Vonne: Thank you repeatedly for all the interesting reviews. I love hearing from all of you about your opinions on the chapter, as well as this fiction as a whole. On this fiction I have decided not to respond to the reviews on the main page for the majority, but there will always be times when I might answer your question straight on here- if you have anything about the fiction to ask me. That being said, please excuse my writing in this if you feel that it got a bit rushed towards the end. I had a hefty amount of it written and then when I tried to save it, the page had failed to load, leaving me with hardly about one third of what I'd had penned down. Trust me, it was very frustrating. So, I tried to include as much as I could remember back into this chapter. Please, please, excuse me if it doesn't make much sense. If this has happened to you, then I am sure you are fully aware of my frustration. If not, you do not wish to know. Anyway, here begins what I hope will be a satisfactory chapter three.

Chapter Three
Hogsmeade After Hours

Whatever had possessed Draco to wandering off had left him entirely now. He was sitting across the bar in a low key pub, his eyes bloodshot and unbearable. With a flick of his wrist, he waved over the tall bartender, a hefty man who had kept his eye on Draco the entire night. He didn't say anything, but only just waved his hand and the man lifted his wand in the air instinctively. The large bottle of whiskey was instantly airborne and it hovered over to Draco's glass, pouring itself steadily.

The pub was not a place Draco had ever been to. It was small and dark and the only essence of light were the flickering candles that floated overhead. Grateful for this lack of light, Draco had been finally able to stroll into a place with his head up, though his small burst of reassurance didn't last long. He'd scooted himself over the bar and ordered one single drink. What he hadn't planned on was the ample amount of empty glasses that now surrounded him. He hadn't even remembered ordering all the drinks in the first place, but the look on the bartender's curious face seemed to confirm that they were undoubtedly his.

He downed his newest glass with a quick gulp and wiped away the remainder of the drink with the back of his coat sleeve. Wincing slightly, he let his eyes scan the small little pub. Its inhabitants were clustered around little tables. Most were keen in their drinking, clanging glasses and rambling on drunkenly with cheerful faces and rosey noses. Draco reached his fists to his eyes and rubbed them hazily. With a second flick of his wrist, he called for yet another glass.

The bartender said to him once the guests cleared away, "I think you've had enough." Draco had never heard such a phrase before; and, even though he was unquestionably drunk, it still managed to sound almost too cliche. However, Malfoy didn't have to utter another word. He dug from his pocket a thick wad of cash and slid it in front of him towards the bartender. Without hesitation, his glass was filled quickly to the very rim.

Draco Malfoy had only been drunk once before in his entire twenty-two years of life. It was several nights after the battle had ended. He had been sitting in front of the fireplace when he'd decided he'd wanted to go out. And when he didn't get the permission from his father, he snuck out the back window when he was absolutely sure that they had fallen asleep. Then, he'd been foolish enough to leave the house without a cloak. Then there had been celebration nonstop on the streets of Hogsmeade. Banners hung from every building and fireworks burst boldly in the night sky. He'd found a little bench at the end of the street and sat there with his legs at his chest, both resentful and sorry for himself. Someone from the crowd shouted, "Long live Harry Potter!" and Malfoy almost fell off the bench itself.

And then it came flying through the air at him; a ripe red tomato hit him across the left shoulder and splattered all over his pure white shirt. He jumped up, stumbling over the edge of the bench. He whipped around, dumbfounded, by the little table and pushed the remainder of the tomato off of his shirt sleeve. With a shaking hand, he slid the stray spots off of the side of his face. A large, red stain now rest splattered at his side. Around him came a chorus of disembodied voices, screaming, "you belong in Azkaban, you dodgy prat!"

If it weren't for his absolute shock, he might have yelled something in return, tried at least to defend himself. However, he could only stand, staring at the darkness with such a stunned expression that the group of tomato throwers had walked away unidentified. He'd wasted no time. How he'd gotten the alcohol had been a miracle on its own, though it wasn't exactly hard. He'd nabbed packets of liquor that sat around the grounds, left untouched at the celebration. He wasn't exactly sure how he'd managed to get the hefty amount he'd had managed to carry in the alleyway back to his house. But when he crept back to his house and overlooked it in the light of his room, he didn't seem to care much.

He sipped the liquor while he stood in front of the clear glass mirror, watched his throat bob up and down with each gulp. Pacing the floor, he drank bottle after bottle and when he couldn't stand anymore, he let himself sink to the ground and stare at the remaining glasses. He drank with his back slumped up against the looming wall of his grand bedroom. He drank until he finished every last drop, until he couldn't remember why he'd gotten the orange red stain in the first place.

The one and only time he had ever been drunk in his life, he had done so alone. Thinking back on it now, Draco wasn't sure why he'd wanted to go out so badly.

He downed the new drink so fast that the bartender hadn't even begun his stride away from him before he motioned again for another drink. When it had been filled once again to the top, Malfoy leaned over and stared at his reflection in the shameful liquid; a squiggly version of himself stared back and Draco reeled away, moaning that of disgust. With a little groan that signified that he'd perhaps felt sorry for himself, he leaned forward once again, supporting his throbbing head with the palms of his clammy hands.

However, something tall and rather large slid in next to him. The intruder, as it so appeared, seemed to wait for Draco to react to his presence, but when he received nothing more than a miserable moan, he leaned towards the blond boy and tried anxious to catch sight of his pale and morose face. Not fully noticing, Draco didn't look up to see the newcomer shift his gaze back up to the front of the pub, blinking with a confused new outlook. He managed to choke out a laugh of disbelief and then, shaking his massively square head, he turned back again towards Draco, a look of utter shock on his pale face.

"Draco?" He said with a simple little stammer, "Draco Malfoy?" At the sound of his name, Draco rose his blond head and faced the stranger blankly. However, the newcomer only seemed to relish in the boy's sudden attention. He beamed ever so surely and stared back at the drunken Malfoy with absolute shock.

Malfoy's face seemed to drain of any color he'd previously had left. He leaned forward, a slight swagger about his being, and appeared as if the large Goyle had just appeared before his very eyes. He said back at him with a dry throat as if he himself didn't believe it either, "G-Goyle?"

Goyle's face broke out in an instant smile. He nodded eagerly and his hands moved around excitedly in the air space of the dingy little pub. "I knew it!" said the newly enthusiastic Gregory Goyle, his hand flying up to slap himself on his gigantic forehead, "I absolutely knew it! But then again, you had that humongous hood pulled down over your entire face, didn't you?" He extended a hand out and patted his old friend on his arched back. In all his jubilance, Goyle didn't seem to take notice to the drunken state of his former best friend. "At first I was absolutely positive, you know, when I'd first bumped into you. But then when you just walked away, I wasn't quite sure."

But Draco seemed almost unable to grasp the surprise meeting. He looked flustered as he spoke next, "H-how..."

Goyle was still in his excited mist of talking. He ran a hand through his short mass of bristly hair and leaned forward, "how have you been, mate?"

This time around, Draco's silence seemed to, for the first time, grab his attention. He sat momentarily looking his friend up and down and then tilted his head to one side, as if only just fully analyzing him. He looked almost sorrowfully at the glass next to Draco and then his shoulders sunk wearily. His eyes seemed to lock into Draco's glossy ones and it seemed that he'd only just noticed how red the tip of his nose truly was. He chewed the bottom of his thin lip carefully and said with fully inquiry, "since when did you start drinking?"

Malfoy let out a little hiccup and he shrugged his shoulders cluelessly. His eyes flickered back to his full drink and he said rather bashfully, "Dunno." But when he looked back up to meet the eyes of his friend, he said with a goofy smile, "but it's great. I think should do it more often." His chest rose up once again in yet another little popping cough and bit down lightly on his own lower lip with the entire row of his front teeth. "Want anything?"

"Er," Goyle said, raising a thick eyebrow, "no, mate, I stopped drinking just about four years ago."

Malfoy's expression was a mix of utter confusion and pity. He shook his head as if he truly felt bad for his friend and responded seriously, "now why on earth would you go and do a bloody thing like that?"

Goyle's body almost instantly deflated. With a slightly defeated glare back at the tall bartender, he cocked his head towards the sparking glass of hard liquor. "How many has he had this evening?"

The graying old man only merely shrugged, "I have no idea," he said as if this sort of thing was a typical every day event, "I'd begun to loose count about," he looked up towards the clock on the wall ahead and said with a direct amount of certainty, "an hour and a half ago."

Nodding, Goyle turned back loyally to his friend and watched him reach for the glass and pour it feverishly down his throat, downing it in a matter of sheer seconds. He watched almost breathlessly and then seemed to mull the situation over carefully. Malfoy had taken to shaking his head back and forth and then, as if the swift motion of it had caused him a rushing headache, he slid off of the barstool with a sudden loss of balance. Goyle didn't say another word, but rather he continued to watch Draco regain his steady stance and then lean over the bar as if he were attemtping to reach something beyond it. However, instead of trying to prance directly over it, he slumped his upper torso down on top of it and buried his visage into his arms. Face down on the slippery bar, Draco let out a long and drawling groan. Rather slowly, he said back to the pale Malfoy, "Draco? Draco, can you stand up? I need you to stand up, OK?"

But Malfoy did no such thing. Instead, he lifted one of his hands from underneath his throbbing skull and motioned at his empty glass for another refill. Goyle's eyes widened and he almost choked on his own spit. He stood up from his own seat and leaned forward to knock down the pleading hand of his friend. "Oh, no you don't, mate," he said and then he thrust his hand into his trouser pocket, retrieving whatever the remainder of Draco's bill had been. He thrust the coins quickly atop of the surface of the bar and looped one of his massive arms underneath Draco's, lifting him into somewhat of a wobbly stance.

With Draco pitched up against his side, Goyle led the way out of the dimly lit pub and, once he'd brought his stuttering friend out into the middle of the street, allowed him to lean back up against the building's brick wall to steady himself. The nightlife at Hogsmeade had just begun to die down and the last of the late night guests were beginning to retreat back to their homes. They gave Draco and Goyle befuddled glances as they passed, but carried on unknowingly all the same. When he was sure that the majority of the stragglers had gone on their way, Goyle gave Malfoy another inquisitive look over. He shook his head slowly and then let out a large exhale, his eyes finding Draco's captivating ones. However, it was Draco who was the first of the two to speak. He tilted his head to one side and whispered all too softly, "how do you do it?"

For a moment Goyle stood silently, wondering if he'd heard his friend correctly. But once he'd been sure what Draco had asked him, he wasn't entirely sure on how to answer. He ran his hand through his stubby hair once again and asked, "how do I do what?"

"You know," Draco looked somewhat aggravated, as if he felt somewhat too embarrassed to explain. Wrinkling his nose slightly, he seemed to try his hardest not to slur, "how do you manage to go out. I mean, you saw me earlier this afternoon, you said, right? Goyle, that was hours ago. How do you stay out for so long?"

"How do I get out? Draco," Goyle said, his shoulders shrinking, "Draco, it's been five years."

Although Draco didn't seem to see how that had made any difference. He said with a complete tone of seriousness, "they'll throw fruit at you, you know." Now it was Goyle's turn to stand, utterly confused. Nodding carefully, Draco continued his mumbling speech matter-of-factly, "You've got to watch out for that. Comes out from nowhere."

For a moment Goyle seemed to take it all in; his drunk friend, the view of Hogsmeade after hours. The sinking feeling in Goyle's massive chest signified that he'd truly hoped his friend had managed to keep himself composed over the last several years. He didn't say a word, but instead kept his eyes locked on Draco's sweating face. Though after a moment's time, neither of the two had thought of anything much to say. They stood in their own form of bitter quietness and then Goyle shifted his weight nervously. At his friend's perplexed silence, Goyle let himself ramble. "Draco, those five years really got me thinking, you know? I mean, really got me thinking and, I reckon all that thinking was good for me. My father was a raging lunatic. I don't even remember much about his funeral expect that he died an old man, bitter and resentful. I don't even know what I was thinking back then. Blimey, it seems like centuries ago."

As if he'd been attempting to lunge forth and rest a supportive hand on his friend's burly shoulder, Draco leaned forwards, but missed his shot by a good mile. He stumbled in his drunken state and his forehead collided into Goyle's broad shoulder with a little moan. Goyle looked down at Malfoy, suddenly shocked and aware as to whether or not to pull him off. But with his face pressed into Goyle's wide chest, Draco said muffled, "I've been thinking too, Goyle."

With a tiny hint of newfound hope, Goyle raised his eyebrow. He looked down at the top of Malfoy's strikingly blond hair and asked quietly, "you have?"

Still leaned up against Goyle's front, Malfoy only nodded. "Alright," Goyle said with a little smile. He helped Draco back up off of him and then grabbed his friend's thin arm, throwing it around his own shoulder with a slight grunt. Although Goyle was almost several inches taller than the lean blond, he bent down at the knee and gently swiped Draco's hefty peacoat from his grasp. At the absence of his coat, his hand fell loosely to his thin side and he gave a slight laugh at his own awkward footing.

Goyle watched Draco as he swayed on the ground for a longer than a moment and then continued his infant-like walking. His hazy eyes looked around the empty alleyway for a moment and then, just as he seemed to have spotted something, he strode forward with one last bemused and pathetic giggle. "Goyle," he whispered, eyes wide, "did you see that?" He began his drunken sway towards a rather tiny object at the end of the alley, his head cocked to the side in full curiosity.

But Goyle merely shrugged. Letting his head flop back, blank without interest, he said wearily like a child being dragged on a shopping outing, "Draco, I don't see anything." But the blond continued forward and, once he'd reached the far end of the alley, he swooped down and brought the little black thing up. He analyzed it restlessly and when he'd managed to stumble back to Goyle, the little thing keeping hold on just an ounce of his attention. When he came within several inches of Goyle's front, he extended his hand out barely and let the little object flash in the night's light. "What is it?" Goyle asked, though his voice was flat with lack of apathy.

But when Malfoy only shrugged, Goyle leaned in and pried the black thing from his thin fingers. "A two way radio?" He asked, arching an eyebrow, "this is a Muggle toy. Why on earth would this be around here?" He tried looked around the alleyway and prepared to hurdle the radio back down the depths of the alley. But Draco made a quick move towards it and whisked it from Goyle's thick hands before he could even begin to reel backwards. "You want this?" Goyle said, his brow arched in curious disposition. Draco, red in the face, nodded vibrantly yes.

"OK," Goyle said again, looping Draco's thin arm around his neck once more, "let's get you home."

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With the slender body of Draco perched at his side, Goyle had led the two of them out of the village and down the streets. They'd wandered in that lopsided fashion through the back of allies, and past the yards of sleeping houses. It had been, considering the circumstances, a rather silent night, though even Goyle couldn't flush out the drunken ramblings of Draco Malfoy. Up against his friend, Draco's mouth ran on about pubs, Hogsmeade, and drink all together. But when Goyle was sure he'd mutter, "I mean, who throws a tomato? Honestly?" he'd entirely stopped listening.

They had just about made it though the shrubbery that rest like an emerald hiding place in front of Malfoy's grand home. In the night under the moonlight, the Malfoy Manor looked large and daunting and just as the two neared the two large kissing gates, Goyle unraveled Malfoy's arm from around his massive neck and stretched himself back out. "How are you parents?" Goyle said, once they'd engaged in a long stare at the place. He watched Malfoy sniff noisily and attempt to walk forward, his arms held slightly outward as if he were on the small exterior of a balance beam.

"Fine, thanks," he said with slight hurry, as if he truly did not want to further discuss the matter. "They're going to be pretty upset once I go in there."

Goyle nodded with a smirk, "oh, there's no doubt about it. That's pretty inevitable."

Malfoy let out another slight groan. Once he'd reached a satisfactory point in front of Goyle, he lifted his left arm and whipped his runny red nose with the sleeve of his nice white shirt. He analyzed the sleeve and then, he brought his arm back down to his side and asked nervously, "how do I look?"

"Ah." Goyle gave Malfoy one last look up and down. To be honest, Malfoy appeared to be exactly what he was at that moment-- a swaying drunk. His once perfectly slicked back hair had come undone, several individual pieces hanging in front of his sweaty forehead. His white button up shirt was rolled up at one sleeve, revealing his Dark Mark, and the other one seemed to hang loosely off of his other. His eyes were red and wide and bloodshot. The top several buttons at the neck of his shirt had come undone and half of the collar lolled off of his pointed shoulder. The bottom of it was only semi-tucked into his black trousers. The matching black tie around his neck looked almost knotted at the middle of his front and rest there uneven. "To put it nicely," Goyle said, wincing slightly, "you'd better be a pretty good liar."

At Goyle's honest revelation, Malfoy straightened his posture at once. He raised his shaky hands and slumped his hair back into its usually neat place. His hands then found his tie and rearranged it feverishly. He buttoned the top of his shirt back up and took to hastily stuffing his shirt back underneath his leather belt. He slid the sleeve back down and concealed the mark on his pale forearm. Then he whipped his dark peacoat back over his shoulders and rubbed the tip of his nose, as if to try and rid himself of the red color. He swallowed hard and then flashed his friend a nervously guilty glance, expecting him to take back his words at once. Malfoy's awaiting stance slumped, his hands now deep inside his pockets. With his eyes locked into Gregory Goyle's, he said honestly, "well, since when have I ever not been a good liar?"

Even Goyle couldn't help himself. He laughed, shaking his head and watched Draco spin on his heels, walking dizzily towards his massive house. He seemed to concentrate on each foot as it was brought in front of the other. And then, earnestly, Goyle called forward, "Draco! Hey, Draco!" Once again Malfoy whirled around on the spot. He looked back at Goyle with glazed over eyes and tilted his head drunkenly to the side. "Watch yourself, OK?"

But Draco didn't stay to chat. He lifted his long and thin finger and pointed it back at Goyle before turning back around and beginning his stagger towards the manor. He stood, unsure, by the large front doors momentarily taking in the scene. He breathed in, his chest rising, and then pushed them open.

The darkness of the house seemed to come as a surprise to him. Grateful, he pressed his back up against the doors and twisted the lock at the front. He resisted the urge to slide down the large doors, but in his hurry, he began his tip-toeing along the marble flooring. However, his anxious glide had stopped all too quickly; through the arch in the wall the glowing light of a single candle lit up the otherwise dark living room.

The voice of his father made his heart stop cold. Lucius Malfoy called out to his son with an emotionless tone, "Ah, Draco. How nice of you to join us."

Vonne: Reviews make me :)
My plan is to update 'High Hopes Down' very soon. Keep a look out for it.