So he sat, hoping not to be spotted, with his third glass of firewhiskey resting on the gouged and battered bar. Although not his normal evening venue it had proved to be an interesting night. No sooner had he sat at the far end of the bar, when one Ronald Weasley had stumbled into the room. Tripping over the bar stool in his haste to the counter. The man proceeded to order with a thick slur. Draco was surprised when he'd been given his order, as it seemed awfully clear to him that the man had just been kicked from wherever he was drinking before.
The plan for just one drink out the window, Draco hunkered down to watch the show. He'd seen the red headed man around the office some. As a defender for the court, he occasionally had contact with the Auror office but rarely with any of his childhood rivals. Which he'd so far been pleased about and suspected at this point was a conscientious effort on some unknown organizers part. Probably Potter. Years of passing in the office, however, wasn't the same as long unperturbed observation. Other than being embarrassingly inebriated, the years had treated Weasley quite well. He was still quite tall and still tripped over his own two feet, but he was also clearly broad shouldered and well muscled. Clearly, for he had lost most of his shirt somewhere down the line. It was interesting to see a well muscled wizard. Draco had spent some time in the muggle world as part of his "rehabilitation" and had come back with very little understanding of the muggle world, but a much sharper perspective on the wizarding. Wizards, for example, took much less care in their outward appearance then muggle men. Which made him wonder if this oddly appearance focused Weasley was the result of marrying a muggleborn.
A muggleborn, Malfoy had discovered through the course of the night, who had not to long ago divorced him. This had been rather startling news, as it had been news. Although no longer on the front page of every publication, Potter and anyone relating to him still tended to be obsessively tracked. A divorce seemed like front page news, or at least some page news. Given that Weasley was waving around the information for any random bystander to hear, the news was probably payed not to publish. He'd wait to see tomorrow's paper before deciding for sure.
Although his childhood self would have derived great pleasure from watching Weasley bumble about, tripping and making a fool of himself. After his third firewhiskey, Draco found that his adult self had grown quite bored with it. In fact apart from the initial sense of glee, it had left quickly. He'd stayed more out of curiosity for information then anything else. So he drown his drink and with a few tossed coins, decided to depart. Which turned out to be a bit harder than expected as he stumbled on his way to the door, head beginning to spin.
The firewhiskey hadn't seemed that strong.
As he exited the bar, he noticed that it felt as though the smoke was still surrounding and filling his head. He shook it. He took a few steps down the sidewalk before leaning against the wall. He felt heavy. He shook his head again to try to clear it but nothing happened. Heaving a sigh and deciding to relieve some weight, he hoisted his robes. He didn't have time to lower them again, however, as something much heavier came barreling into his side.
"Oi! Don't thhhink I din see you!" A loud, slurred voice said from somewhere over his head. Ignoring the throbbing, the spinning, the weight and the little voice in the back of his head that told him this was a bad idea, Draco turned in place and let the crushing vacuum of apparition take him.
Light.
Quite a lot of light.
Ron Weasley opened his eyes and promptly shut them again as a pain exploded behind his temples. He tried to turn his head away from the light and found his face in something rather squishy. He reached up and felt what were most definitely legs. His first thought was of Hermione but something was wrong. They were thinner than Hermione's legs, not quite as soft. His head swam and he gave up trying to place what was happening, happy to burry his face in anything that blocked the morning sun.
"When you are quite done fondling me, I'd like to get up." Said a deep voice from somewhere above him. Ron jumped to his feet as though rocket propelled, blinking wildly around. There before him sat a tall blond man, whose back was resting against the base of a large squashy couch. The man, looking entirely unperturbed, lowered his robes, which had been hiked over waist, and began to stand. It was only when the man was standing that he swam into full focus and realization hit Ron like a train to the side of the head.
"Malfoy!?"
"Weasley," He responded easily, his right lip raised with an air of humor. "Make yourself at home, as you already have done I suppose."
Pausing for only a moment, Ron scrambled about his robes for his wand. Only to find he had no Robes. In fact he wore only a pair of pants and an undershirt.
"Where'd you put my things Malfoy!? I'm warning you!" He shouted, wheeling around to face where Malfoy had been, only to find the spot entirely empty. He blinked, swayed and grabbed the squash chair in front of him for support. Had he been drugged? Was he now hostage? When would the Aurors notice he was gone? What time was it? What day was it? With a pang he realized that he had nobody at home now to notice when he didn't come back.
"Hangover potion?" A strong smell of Peppermint wafted over as Ron looked up in time to see Malfoy downing a bright green potion. The man was standing in the kitchen by an island that separated it from what Ron now realized was the living room of a rather large flat. On the counter was another bright green potion and two rather large cups of tea. Every fiber of his being telling him to make a break for the front door, Ron stumbled over to the counter and drank the vial. It tasted nothing like peppermint.
Gagging, he washed down the rather familiar flavor with the tea and looked up. Malfoy suddenly came into sharp view as his headache seemed to dissolve. Putting on his best glower as the relief a clear head washed over him, "Where's. My. Wand. Malfoy?"
"Don't know," The man replied easily, waiving his own wand to conjure two stools, sitting on the one closest to him. "I don't think you had it when you came in. Must have left it at the tavern."
"Tavern?"
"The Glumbumble Gallows," Malfoy responded, swirling his tea around his mug. "Although you might have lost it before then, I wasn't paying much attention till you jumped me."
"Jumped _you_?" Wasn't he the one being held hostage here.
"Mm," Malfoy nodded in confirmation, "just as I was leaving."
"Whu?"
"Don't you remember?" Now Malfoy was most certainly smiling. "It turned into quite the evening."
"I don't-"
"Don't you? Surely you have a memory enough to at least recall waking up."
What was the last thing he remembered? Legs. Malfoy's legs. He'd buried his face in... Ron blanched suddenly as he took in the full meaning of what Malfoy was saying. Surely they hadn't. He hadn't. He looked about his surroundings for the first time with a clear head. He was sitting - though he wasn't sure when he'd sat - on a stool at a dark marble island in a rather nice flat. The flat was tastefully decorated with two floor to ceiling windows facing out on the street below. The early morning sun beamed through them, giving the place an open and bright feel. It most certainly was not a place to expect when holding a grown man hostage. The walls were decorated in what was most certainly very expensive art, judging by the fact that it made no sense and the couch was thick, leather and pristine.
"Is this your flat?" Ron asked, now avoiding looking at Malfoy as best he could. He felt shaky and uncertain. Had he and Malfoy? Surely not? Right?
"It is," Malfoy said casually, "I of course have the manor again, but having a place in London is quite convenient at times."
"And what's your plan?" Ron asked, risking a glance at the man across from him. Malfoy was giving him a look as if he was the most interesting thing a man could look at. It made his skin crawl so he swirled around to stare him directly in the eyes. "You can't keep me here forever you know! I'll-"
He was interrupted as Malfoy burst out laughing. Hearty laughs not the faked or hysterical ones he was used to when interrogating people in the office.
"I'm not keeping you, you can go whenever you want. Please do, actually." Malfoy gestured easily to the kitchen fire. "I was just being polite offering you tea, given what happened. Please, don't stay on my account."
"Given what happened?" Ron said, feeling out of step again.
"You know," Malfoy said, and gestured downward. Following his gaze Ron went bright red, stood and rushed toward the fire. Malfoys guffaws followed him through the green flames until the silence of his own flat hit him as he stumbled onto the hearth.
-
Dear Ron,
I hope you made it home okay. Here is your wand and cloak. I hope you don't mind but when you ran off after I wouldn't let you apparate, I owled Harry. I just didn't think it was safe letting you run around without your wand.
Hannah Longbottom,
Leaky Cauldron -
"Bloody-"
-
Dear Mr. Weasley,
The parcel attached contains your robes and jumper. We are sorry to inform you that you are no longer allowed at our business during drinking hours.
The Giant's Toe -
"-hell"
