Obviously, he was sick of weddings but Astoria had begged and pleaded with until he finally gave in, accepting that the bride to be was her favourite and most dear cousin. Besides, they were still recovering as a couple from Astoria's return just over two months ago and in many ways, Draco felt it was somehow his responsibility to make things up to her; it was a baffling notion, of course, since he hadn't done anything wrong but he knew how to play the game long enough to win back her affections. If that meant going to yet another wedding, he would take a deep breath, shut his mouth, and pretend like he was happy to be there.
Therefore it was to no one's surprise that Draco and Astoria found themselves at the reception dinner, watching Roselle Runcorn dance with Cornelius Burke. Astoria was picking at her food with a moody expression on her face while Draco took a glance around the room to see if he recognised any of the other guests, having not been paying much attention during the ceremony proper.
There was his half-sister, recently married to one of Roselle's brothers; Blaise, who was Cornelius' maternal cousin; Pansy Parkinson was also here for seemingly no reason, considering he couldn't think of a way that she would be connected to either the Runcorns or the Burkes. But, hell, maybe he was overlooking some distant relative or perhaps she was just looking for some free booze. Either way, he would do his damnedest to keep her away from Astoria.
He downed his drink in a single gulp, watching it fill with champagne once more the second he placed the flute back onto the table.
At their own table, the just barely noticeably pregnant Tracey was struggling to get her husband's attention but he was too busy getting to know his third glass of Firewhisky, chuckling about nothing and to no one.
"So Malfoy, do you always allow your bird to wear such skimpy dresses? I mean, look a' those shoulders and that collarbone—you're prac'lly a little whore, aren' you, Mrs Malfoy?" He laughed and they could smell the alcohol on his breath even from the other side of the table. "Oh, wait, I forgot that you aren't a real Malfoy yet because you both keep refusing to get married. Y'know, I don't think you ever will. I think Draco's jus' waitin' un'il you get too old and then he'll jus' replace you with someone younger and pre'ier." His words became almost unintelligible as he slurred, but the message behind was very clear.
Draco shot the other man a nasty glare; he didn't care how much of a lightweight Blaise was, he was not afraid to punch his friend if the man didn't learn to shut his mouth. Draco was tired of the two years of jokes wondering when the wedding day would be, nor did he care for the theories and implications that there never would be one.
"Blaise, don't you think you've had enough to drink—" Tracey was cut off by her husband suddenly lunging in Astoria's direction, drunkenly placing a slobbery kiss on her mouth and practically sending the two crashing to the ground as the sudden shift in weight overtook the two and they tipped over.
Tracey screamed and Draco jumped clumsily to his feet, pulling the two apart before whirling to face his fiancée, a massive scowl on his face. She took a swipe at her mouth with the sleeve of her robe before noticing the near murderous expression he wore.
"What?" The word was practically snapped at him, causing Draco to bristle at her forwardness and audacity. After all, they were in public.
He leant in, seizing her by the arm as he grumbled, "Why did you not push him off you? Or, don't tell me, you're just as much a whore as your sister was." His head pounded from the adrenaline of the moment but also from the several flutes of Firewhisky and champagne he'd already had. Blaise was not the only one struggling with sobriety that night.
"Excuse me? I was attacked by your friend and the first thing you do is accuse me of not acting quickly enough? What, do you think I like being assaulted by drunken idiots—that I enjoy being kissed by a man that I hardly know, a man that isn't my fiance and that I absolutely do not like? How dare you!"
There was a slight waver to Draco as he glared down at his fiancée. Normally he didn't get drunk so easily but the champagne that was being served was much stronger than he used to. At least, that was what he told himself as all thought of their already fragile relationship out the window in favour of jabbing a finger in Astoria's direction. "You liked kissing him, I can see it on your face, you wanted him to kiss you. Just like with Pansy, you think I don't know what you two did? You thought it wasn't obvious? Does everyone else in the world get to kiss you except for me, is that what this is?"
"You're drunk." She actually did spit the words at him this time, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're drunk and rambling and making things up in your head out of paranoia. How on earth is anyone meant to have a proper conversation with you in this state—you or Mr Zabini, both saying things you don't really mean?"
He scowled at his fiancée for a long second, knowing she was right and that he wasn't sober enough to be having this conversation, but he also didn't care how Astoria felt. This was all her fault anyway because she had that bloody illness and a restrictive mother. But he kept glaring at her, struggling to stay upright as the alcohol truly finished settling into his system.
Storming away, Draco practically threw himself down in front of the open bar, demanding that the bartender keep a drink in front of him at all times. It didn't matter to him that alcohol was what started their fight in the first place, he was too focused on his frustration of the whole situation and his desire to get away from the petulant child he'd been tied to.
Some time between his third and fourth drink, a woman with long brown hair sat down on the stool next to him, also ordering a Firewhisky before turning her attention to Draco. In his drunken haze, he struggled to focus on the woman's face, convinced she looked familiar even though she swam in front of him and he couldn't quite make her features out enough to determine if he truly knew her or if he was being paranoid.
"You've had quite a bit tonight, haven't you?" she asked, briefly thanking the bartender when he handed them their drinks. "Is there an issue with the bride or groom? Or perhaps with your own date? I find it most often to be a pretty girl that leads a man to drink."
In retrospect, he should have told her that he was engaged, that he had a date, that he wasn't interested in her even if he did find her blurry form to be very attractive.
Instead, he leant in and told the stranger, "Oh no, I came alone. I'm a—a friend of the groom but I had no date to bring, no bird or anything to hold on my arm. Why—why're you here, though? Where's your date?"
She shrugged as though the idea of attending a wedding with a date or escort of some kind had never occurred to her. He admired her casual attitude. "I'm unattached for the time being if you must know. I was invited as a distant cousin to the mother of the bride—very distant if I'm being honest. There was no real reason for my being here but I do like to dress up and I certainly do enjoy the free alcohol they always have at these sorts of things."
They kept chatting and he found her to be witty, charming, clever, and everything he'd ever wanted. This woman was so unlike Astoria in that she knew when to back off and let him take charge of the conversation but she also knew when it was best to push him with questions or well-timed laughter. She touched his shoulder and he felt a spark between the two of them, the same sort of spark he always felt when Violet touched him. Oh how he missed her touch. In that moment, Draco made a very foolish decision.
"I could get us a room somewhere if you'd like to spend the night together." He tried to sound charming and engaging and based on the way she smirked at him in response, he must have done something right.
Taking him by the hand, she led him away from the rest of the wedding party, laughing as the unsteady Draco stumbled drunkenly after her. The cool air hit them the second they left the tent and she paused briefly to take in the crisp freshness, turning her head up towards the full moon that watched over the couple. He looked at her and once more saw his beloved Violet Runcorn, saw that familiar gleam in her eyes; but then the moment ended as he tripped, only avoiding hitting the ground when his companion grabbed him around the waist.
"How about this—I have a flat in London that we could go to. It's not the best place and the whole building is crawling with Muggles but it's free and I can Apparate you there since you're unable to do so yourself."
He squinted at her. "How'd you know that I can't Apparate on my own? Do I know you or somethin'?" His tone was suspicious but his words were undermined by how sloppily he threw them out, too drunk to enunciate. He sounded like Blaise.
"Well you're clearly too drunk to walk or talk properly, I certainly don't trust you enough to be able to Apparate without splinching yourself like a ninny. I bet you can barely even see me right now, can you? Do you usually drink this much?"
Grumbling, he grabbed her arm, allowing the woman to Apparate them to her flat. It briefly occurred to him that she seemed suspiciously coherent and sober for someone he had seen down three glasses of Firewhisky in the span of twenty minutes. But then they were spinning and all Draco could focus on was keeping the contents of his stomach from coming up all over the outside of this woman's home.
"Do you normally drunkenly invite people over to your place for casual sex?" His retort might have sounded almost clever if he hadn't followed it up by walking into the wall, squashing his nose painfully and letting out a pathetic grunt.
"Funny, I was asked something rather similar to that not terribly long ago. But if you're worried about something going wrong, you're always free to leave and I can just find someone else to spend the night with. Though you don't strike me as the sort of person who's going to be dissuaded from a good time just because you've had a little too much to drink."
One eyebrow raised, she placed her hands on his upper arms and directed him towards her bedroom, helping to keep Draco fairly steady on his feet as they moved through the small, shabby flat. The odd feeling of knowing this woman only grew but the buzzing in his brain was more focusing of a good lay than solving a mystery.
The duo stumbled into the bedroom and she turned away, dropping her dress robed to the floor while Draco fumbled with the belt on his pants, wishing he were sobering enough to be able to see what he was doing. She chuckled upon noticing his struggle, guiding his hands to the clasp and helping him to undo it before tugging his shirt off as well.
Brown hair filled his vision as she took his hand and led him to the bed, the two of them falling together; she took a moment to flick her wand to turn off the lights before kissing him deeply on the lips, chuckling as they made contact.
The next morning found Draco stumbling from a room he didn't recognise, the girl he'd presumably shagged last night still in a deep sleep with her pillow placed over her face in such a way that he couldn't be bothered to tug it off enough to see who she was.
Instead, he found his clothes and wandered around the tiny flat, struggling into his trousers, an activity made that much harder by the intense pounding in his head and a sick churning in his stomach. How much had he drunk last night? Clearly quite a bit, considering he knew enough to be able to say with certainty that the woman in the bed was not his fiancée and this dingy hovel was not the Malfoy Manor.
His fiancée—Astoria. Draco ran his hands over his face and groaned, wondering if the girl had waited all night for him to return before eventually giving up and returning to the manor. No doubt she would be gloomy and bitchy when he went home, something he didn't feel up to dealing with at the moment.
He glanced at the fireplace, noticing a small bag of Floo powder, which allowed Draco to sigh in relief somewhat, glad that he at least had not made the grave mistake of falling into a bed with some Muggle woman, dreaming up all images of magic in a drunken haze the night before.
Taking up a handful of Floo powder, he tossed it into the fireplace, calling out the name of his home and stepped into the flames, struggling to keep the contents of his stomach inside as he spun wildly before being shot out of the main fireplace of the manor, nearly causing Draco to face plant on the carpet. A clock on the mantle informed him that it was shortly before seven in the morning, which likely meant that no one else was awake at this time.
Draco rubbed his eyes, realising that he was still exhausted from the events of last night. Perhaps later he would put some level of effort into finding out who his partner had been post-wedding but for the time being, he decided it was wisest for him to simply go back to bed.
No doubt Astoria would have some choice words for him when they next spoke, demanding to know where he'd been and with whom, but he owed her no answers and would give her none. She was only a silly girl and ought to understand that these sorts of things were normal. After all, they had discussed the matter prior to last night.
It wasn't as though she was interested in him in the same way. Why shouldn't he seek out some sort of happiness wherever he could find it?
So he trudged upstairs to his room and passed out almost immediately in his bed, staying in a deep slumber until a house elf came to tell him that tea had been set out and his mother was expecting his presence. He didn't realise it at the time, but Draco had no dreams at all the entire time—nightmare or otherwise.