~two~
A month had passed since Draco's embarrassing evening at Warlocks. Normally, he would have got over such an event by now, but there was something about Granger that he just couldn't shake off. She had undoubtedly impressed him by how elegant and beautiful she had looked that night, but it was more than just that. The way that they had just fallen into such natural, easy and interesting conversation was a breath of fresh air to him, and he knew that it could be a long time before he felt such a spark again.
Draco was deeply thankful that Justin had not in fact 'got lucky' on his date with Hermione as he had hoped. He didn't think that he could have dealt with such awkwardness immediately after the chain of events in the pub the night before, no matter how much he prided himself on being able to present a cool and indifferent exterior.
Draco hadn't thought that it was possible for him to dislike his pompous flatmate any more than he already did, but the fact that he was still dating Hermione only served to firmly prove him wrong. And Malfoys didn't take very well to being proved wrong, especially by such unpleasant characters as Justin Finch-Fletchley. Draco was feeling more and more like he was having his face deeply rubbed in the shit by having a front row seat to their developing relationship.
Justin was, in Draco's opinion, an arrogant and pompous arse, qualities that he recognised all too easily, having been rather an expert in them himself during his younger years. The difference with Justin was that he did an extremely good job of hiding these qualities from certain people, Hermione included.
He took every opportunity he could to get one up on Draco and to belittle him in small, subtle ways that weren't glaringly obvious to outsiders. Being muggle born, Justin clearly still had an axe to grind over Draco's past. Draco himself had simply come to accept this from most people that he encountered after the war. He also felt that he couldn't really complain about Justin's treatment of him, or anyone else's for that matter, seeing as he had escaped doing time in Azkaban and given an unbelievably generous second chance by wizarding society.
Justin's parents had kicked up an enormous fuss when they discovered that their son had been placed in accommodation with Draco at the start of their healer training. However, Justin had outwardly stated that he had no problem with it. He assured them that having spent their eighth year together back at Hogwarts, they had all moved on and that civility reigned supreme.
Narcissa and Lucius had tried to insist that Draco let them buy him a flat of his own rather than him having to share student digs after being accepted onto the healer programme. But Draco had insisted that he didn't want any special treatment that would single him out from the other students. He wanted to have the same experience as all the other student healers and convinced his parents that a flat share would do him good. It would give him the chance to fend for himself, rather than relying on the house elves that his parents had undoubtedly planned to bestow upon him.
The Malfoy's riches and lavish lifestyle was a big point of social debate after the war, with many feeling that the family had got off far too lightly for their crimes. In his efforts to distance himself from his life of privilege, Draco had arranged for his inheritance to be locked down so that he only had minimal access to funds. He was determined to be strict on himself and to make a pointed effort to live more modestly, allowing himself a practical budget each month and sticking within it.
He instead urged his parents to use their wealth to support the post war effort, and, despite Lucius' clear distaste, he had allowed his wife to pursue charitable works. Narcissa had already hosted a number of small fundraising events that were gaining in success and popularity.
It wasn't well-known among his school mates, but Justin actually came from a very wealthy muggle family, and as such had a rather different attitude to using his and his parents' money. His parents had paid for their shared flat to be completely redecorated and had had the finest furniture and muggle appliances installed in Justin's room and the shared areas.
Draco's room of course remained simple and modest, just as he preferred. His mother had wanted to make a contribution to the cost of the renovation, but Draco had firmly insisted that it was not necessary. He hadn't wanted the lavish items in the first place and was not going to let his parents contribute towards Justin's ostentatious needs.
Justin took every opportunity that he could to casually mention to his friends or visitors how it was his parents that had provided it all. This often resulted in shocked looks of disdain in Draco's direction which he would quietly ignore. Justin was a master at casually flashing his wealth and he used this position to his advantage whenever he could and he too had often attracted the attention of many a vapid witch, and had brought many of them back to the flat.
Draco reluctantly admitted to himself that it was like living with an alternative version of himself, from a "no war" universe when he hadn't learnt to change his attitude and beliefs. He often wondered if he was being served with a great big dollop of Justin - shaped Karma, just to serve him right for his past behaviours.
Justin would buy unnecessarily expensive things for the flat - gadgets and furnishings and the like. He would openly encourage Draco to use them and help himself, but then subtly make sure it was known to any visitors who had bought them, thus making himself the generous and forgiving benefactor.
Draco's life since the war had been bound by the rules and restrictions placed on him on account of him not being sent to Azkaban. Every choice he made since then had been granted under strict conditions that he had to adhere to or risk losing everything. He had been allowed to attend Hogwarts in eighth year on the strict condition that he maintained outstanding grades and standards of conduct and his magic had been traced and monitored throughout, like being eleven years old again.
When he was accepted on the healer training course it was again under strict conditions that he maintain the same high grades and standards of conduct. Any undesirable or antisocial behaviours would result in him being immediately expelled from the course. It was for these reasons that Draco quietly ignored his flatmate's behaviour, and when not on placement at the hospital, he spent a lot of time in his room or hanging out with Blaize and Theo elsewhere.
It was quite early that Saturday morning when Draco had woken with a pounding headache and his mouth feeling as dry as a hag's gusset. It was before seven a.m. He had been out and got spectacularly drunk with Zabini and Nott the night before, thanks to Theo's penchant for buying firewhiskey chasers. Draco had been eager to escape the flat, having been listening to Justin's incessant bragging about his plans to take Hermione out to a very expensive restaurant that evening. He had crawled back to the flat at around midnight and necked a few of Justin's cans of muggle lager just to spite him, before passing out into a deep, alcohol induced coma as soon as his blond head had hit the pillow.
Sitting up in bed and scratching his dishevelled head, Draco winced at the pulsating sensation of his brain within. Looking around, he saw his clothes in a pile on the floor and vaguely recalled struggling to keep his balance as he had stripped them off. His boxers were tangled inside his piled and crumpled trousers, having taken them off all in one staggering movement the night before.
Desperate for water, Draco's tongue stuck dryly to the back of his throat, but there was no sign of his wand to conjure up a quick aguamenti. He realised with regret that he must have left it in his jacket, wherever the hell that might be. Probably in the lounge somewhere. He stood up stiffly from the bed, still wearing his novelty Golden Snitch socks that Theo had given him for his birthday along with a copy of Witches' Snitches magazine - a 'top shelf' adult rag which definitely had nothing to do with Quidditch.
He made his way across his dark room. He didn't normally walk around the flat naked, but the thought of bending down to retrieve his underpants was making him feel nauseous and there was zero chance of Justin being up at this hour having been out later than him the night before. Shuffling clumsily like a newly resurrected inferius and yawning widely, Draco walked through his room's doorway and across the dimly lit lounge. He was determined to get himself a pint of water and to try to locate some hangover potion as quickly as possible before returning to bed.
"Don't you rich boys bother with clothes in private?" came a mortifyingly familiar, female voice from over by the window.
"Bollocks!" Draco swore quietly, crashing into the coffee table and grabbing a cushion from the nearest sofa, quickly holding it over his groin to cover his modesty. He slowly looked up to inevitably see a pair of pretty, amber orbs eying him with a blush and a barely contained grin from across the room.