[A/N] (Disclaimers in Chapter 1) 4.3.2016 *waves* Hello! Clarification on what I am considering pairings that count towards the Rare Pairs collection: As a couple, they have less than 0.05% representation on this site. This is with the ONLY filter as the pairing, not narrowed down by language or rating or anything. As of posting this story, there are 39 stories out of 738,000 featuring these two! For those who would like to know, that is 0.00005%.

Playlist: Nice Dream - Radiohead | Itch - Nothing But Thieves | Arms of Sorrow - Killswitch Engage

-Ebrius-

The atmosphere inside of the Leaky was stifling, and not because of the constant press of bodies around him, but the gazes that lingered just a bit too long. It didn't matter if they were pitying, malicious, apprehensive, or blatantly curious; each and every one of them itched at the back of his neck or made his hand wish he could hold his wand openly.

In a move he was certain would make Granger's eyes light up with pride, he drew his coat more firmly over his shoulders, walked through the throng of witches and wizards, then swept onto the streets of London. If memory served him there was a pub two blocks down that she'd taken him to for lunch with an enclosed corner at the bar where he could hide.

One of the several debts Draco counted as, unfortunately, owed to Potter was the freedom to make that choice and walk in public without an Auror tailing him. The last time a Ministry lackey shadowed him was, embarrassingly, for his own protection.

Green eyes pitied him and let him vent his frustrations before offering him a cup of tea, in a tone of voice that was much too reminiscent of Dumbledore offering sweets, and to take a seat across his office desk. When Draco flatly declined the offer of a biscuit, the other man fiddled with his wedding ring and never quite met his guest's gaze.

Draco was certain Potter's lengthy explanation was meant to make him feel better, but no amount of perfect tea or soft-spoken practical words could buffer the truth: the public was livid after his release only one year into his fifty year Azkaban sentence, but that was nothing close to the riotous rage enclosed in dozens of Howlers after Draco's house arrest also ended early.

Without a word, he'd finished his tea tactfully not laced with Calming Draught, thanked the Head Auror and set his shoulders to accept the added protection. Pity was, not even his self-imposed extended house arrest pacified the masses. Only the divorce of Ron and Hermione Weasley outshone his disgrace. When Draco sent her a dozen roses in a cheeky attempt to congratulate the witch and thank her for taking the focus from him, Granger returned them, burnt, with a note asking him to dinner the next evening.

Draco shook some bright green and orange streamers from his hair as he walked through the open door of the pub. The maudlin reminiscent thoughts were not as simple to shake away.

He was continually reminded of the things Muggles were able to do without magic, especially on similar late night wanderings. The pub was as crowded as the Leaky but felt lighter and more welcoming than the wizarding establishment could even imagine being.

Instead of pushing through or fighting the crowds like in the Leaky, Draco allowed momentum to carry him up to the bar, eddies of movement eventually depositing him to that dark corner where he could fill his lungs to capacity.

"Evening, love," called the barmaid, leaning over a steaming machine Draco had observed before used to clean the glasses and dishes. Her false Irish accent was atrocious, Draco barely contained a frown. "What's good?"

"Gin and tonic, two limes. Tall." Draco automatically replied.

Pounds were simple enough to understand, so the bill he placed on the bar easily conveyed he intended to purchase several drinks over the course of the next few hours. The girl nodded, took his note, and scooped ice into a glass, moving to the other end of the bar.

He watched her closely as she walked away. Any other man at the bar would misconstrue the attention on her form and not her actions, but Draco was dead set on persuading her to grasp the real Beefeater from below the counter. A simple whispered spell revealed the stink of the swill hidden within an identical bottle as soon as he'd reached the bar. He'd learned Potions from a Master privately for years, and if there was one thing he gleaned from the lessons with Snape it was how to sniff out a sub-par concoction. No amount of tonic could drown the lackluster quality of a bad gin.

Draco removed his pea coat and Slytherin scarf (he had to have a bit of green, of course) to drape elegantly over the back of his chair. He never worried about a pickpocket rummaging through his pockets; his tailor was adept at stinging charms marking the perpetrator. Painfully.

The move was purely strategic. Every layer was precious to him in order to slow the building ice in his veins, but it was vastly safer to fit into the crowd around him. Walking into the bar he wore a crisp black button downed shirt and tie above his dark jeans. Gripping his wand in his coat pocket he'd discreetly transfigured the button down to a less formal black cotton shirt. Draco rolled up his sleeves a bit to avoid gathering bits of leftover sugar and salt on the bar top.

"Fuckin' hell, mate! What shop did that for ye?"

Draco turned his gaze slightly towards the man four chairs down from him. Over the sound of the live band in the corner covering the Irish national anthem, poorly, the man needed to shout for Draco to hear him. Unfortunately that meant he could smell his breath from the extended distance.

When the man could tell Draco had no clue what he was on about, he shouted even louder and gestured wildly to his own arm. "Yer ink, mate, it's brilliant. Where'd ye get it?"

The drunkard was reaching over the bar, and several people, intending to touch Draco's slightly exposed left forearm. Draco read his intention and pulled his arm completely out of his reach.

With a slap the gawker's hand met the bar. "Fuck, what's got yer knickers in a bunch?"

"Ease up."

A hand gripped the other man's shoulder, appearing from within the crowd of people so quickly it was like he Apparated. Draco attempted to move so he could see who'd spoken in such a commanding tone towards the would-be assailant to his person. Unfortunately, the crush of bodies picked up both the drunk man and the owner of the slightly tanned and very scarred freckled arm, and away from the bar.

It only took a few tugs to bring his sleeves back down to his wrists. Draco drained his drink and summoned the bartender over, switching his choice to a clean shot of a bitter dark licorice tasting drink. The faster he drank through the bill he'd given the barmaid, the faster he could get the fuck out and avoiding any further attention to his Dark Mark.