Promise Me
He sat alone, a bottle of gin in his hand. It was difficult to get drunk these days. He was running low on the liquor and he knew he would run out of it before he would be discovered. His lips carried a ghost of a smile at the thought. A bitter one, filled with shame.
He had run away, of course, the coward he was. He had no spine to join the order, yet he was too fearful of the dark lord to return as a death eater, so he had simply isolated himself from it all.
Tipping the hard, bitter liquid into his throat, he was reminded of Slughorn. A Slytherin through and through, he thought. After all, he too had run away and gone into hiding.
Draco wondered, for the briefest of moments, if he could just Avada himself. No one would miss him, he mused, except for maybe…
No.
He refused to allow himself to think her name. He took another swig of the gin. He hated the taste, and he resisted the urge to retch. However, he forced himself to swallow, reminding himself that he deserved the torturous taste. Maybe he wasn't brave enough to die. But he was coward enough to live pathetically. Or maybe it was that he was pathetic enough to live a coward? It didn't matter.
"Draco."
His head took a few seconds to snap up at the voice— at her voice. The alcohol was taking its toll.
"You shouldn't be here." He said blankly.
He took in her matted brown hair, her wildly desperate brown eyes that were so damn plain yet so filled with those pathetic, useless stars of hope flecked with specks of strength and resilience and —
He closed his eyes, pinching between his eyes. When he stood up the room swayed for a second, and his bottle crashed to the ground, the glass shattering like the remnants of the Order.
"What the hell are you doing here Granger?" The words came out fuzzy and twisted, reflecting the feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Her damn brown eyes narrowed.
"Do you know," she began, her voice quivering on what he presumed to be anger, "how long it took to fucking find you?"
"How did you get through the wards?"
"That's not important."
She looked at the shattered glass on the floor, and her eyes hardened.
"You're drinking again."
"Damn right I am."
"I told you that it doesn't help. By God, Malfoy, drinking away your sorrows isn't ending this war—"
"Oh, like running around with Saint Potter is?" He snapped.
Just like that, his careful stoic exterior shattered like his gin. It had been a long time since she had called him Malfoy. He realized suddenly, that Draco was much more natural when it came out of her mouth. It was often stiff, unnatural, and much too filled with grandeur when others uttered it. Draco. The name itself commanded royalty, demanding a sense of awe and respect. Draco. But when it came out of her mouth, he found that all of it slipped away. Five letters, and when it came out of her mouth, it was enough to strip him to his soul.
He almost laughed. He was completely drunk now.
"Running around with Harry is accomplishing much more than just drinking away the war!"
Her voice snapped him out of his reverie. He'd forgotten what they were talking about. He looked at her again, rearranging the stoic mask, and didn't respond.
She took in his haggard, thin face for a beat longer, brown eyes meeting stormy grey. There was hesitation in her expression, and it struck him that she was having a mental battle with herself. But then the moment passed and she seemed composed again, though he saw the resignation in her eyes.
"Look," she started, "you want me gone, don't you?"
No.
"Yes." He shut his eyes.
"Fine, I'll go. But only if you promise me something."
No.
"Alright." He knew what she'd ask.
"Stop drinking. Please." And again those damn brown eyes trembled and Draco found himself hating himself more than he ever had before.
"Okay." He lied.
She hesitated once again, fighting another battle invisible to him, but the moment passed. She knew it was a lie. She took a few more steps closer to him anyway, her shoes crunching over the shards of glass from his forgotten gin. The feeling her so close to him made him almost want to keep his promise. Almost.
She took his hands into her own soft ones, and he realized they were both shaking.
"Pinky promise."
So his finger intertwined with hers for the briefest second, until she swiftly took a step back.
She looked at him, one last time, her brown fucking eyes filled with that same fucking hopeful expression —
And Hermione disapparated.
He stared at where she had been for a heartbeat longer and then his feet moved on their own, stepping over the shattered glass bottle.
He made his way back to the fridge he had kept in the corner and retrieved his last bottle of gin. Sighing, he stumbled back to where he had been sitting.
He took a swig of the gin.
Hey dudes, wassup. heres a one shot that i suddenly had an urge to write. as you might tell, its set in a sort of alternate ending in which draco and hermione had loved before, but the war and their alliances ultimately didnt allow them to be together. (its also inspired by a song somewhat. brownie points if you can guess the song (hint: look at the title))
as always, please let me know what you think by leaving a review or like or anything you can! it means the world to me :)