall behind him. His head slammed hard against the brick wall, and stars appeared in front of his eyes. Staggering, Draco nearly fell, yet the other's grip was much too strong. Potter's lips moved against his very forcefully, his teeth grazing against his lips painfully, sending a tingling sensation down his spine. His breath reeked of alcohol, and his hands grasped Draco's hair so tightly that he thought his hair would rip off. Potter's tongue traced his lips in a smooth, snake-like manner. A second later, he felt Potter's tongue on his. Shocked, he realised his mouth had opened an inch, giving Potter entrance.

Draco closed his eyes as his hands went limp, a soft moan escaping from his throat. Of their own accord, his hands fisted a handful of Potter's shirt, tugging at it. For a second, he forgot who he was, where he was, and most importantly, what was happening…

It started to rain, and within a second, they were drenched.

Potter's body pressed up against his, while his back was to a wall, was extremely erotic. And despite of the dreadful taste of alcohol and stale breath, he was enjoying every second of it – the increasing arousal he felt was enough proof of that.

He had always wondered why he'd never been fully satisfied while shagging the other girls. No one, not even Pansy had had this effect on him. They were all so fragile and tame, unlike Potter... Potter -

And then, in a second, it clicked. He was snogging Potter. Potter. In a deserted alleyway.

Fuck.

And then he felt it. Bile started to rise up in his throat as he registered what was happening. He felt thoroughly disgusted at himself. Repulsed and resisting the urge to throw up, he tried to push Potter off him, slapping him hard, but his actions were futile. Potter's grip was far too strong.

Draco clawed at his face, forcing him off of him an inch or so. "Get off, Potter!" he managed to shout in those precious two seconds, and with a bang, Potter was thrown to the ground. Panting hard and fast, he looked down at his wand clutched in his hand. Red sparks flew off the end. He didn't even recall drawing it out, though.

Wiping his mouth on the edge of his sleeves, Potter got to his feet, stumbling.

"I knew it," he panted, his voice husky, his gaze boring through Draco. Thin beads of sweat trickled down Potter's face. "You liked that, didn't you, Malfoy? You wanted me."

With a sneer on his face, he turned on his heels and left, his gait staggered and sloppy, leaving Draco feeling extremely vile and used.

It took Draco a while to process his thoughts, and when it hit him, it hit him with the force of an oncoming train. Potter had just kissed him. And whether he believed it or not, he'd actually enjoyed it.

"Fuck you, Potter!" he yelled to the night, his throat searing at the sheer intensity of his voice. "I fucking hate you for this!"