Agony.
A Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter ficlet. (or a wannabe drabble)
By Aly the WheelerChick
A/n: It can be slash if you want it to be. I'm not sure if it is or isn't. Just something I wrote one night after my mom relapsed. It's been on my hard drive for awhile. I decided it was post-worthy.
Onward fic.
Another victory for Gryffindor.
It was always a victory for Gryffindor.
It was always a victory for Gryffindor and Potter and all those stupid fuckers in the other houses. Draco Malfoy took another sip of the bottle of Scotch that sat on the sink in front of him, and glanced in the bathroom mirror, scowling at his reflection. The taste of the liquor burned pleasantly in his throat. Then he sighed.
He disappointed his father again.
Draco winced, thinking of his father's cane that would be pounded into his shoulders and back. He lost the Quidditch game....to Potter. Ultimate disgrace.
"Yeah. If only I wasn't destined to be a fucking Death Eater. If I wasn't destined to be Voldemort's fucking second in command....or fucking take over the role of playing the Dark Lord." If only, if only...
He picked up the bottle of liquor again and chugged most of it down. The sensation of the alcohol made him feel good. "Fuck being the Dark Lord." He belched loudly. Then he sunk to his knees on the bathroom floor, and slowly crawled over to the window sill, hoisted himself up with all the strength he could muster, and rested there. The bottle of Scotch lay empty on the floor.
~*~
Harry yawned as he trudged his way to the bathroom in the third floor corridor. He won Gryffindor the Quidditch
Final. He won; beat Slytherin.
Except now he was exhausted and all he wanted to do was use the bathroom and then go to his chamber and sleep. And possibly never wake up until the next weekend.
He pushed the thick wood door open, and gasped. he sight was nothing he expected. A bottle of some kind of liquor was laying on the floor, and Draco Malfoy, still dressed in part of his Quidditch robes, was propped up on the windowsill.
And he was sobbing somewhat loudly.
"M-Malfoy....?"
"I'm wallowing in self-pity, go away."
"...you're drunk, aren't you?"
"I'd offer you some but I drank all the Scotch and Flint won't gimme no more....who the hell are you anyway?"
"It's....Harry.....Potter."
"What the fuck do you want Potter, get out of here."
"Well I wanted to go to the bathroom, Malfoy, if you'll excuse me!"
"Be my guest!"
Harry sighed. This was pathetic. He knew he should go and get McGonagall or Madame Pomfrey or somebody....but something told him not to. He did was he came into the bathroom to do, and washed his hands. Malfoy was still lightly sobbing the whole time. Questions flooded Harry's brain.
"How'd you get the liquor anyway?"
"Flint has connections. Our whole team gets wasted when we lose Quidditch." Draco's speech was slurred. He was wasted. Totally wasted.
Harry caught on.
"What's your problem, Malfoy? Why you crying?" Seeing the helpless Slytherin made him feel....somewhat sympathetic. He figured this could make for some blackmail later, if anything.
"Ha, like you care, Potter. My dad's gonna beat me for losing for everyone again."
"...beat you?"
"Oh yeah. He has a ridiculously powerful swing. Once I had bruises on my shoulder for over a month."
"Wait...so lemme get this straight.....your father...abuses...you?"
"S'what those filthy muggles call it....but yeah."
Harry was stunned at what he was hearing. Yeah, Malfoy was too drunk to tell the difference, but Harry knew the boy was telling the truth. And he felt horrible. His aunt and uncle made living conditions difficult...but it was never abuse.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't mention it. S'not like anyone else cares. He's a stupid dickhead...wants me to be a fucking Death Eater...heh...I'd really like to be a Professional Quidditch player, but you see me, I'm no good. I suck at Quidditch."
Harry thought for a moment, and before he could stop himself, he found himself asking, "don't you think you could be better?"
"Nah. I suck." Draco started to sob quietly again, "I just wish I could make the world go away."