Draco

TW fire, death m, nightmares, pills/drugs m, food, homophobia/homophobic slurs, alcohol

The fire was so bloody hot. Draco couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. It was all just so hot and smothering. I'm dying, he thought. This is it. I'm dead. I'm going to die. The flaming serpents, chimeras, and dragons rose again. Draco felt as if they were coming straight for him. He was sat on top of some desks alongside Goyle's stiff body. The flames kept rising. He doubted that they'd ever stop.

He began to hyperventilate. "I'm going to die here I'm going to die here I'm going to die here I'm going to—"

Draco woke up covered in sweat. He hadn't had this dream in months. He rubbed his hands together, eager to get the memory of Potter's hand, Potter's selflessness, off his skin. He got up from his bed and walked to the kitchen, towards the cabinet with his pills. He stopped in his tracks when he remembered. Full of shame, Draco made himself a pot of coffee and a few sunny-side up eggs. He smoked while he cooked. He ate the eggs slowly, savoring every bite. He looked through his mail while he ate. He read through his classes again, attempting to memorize the schedule.

He wasn't too worried about the semester—all of the classes would be easy enough. He was taking Constructing Archaic Greek History from 8AM to 10AM on Monday and Friday, and Wednesday from 9AM to 10AM; History in Practice Tuesday from 4PM to 5PM, and Thursday from 3PM to 5PM; Cities and Citizens from 12PM to 2PM on Monday and Friday, and from 12PM to 1PM on Wednesday; and Standing on the Shoulders of Giants from 2PM to 4PM on Tuesday, and from 2PM to 3PM on Thursday. Draco was always good at school work, and he knew that. The only class that he might have a bit of a problem with would be Constructing Archaic Greek History, but even that shouldn't affect his GPA since he expected to be the top of his general SALC course—Standing on the Shoulders of Giants. It was just an introduction to philosophy, art, language, and history. He smirked to himself. Maybe he'd be good at something again.

He'd always loved receiving good marks at school—that is, until his father found out that Draco was only second in the class compared to Hermione Granger. He blocked out the thoughts and went to the kitchen to wash his dishes. Afterwards, he drank another cup of coffee and took a shower. He had to change his availability for his job.

The walk to the Black Cauldron wasn't at all interesting until Draco heard yelling coming from near the parking lot. He sped up, attempting to get a good look at whatever was happening at the bar. He smirked at the sight of police placing Darren in handcuffs.

"Oi, watch it, mate! Get the bloody hell off o' me," Darren yelled, clearly extremely inebriated. "What the fuck you lookin' at, fag?" Darren turned to Draco and lunged forward a bit, as if he was going to fight him with handcuffs on and police holding onto him.

Draco sneered. He didn't have time for Darren's bullshit, and he was honestly hoping that he had been busted for meth again. Maybe this time he wouldn't be rehired. Draco truly didn't understand the muggle world. He clocked in, only to find Fab talking to a new hire. He gave Fab a quizzical look as he stepped behind the bar.

"Xavier, this is Draco. He's one of our head bartenders," Fab informed the new hire.

"Head bartender? What? Since when have I been that?" Draco asked. He nearly laughed at the thought of being in charge around here.

"Well," she said, "You have a lot of seniority. Most people don't last around here. It's Sally, Darren, then you. And you know about Darren." She shot Draco a sly smile. Everyone despised Darren.

"Hi, Draco. It's nice to meet you," Xavier said, extending his arm for a handshake. Draco blinked in surprise. He shook Xavier's hand.

"You're going to train him as bartender tonight. Okay, Draco?"

He nodded, and Fab went back into the kitchen. Draco spent the next few hours explaining the register, rush times, and basic bartender duties to Xavier.

The rush was just dying down when Draco noticed a large group of people entering. He didn't think anything of the group until he noticed Neville Longbottom heading towards the bar. Draco began to panic. He checked out the rest of the group and saw Potter, Granger, a few Weasleys, and Luna Lovegood. Draco crouched down behind the bar. He crawled out the door, earning a nervous and confused look from Xavier. Draco didn't care. He couldn't let them see him.

First Potter was attending his university and now his bar? Did Draco not have one sacred place left? He stopped when he got past the back corner of the bar. He listened closely but could only hear Xavier's words.

"Um…," the new bartender said, "I'm not sure. I'm new here." He sounded nonplussed as he looked around for Draco.

"Oh, well, that's alright. We'll just order some more simple stuff until you get help. What beer do you have?" Longbottom replied.

Draco sighed and kept crawling. He stood up once he got to the kitchen and paced towards the employee bathroom.

"Draco?" Fab questioned.

He got up and locked the door. Draco stood in place for a few seconds before he felt the hot, salty tears run down his cheeks. He wiped them and rubbed his eyes. He pointlessly checked his back pockets for the letters he had written. After he got out of prison, he spent a long time writing apology notes for the Golden Trio and their friends. None of them felt right, but he used to keep them on him at all times. They felt stupid and silly. They felt superficial and vague and disingenuous. He gave up a few months ago; however, he still kept the pile of trashed notes in his apartment. He wiped a few more stray tears away from his face, unlocked the door, and stepped out of the bathroom.

"Draco, what the hell? Where were you? Xavier needs your help!" Fab yelled at him.

"I'm sorry," he replied. He didn't say anything else. He just walked past her and back behind the bar counter. Xavier looked positively relieved at the sight of Draco. Draco looked around and spotted Potter and Longbottom's group in the very back of the bar. He gulped, not quite ready for whatever tonight would entail.