The dirty glass of the window was being battered by the rain. With the wind surging, the dark clouds galloped across the night sky; black riders in the vanguard of an invading storm. The rain attacked the glass in waves, scrubbing the grime into streaks and distorting his reflection.
Draco rested his forehead against the glass for a moment and, looking through his dark twin within the window pane, gazed out at the town. Hogsmeade was a muted creature, squatting in the bleak night, waiting out the storm; cold and alone. He felt the same, despite the light and warmth at his back, the laughter of his Slytherin school friends as they discussed their latest conquests in the realm of romance.
Reflected in the window, out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see Theo Nott, sat beside him. On the opposite seat were Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle and Adrian Pucey - Pucey miming out the assets of his latest flame. The dark-haired, handsome man was keen to show that the girl was quite endowed in the breast department. Draco returned his attention to the town. He had blocked out as much of their conversation as he could, fed up with the inane prattle but the laughter that greeted Pucey's next miming action penetrated his defences. The happiness in it cut through him. Goyle's moronic laugh, always a fraction behind everyone else, was especially grating tonight.
At least they were enjoying themselves, he thought to himself, bitterly. His head swam slightly from the alcohol he had consumed so far that night. They had started early, his friends desperately trying to cheer him up and, until they had reached this particular pub, they had been succeeding. He had lost interest in their conversation shortly after arriving and had merely sat staring out the window, mute and numb. His black pullover felt tight around his throat, restricting his breathing. There was a burning lump at the back of his throat that firewhiskey couldn't seem to shift.
His heart gave a sudden leap as he heard the door to the pub bang open and his head snapped round, blond hair flicking over his eyes. Disappointment filled him when a wizened old witch staggered in, leaning on her heavily decorated cane. He watched with mild amusement as she struggled with the door, the elements forcing their way in and holding the door open. She muttered and gasped as the door fought her until another patron came to her rescue and helped to push the door closed.
With the momentary amusement gone Draco slumped back in the booth – one of five positioned along the back wall of the building – facing the bar, his head against the window again and looking past Theo. The large bar was flanked on either side by roaring fireplaces, facing into the open floor, warding the patrons from the chill, wintry weather. The bar, with its row of high stools, sat between the two fireplaces; its warden was currently in quiet discussion with two goblins that nursed tankards of some frothy concoction. Their conversation was low but intense, the barkeep seemingly on the defensive. Above the bar, a simple clock kept the time. In the open space before the bar were four large tables, each one occupied by a number of witches and wizards in differing quality of clothing – this was not, however, indicative of their rank in the Wizarding world. Draco noted that a shabby looking witch had the ear of a finely dressed wizard and, though it seemed to cause him discomfort to do so, the wizard was agreeing with everything the witch said. In front of each fireplace was another table, vacant due to the proximity of the fires. The right wall of the pub held the door to the latrines but Draco's attention kept straying to the door on the left wall, the front door.
He kept hoping to see her come in, to simply open the door and stroll into his life again. Even if she came sweeping in, like she had that first time; a beautiful, wild-haired, avenging angel tearing him down in front of his peers. Merlin, she had been magnificent!
Four years, four months, fourteen days, ten hours and about fifteen minutes ago… give or take…
Just before 3pm…
"… and the Mudblood said, "I suppose I asked for that really!" The laughter that erupted was loud, raucous and appreciative. Three of the four young men, sat around the table in the Hogsmeade pub, wore similar robes – robes that marked them as students in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the huge edifice that dominated the landscape above the town. The remaining man, only slightly the elder by all appearances, wore simple clothes of a fine cut. In front of each of the four were at least one empty tankard and a couple of empty shot glasses.
One of the four was a hulking figure with small, beady eyes and his short bristly hair sat low on his forehead. He laughed his rasping laugh in a sycophantic way, eyes flicking from man to man, trying to gauge when he should stop laughing; Gregory Goyle had never had the intellect for any form of wit - even a direct and abusive joke about Muggle-borns went over his head. To Goyle's left sat Theo Nott, thin, tall and gangling, his large ears giving him a rabbit-like appearance as he howled with laughter, head thrown back, hands slapping the table in appreciation. Opposite Nott sat Adrian Pucey, the eldest of the four, his short, dark hair topped a handsome face with dark eyes. He leaned back, basking in the adulation of his friends after the telling of another fine joke, whilst slapping the remaining man on the back.
This was because that man was Draco Malfoy, and he was currently bent over, coughing hard as butterbeer tried to escape through his nose. Adrian's joke had caught him out and he had been taking a long pull on his drink when the punch line fell. His blonde hair hung around his face, dripping with butterbeer as he laughed and coughed, choking and snorting as Pucey bashed him on the back repeatedly.
Gasping for breath Draco surfaced to renewed laughter (Goyle just a fraction behind everyone else) as they caught sight of his face, wet and blotched from the laughter. Draco joined in, knowing that he looked a mess but still finding the whole thing terribly funny. He did enjoy a good Mudblood joke. He struggled to compose himself, wiping his face on the sleeve of his robe.
"Take it I missed the punch line?" said a tall, dark-skinned, handsome man as he approached the table, leading a barmaid who carried a tray, laden with five tankards and ten small glasses, the latter filled with a dark, amber liquid. As Blaise Zabini took his seat, the barmaid distributed the drinks to each of the men and, with a cheeky wink at Pucey, sashayed away.
"Gentlemen!" declared Pucey, standing and lifting one of the small glasses, a firewhiskey shot. "Here is to you. You should have been at school!" The others laughed, standing and lifting a shot each.
"To the ignorance of Filch, who didn't see us leave!" said Blaise.
"Yeah," muttered Goyle. "He didn't see us leave!"
"To not looking after First Years when some of us should be!" declared Theo, with a wink at Draco.
Malfoy laughed and raised his glass. "To the greatest of our accomplishments… Hermione Granger?" His toast faltered as he saw the all-too-familiar figure of the bushy-haired witch outside, striding towards the door of the pub. Even from this distance he could see the fire in her eyes and knew that shirking his job as first year shepherd was probably a bad idea – especially since his fellow Head of year had found him!
"What?" asked the others, not seeing the banshee descending upon them. Both Theo and Goyle spilled their firewhiskey as the door to the pub smashed against the wall and Hermione Granger stomped into the room.
"DRACO MALFOY!" she yelled in a voice that chilled the air considerably. The other patrons looked for a moment before returning to their business but in a more intense manner than before. Everyone knew of Hermione.
Storming up to the table, Hermione pointed her wand at Draco's face. The sleeve of her robe rode up her arm and his eyes were drawn to the scar on her forearm. He could never see that scar, permanent wounds in Hermione's flesh that spelled "mudblood" – courtesy of his deranged aunt – without a twinge of guilt.
"YOU!" Hermione shouted. "You are supposed to be in the Great Hall with me, looking after the first years! It's the Halloween party tonight and YOU are not where you should be!"
Hermione's tirade sent Goyle staggering backwards, away from the table. Zabini and Nott sat down with a thump and only Pucey seemed unfazed by Hermione's outburst.
"Don't think I haven't seen all of your sycophantic friends here, too!" Her wand pointed at each of them in turn though her eyes never left Draco, who was rooted to the spot – half sitting, shot still in hand. "Goyle, you should be in History of Magic! Zabini and Nott – you too. Pucey…"
"Hey!" Adrian interrupted. "You've got no authority over me, Granger. I left Hogwarts over a year ago and your rules don't apply to me."
Pucey's calm leaked away when Hermione's baleful gaze turned to him. "You have helped four Hogwarts students skip their duties and classes and helped them get alcohol during school hours. I also know that you should be at work in the Ministry, your lunch break finished twenty minutes ago and your boss is going to be investigating your absence very shortly."
Pucey's confident smile faded completely by this point. "Wha… why… why would…"
"Because he is about to receive an anonymous letter, by owl, declaring you to be missing from your post," Hermione said primly, recovering some of her poise. Tilting her head back slightly, she returned her gaze to Draco, who still hadn't moved. Over the sound of Pucey Disapparating, Hermione spoke to Draco, calmly, with a layer of frost. "You are going to accompany me back to Hogwarts and help keep the First Years in line. Do that, and I will ignore this infraction of Hogwarts rules, just this once."
Draco felt his anger rising now. How dare she just come in and break up this gathering, she acted like she owned the place! "Not going to happen, Granger. Blaise just bought us all fresh drinks and we are going to enjoy them first." He settled down, leaning back, his grey eyes flashing with defiance. "That's the way it's going to be."
The others slowly settled down around the table, following Draco's lead, pointedly picking up their glasses and looking at Hermione, waiting for her to leave.
She looked around at the group, sighing with frustration. "So, that's your final word then, Malfoy?" When Draco nodded she tossed her head angrily. "When your drink is gone you'll come back up to the castle?"
"With unseemly haste, ma'am," Draco said silkily, a sneer crossing his lips. Part of him was worried about the small smile that appeared on Hermione's face – she was up to something.
"Fine."
Reaching across the table, she plucked the firewhiskey from Draco's hand and drank the shot in one. As the glass slammed down, she had already picked up his second shot. It disappeared as quick as the first, the glass hitting the table as she snagged his pint of butterbeer from the tray. Draco and the other Slytherins could only watch in silent wonder as Hermione tilted back her head and drank the butterbeer in surprisingly few gulps. Draco could not take his eyes from her and was startled back to reality when she slammed the tankard down, cleared her throat with a delicate shudder and grabbed him by the collar. "No more drink, now move!"
Hauled out of his chair and propelled towards the door, Draco looked to his fellow House mates for help. Each one held up their hands, or shrugged. Goyle waved hesitantly. It was clear that they wanted no part of Hermione now, not in this mood.
Draco was pushed outside, into the cold air, and instantly felt a little light headed from the alcohol. Someone barged into his back and there was a high pitched squeal and a scuffling sound. Turning quickly, Draco caught Hermione as her feet slipped out from under her, the mud from the recent rain making the well-used path treacherous. His arms wrapped around her, hers were flung about his neck and Draco felt his own legs tremble and threaten to slip in the mud.
For a long time, the pair of them were frozen, staring into one another's eyes, embracing each other, both at the point of falling to the floor. He could feel her breath on his cheek, see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes, and the curve of her lips.
Then, Hermione gathered her feet underneath her and pulled herself upright with a small laugh. "Sorry, I think the whiskey has gone to my head." Malfoy still held onto her and her hands gripped him tightly.
"You could have just knocked the glasses over, rather than drinking them," Draco said, quietly, captivated by her gaze.
Clearing her throat she pulled out of his grip and stepped away. "Yes, well, that would have been wasteful. Besides, it's cold out and I'll be glad of the extra warmth for the walk back up." Turning quickly, she strode up the slope towards the castle, all business again. "Come along now."
Draco stood for a moment, still feeling the warmth of her body in his arms and wondered what had just happened. It had felt like electricity racing through his body when her eyes met his. There had been a moment when he had felt this wild urge to kiss her. And there had been a hint of a blush on her pale skin when she had spoken about extra warmth. Shoving his hands in his pockets he stomped after her. Whatever it was it was, over and not likely to be repeated, thankfully; feelings like that were just not natural.
A surge of frozen rain, shards of hail raking across the glass, rattled the window in its frame and brought Draco back to the present. The storm was in full force now, the wind howling through the town. It definitely matched his mood now, Draco thought with a grunt, bleak and cold.
He thought about how his relationship with Hermione had changed after their encounter in Hogsmeade. It had started with him simply being impressed with her drinking skills. He had also quite liked her demand for order and control, to be heard and obeyed – so much precision in her actions, so very like a Malfoy. She had been a prissy know-it-all before, a bossy little madam who thought she was better than everyone. But another side had been revealed to him that day, a side that had never been seen by him.
He had been determined to find out more.
The remainder of the year had seen Draco Malfoy pursuing Hermione Granger with diligence and focus – he needed to know her and what he wanted, he got, no matter the cost. Hermione had been confused by his new attitude towards her but eventually found herself relaxing with him, talking normally, rather than always on the verge of hitting him with something. And she called him "Draco" instead of "Malfoy" or "Ferret". They still argued, heatedly at times, but it never became a problem between them.
They became closer still and, one night later that year, just before Christmas, they became lovers. It had been an accident really, as much as that sort of thing could be an accident; she didn't exactly trip and fall onto him, but firewhiskey played its part again. The first time had been a surprise, the second time even more so.
But now it was all over between them.
A gloriously, wonderful four years, gone - all because Lucius Malfoy had forbidden Draco permission to marry a Mudblood. A dalliance had been one thing but marriage? Never! The arguments had been extraordinary, the Malfoy men's explosive tempers unleashed in the privacy of Lucius' study. He was amazed it had never come to blows.
"Oi, Draco!" yelled Theo suddenly, breaking through his reverie. "Cheer up! You're bringing us all down with your mood. Have another shot of Blishen's!" The other lads laughed and encouraged him to join in as Theo poured another shot from the bottle of Blishen's Firewhisky.
"Ah," said Blaise, dismissively after a few moments. "He's still pining over his lost love isn't he?"
Over the sound of the others laughing and mockingly sympathising with him, he heard Pucey's voice. "You're better off shot of her, mate. Dirty blood like that can only bring you down."
In an instant, Malfoy had a hold on Adrian's collar and dragged him across the booth. "Don't you ever talk about Hermione like that again, you hear me? Never!" The others looked stunned for a moment, Pucey just stared at Draco, goggle-eyed and frightened at the fire in his friend's voice.
"Alright, Draco, alright," he stammered. "Easy now, I'm sorry."
"Ease up Malfoy," Blaise muttered, gently helping to extricate Pucey from Draco's grip, the older man starting to go purple from the pressure. "Come on, we're all friends here. Adrian didn't mean anything by it, did you, Pucey?"
Adrian shook his head, still struggling to speak past the pain in his throat as the clock above the bar gave off a tinkle and a chime to signal the hour – 1 o'clock in the morning. Draco grabbed his coat and, stepping over Theo, left the booth and headed for the door. His friends protested, begged him to stay but Draco muttered something that was indistinguishable and stalked out of the pub.
"Draco! How've you been?" called a figure in light coloured robes, made dark by the rain. Draco ignored him, still muttering under his breath as he shrugged into his coat and took a step forward, turning on the spot. With a sharp bang, like a Weasley firecracker exploding, Draco Malfoy Disapparated away from Hogsmeade – the echo rolled around the town, accompanied by the rumble of the thunder as the storm flexed its muscles.