Jade – I'm so glad you're reading and enjoying! I like Cara too… and who would want Draco out of character? He's so, um, intriguing the way he is… *licking lips*
MetroDweller – After Book 5, I just can't see Harry staying quite as sweetly naïve as he has been… In my twisted world, Harry's got a little bit of mess to work through before he's ok again. (Anyone smell the foreshadowing? Heh heh heh)
**To all readers – this chapter contains what in America is underage drinking, although I believe it's legal in Britain. Either way, don't complain, it's just a story and part of my plot.
Chapter 21
Draco didn't drop his wand; his hand was steady and level as he pointed it between Potter's eyes. "What do you want, Potter?" he said coldly.
The other boy seemed to be ignoring the fact that Draco had a drawn wand on him – something either very brave or very stupid. Instead, he reached down and came up with a package in his hands, saying something soft to someone below, then he dropped the trap door shut. Draco didn't move.
Potter seemed to eye him in the cold darkness of the Astronomy Tower, his eyes glittering in the dark. For a brief moment, Draco felt his head begin to ache, pressure beginning to well behind his eyes…
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he hissed, fingers tightening on his wand, still trained on the Boy Wonder.
Potter seemed to blink, and then a weary expression flashed over his face before he turned away. Draco kept still, following the other's progress as he strolled over to a nearby bench, dropping down to sit casually, package next to him.
"You might as well put that away, I'm not about to draw mine," Potter said mildly, opening the package. He pulled out a short, squat bottle that looked vaguely familiar and proceeded to unscrew the top and lift it to his lips. He took a long swallow before lowering it and looking back to Draco. He held the bottle up. "Figured you could use some, too."
Draco's mind worked furiously. Was this some kind of trick? What was Potter trying to pull, here?
A corner of the other boy's mouth lifted in a rather uncharacteristically sardonic smile. "Ron's watching the door, no one's coming in tonight." The smile twisted a bit more. "Hermione's helping him, although she's probably still muttering foul things about the evils of liquor. Poor Ron."
Draco stood a moment longer, before slowly, he lowered his wand. Potter still held the bottle up and out. Another moment passed, and then Draco shoved his wand in his pocket, and reached for the bottle. He squinted at it in the dark. Ogden's finest. Well, well, well, apparently Perfect Potter had a 'bad' side after all. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took one long swallow. It burned all the way down his throat, landing in his stomach with a fiery heat that wasn't unwelcome.
He handed the bottle back as he sat. "I still don't like you, you know," he said.
Potter shrugged as he took another drink. "I don't like you much, either."
Draco accepted it back. "Where did you get this?" he asked.
Potter snorted as Draco swallowed. "Ron got it from one of his brothers. He was saving it for a special occasion."
Draco grimaced as he passed the bottle again. "So many damn Weasleys," he said. "I don't like them, either."
Potter grinned as he lifted the bottle. "They aren't terribly fond of you, either. Probably no one but Cara and Professor Stone are, actually."
Draco shrugged and stared out at the night sky. "Yeah," he muttered.
The next hour, half hour, two hours, he wasn't sure, passed in what became an increasingly pleasant blur of silent brooding and drinking. He and the other boy next to him seemed absorbed in their own thoughts, their own problems.
It was Draco, who to his own surprise broke the silence first. "I can't keep Cara," he said, slurring his words a bit.
"At least you've had her," Potter mumbled. "I can't have anyone. Fucking Voldemort."
Draco laughed harshly and reached for the bottle again. "Everyone who gets mixed up with the Malfoy's doesn't come out without scars. I bet Cara's got some beauties right now." He took a hard swallow. It had stopped burning on the way down several inches of liquor ago.
Potter slumped until he was sitting on the ground, propped against the bench, staring up at the sky. "She loves you," he said slowly, carefully.
Draco snorted and took another swallow. "So?" he said bitterly. Meanwhile his chest got tight with a great thump.
Potter rolled his head around and stared at him in the dark. "You can't throw away love," he said. Those freaky green eyes glittered in the dark. "It comes around to bite you in the ass." He reached for the bottle, Draco handed it over. "And Cara'll probably fucking kill you before she lets you shove her off."
Draco got an image of Cara storming in and banishing his socks, and his mouth turned over in an admittedly soppy grin. Hell, he was drunk. He was allowed. "She banished my socks once," he said.
Harry swallowed and smirked. "Probably got that one from Ginny," he said. "She likes to use it on her brothers." The smile turned melancholy, and Draco was just drunk enough to be curious about it. "Did it to me once, before school started."
"You've got a thing for the Weasleyette," Draco realized with the one remaining part of his brain that wasn't currently or on its way to being pickled.
Now it was Potter's turn to sound bitter. "Can't," he said. "I've got to kill fucking Voldemort," he drew out the name in a long, harsh sound. "People around me are going to die. I can't have anyone."
Draco slid down to sit on the cold stone floor himself, his head spinning a bit as he did. Shit, he'd had more than he'd realized. "Can't throw away love," he mocked. "It'll bite you in the ass."
Potter laughed, an explosive and jarring sound in the cold, still night. "That's you. Me, I've got to have a date with fucking destiny. Damn Dumbledore."
"What, Potty gone off his hero?" Draco sneered, although it fell a bit flat, due to the alcohol.
"I'm the hero, didn't you know? Gotta save the whole damn world, or it's hell on earth. No one asked fucking me if I wanted the damn prophesy." Potter was mumbling now, and Draco's head was beginning to ache again, this time a shallow pain inside his head that was steadily building.
"Potter!" he finally barked, reaching over with a foot and kicking the other boy in the shins. "Quit, damn it! I don't know what you're doing, but it bloody hurts!"
The pain stopped abruptly, and Potter scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm drunk," he said, dropping his hand and tilting his head back. "Got less control that way. Sorry."
"Just quit," Draco muttered. The working part of his brain was recoiling at the fact that he was sitting, drinking and having a conversation with Harry Potter, long-time nemesis. "Why can't the old man do it himself?"
This time the laugh was loud and bitter. "Goddamn prophesy, that's why. One can't exist while the other lives. Kill or be bloody well killed." Potter pointed a wobbly thumb at himself. "That's me."
Draco shut his mouth. He was having trouble processing it all, and at the moment didn't really care. "Life sucks," he said. And reached for the bottle.
"Yeah," Potter muttered.
**********
Draco must have slept, or passed out, or something, because the next thing he knew, he was sitting with a crick in his neck and really cold feet in the pale morning sun. He squinted against the light, resisting the urge to groan. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He'd raided his father's liquor before, sometimes with company, sometimes without. It depended on whether he'd been partying or trying to drown a beating. He knew a hangover when it smacked him upside the head.
There was movement a few feet away, and Draco whipped his head around too fast, and had to swallow the bile. Potter groaned. "Goddamn, I hate the morning after," the other boy muttered. The black-haired boy lifted his head and looked over at Draco, green eyes narrowed against the light.
Draco glared at him. "I don't like you," he gritted out.
Potter snorted and then winced. "Same here," he said before taking a breath and pushing to his feet. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered, clutching his head. "Hope Hermione's got over being mad to give me something for a hangover."
Draco just sat and watched the other boy make his way to the trap door, lift it, and gingerly start to climb down. "Potter," he finally said, as the boy was halfway gone. A green gaze met his own. Draco couldn't say the words, not to the person who'd been his worst enemy, outside of his father, for so long. Instead, he just gave a stiff nod, ignoring the roll of his stomach as he did.
Potter stared at him a moment, and then one corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah, fuck you, too, Malfoy," he said. And then he disappeared.
Draco sat and stared out at the early morning, spread across the cold, frozen grounds of Hogwarts. He'd gotten drunk with Potter last night, admitted he loved Cara to his worst enemy. Although he wasn't sure if he was allowed to call the other boy that now. Could you share a bottle of firewhiskey and still be enemies?
Draco sneered to himself. Sure, why not, he decided. He wasn't about to get buddy-buddy with Potty. He just maybe wouldn't wish for his death anymore.
He frowned at that thought, words from last night rattling around his brain. Something about killing… he couldn't remember. What he did remember was Potter saying something about Cara…
Potter rolled his head around and stared at him in the dark. "You can't throw away love," he said. Those freaky green eyes glittered in the dark. "It comes around to bite you in the ass." He reached for the bottle, Draco handed it over. "And Cara'll probably fucking kill you before she lets you shove her off."
Draco groaned aloud this time. Fuck. Cara. Love. When in Merlin's name, he wondered gloomily, had things gotten so complicated? Malfoy's did not fall in love. It was an unwritten rule. They made pure-blooded marriages with wealthy families, had appropriate heirs, and kept their lineage clean and cold. He stared out at the grounds. Cara wasn't clean and cold. She was messy and wild and warm and so very enveloping, in her very genuine realness.
He sighed. What was he going to do?
**********
Cara came awake slowly, and groaned as she realized she was aching and stiff as a board. Dammit. She hated the hospital beds. You'd think they'd be the most comfortable in the school, since you were already miserable if you had to sleep in one of them, but noooo…
Madam Pomphrey came bustling in, interrupting her thought process. "Good morning, Miss McDouglas," she said chirpily. "You're awake, right on schedule." She started pouring all sorts of liquids into a glass. "Drink this," she ordered.
As expected, it was foul and nasty and Cara gagged as she tried to swallow. Meanwhile the matron was bustling about. "You're fortunate, Professor Stone was able to heal the worst of your injuries," the matron was saying. "That crucio potion, really, quite effective. Mr. Malfoy was able to leave last night…"
Cara's head whipped around at that. "Draco's ok?" she asked anxiously. Last thing she could remember was pointing her wand haltingly at Bellatrix's back as Draco had stumbled in front of her…
Madam Pomphrey sniffed. "Quite so," she said. "I imagine he'll be in later this morning to see you, judging by the way I had to keep him out last night." The matron was still muttering as she went through a curtain and disappeared.
Cara shifted in the narrow bed and stared at the white curtains that hung about her bed. Draco… Bellatrix was either dead or in jail, she realized. It was over. She started to smile before another thought hit her. It was over, she thought again. Oh god. She took a deep breath. She had the sickening feeling that Draco was going to try and force her away, that last night would have scared him that much.
She pressed a hand to her sore stomach, half her brain wondering how that had happened, and took another breath. She was a Gryffindor. He could run, but he couldn't hide, she thought determinedly.
"Madam Pomphrey?" she called and swung the blankets away, wincing a bit as she did. "I'd like to get up…"