Disclaimer: I don't own the Malfoy or the Potter or anyone else, that British woman whose last name I forgot how to spell owns it all. Brooks & Dunn owns the song Whiskey Under The Bridge.
Whiskey Under The Bridge
Draco sat slumped on the cracked leather stool, his black cloak brushing against the sawdust-covered floor. Swigging another mouthful from the long neck of his Jack Daniels, he thoughtfully assessed his situation. He, the heir to the Malfoy fortune, had been brought low enough to sit half-intoxicated in a bar filled with reeking muggles wearing those damned cowboy boots. Draco cringed as heard the annoying clang of spurs raking across the wooden floor. He hated those damned boots and yet he looked the part of a lonesome cowboy wearing the finest pair in all of Texas as he sat there brooding.
Malfoy selected a pretzel from a nearby bowl and quietly munched on it as his gray eyes focused on the much less depressing world outside. The neon sign glowed into the man's view reading "Dusty's." A fitting name, he thought, as he ran his finger aimlessly on the bar. Lifting his finger he noted the disgusting gray fuzz, wiped it his cloak, and hooked his lips back over the top of his glass bottle.
If this place was such a fucking pigsty, then why was he here? A rich wizarding type like himself in the company of drunken blue-collared idiots. He should be in the Malfoy mansion; living in a ridiculously extravagant manner with his arms around the most stunning girl he could lay his paws on. Ah, there it was. The reason he, an amazingly powerful warlock, was warming a bar stool.
The most stunning girl in the world had decided a lifestyle among the rich and famous wasn't her "style." Granger hadn't even had a style before he'd picked her up and dusted her off after Potter decided to kick the bucket. Who the hell was she to leave him? And what a fucking excuse she had too.
"Oh Draco, you just don't understand. This isn't the life I want. I want to do something. I want to help people! I can't do that sitting here eating caviar. I can't do that with you…."
What a bitch. Her, life, everything. Bitches, the whole lot.
All those nights of drinking
Finally got me thinking
Heartache is just a waste of time
I've been burned, I've been cheated
But this old heart's still beating
Ain't no big deal
It's just whiskey under the bridge
Draco downed another swallow before bringing himself out of his depression to survey his surroundings. Across the smoke-clouded bar, Draco noted a certain read-headed woman eyeing him. He recognized her as one of the Weasely clan although her name had slipped his mind. Alcohol will do that to you.
When the redhead rose up, he definitely remembered those legs, proudly displayed below a stripped miniskirt. Ginny. That was her name. Good for an occasional fuck if you left a little something on the table before you left.
When the girl sat on the stool next to him and batted her eyes, in that seductive way females have mastered, Draco laid his hand on her thigh.
Let's dance a little closer
I'll help you get over
The hurt you thought you never could forget
The bitter tears you tasted
All those nights you wasted
Don't look back
It's just whiskey under the bridge
Granger was below him, not that a Weasely was much better, but after tonight they would both be whiskey under the bridge.
So, what the hell?
Ain't no big deal
It's just whiskey under the bridge
AN: that was fun to write, if nothing else. I might make this into something more than a little one shot. Not that I need to, since I have 2 other fics that I'm just starting out with. Write me some pretty reviews and maybe I'll think it over.