Draco Malfoy sat in the back of the Prickly Arse pub, nursing an empty brandy glass and wondering what the hell his life had become. His table was the only one with patrons around it… two tables actually, which were pushed together for a poker party of eight who had passed out right in the middle of a game, leaving coins piled in the middle of the table. Cards lay face down, some still pressed to the player's chests. The dealer slumped over, his arm protecting the remaining deck from pilferers, even in his sleep.

Or at least that's how he had made it appear.

Eight-thirty in the morning was far too late to finish the hand, and yet far too early to rouse them from their drunken stupor. Draco didn't mind sitting watch over their sleeping arses. He was just glad they were all there. Relieved they were still alive.

Sounds from behind him caused his body to stiffen and stare into the darkened hallway. Clinking glass. Shuffling bodies. None of it good.

Last night was his birthday.

Let's sum up twenty-one years so far:

Coward.

Coward.

Patsy.

Coward again.

Broke and desperately in love with the one person in the world who believed him capable of redemption, and drove a stake through their relationship by stubbornly consorting with the deep dark undercurrent of the magical world.

Also, he had no friends.

Well, maybe these blokes. They all had his back. On a good day. If he bribed them enough, or got them drunk. Definitely, if he did both.

He picked up the cards he'd left at the table and stared at his hand. A straight flush of hearts, King high. He would have won this round if it hadn't been for the interruption.

Long, dark hair in a dress that barely left anything to the imagination appeared from the back hall. Lithe, pale arms and legs that could both wrap around him and strangle him in equal measure moved into the main room. Draco looked up at the face that shifted with the shadows.

"Malfoy," she'd said the first time when she'd paraded a sorry line of barely living beings through the pub at two in the morning.

That was it. Not, "how are you?" or, "oh, I see you're with someone, I'll come back later."

Draco had hastily cast a Sleeping Charm over the poker table before his guests could ask questions. He'd hoped against hope that she would conclude her business and leave. Except that hadn't happened.

Obviously.

"Malfoy."

That's how she greeted him now as she walked towards him with the sun barely showing through the front window of the pub. A long strand of hair dislodged from behind her ear, revealing a clumped up, crusty sheen. He tried not to think about what that would be.

Draco put his hand of cards face down on the table and turned his chin up. "Are you satisfied?"

"I need more of your product."

Her eyes became slits and the skin above her upper lip swelled. "With the extra additive," she said smoothly, as if she were ordering a mixed drink.

In a way, she was.

"Who are those people?" she asked pointedly. Defensively. She might even have a hint of hunger in her eyes.

Draco cleared his throat. "These are my friends," he said. For now, but she didn't need to know that. She also wasn't welcome to them. They were passed out, oblivious, and not on the menu.

"My friends," she said, drawing out the word, "have gotten into something dangerous. Your normal stash wasn't enough to cure them. They need a stronger remedy. As soon as humanly possible."

The way she said 'humanly' was also a warning sign, as if she did not include herself in the description.

"I thought you lot were smarter than that," Draco said.

"We thought we had something, and it turned out to be something else. Rumors aren't always as accurate as one would like to think. We didn't know we were dealing with cursed blood."

Cursed blood? What exactly had they gotten into?

Nevermind. He did not want to know.

"What am I supposed to do about it?" he asked, unable to keep the sullen whine out of his tone.

He knew better than to get too snappy with her, but it was his birthday, for Merlin's sake. Or had been when she'd interrupted the game last night. Merlin have mercy on him, there was an untouched cake in the cooler behind the bar.

"You have the goods to get them out of it."

Draco wasn't worried that she brought up the mention of his goods in front of their present company. Half of the people around the table had sampled his goods last night. A few of them were long-time customers.

But it annoyed him that she would bother him on his birthday. Didn't these people hold anything sacred?

He did the one thing he shouldn't do in the face of danger. He hesitated.

"If you need proof, I'll just bring them out here and we'll see how bad off they are…"

"No, wait." Draco scraped his chair away from the table. "How much more do you need?"

"How much do you have?"

"I haven't had time to replenish my stock since…"

His words died with the large clink of gold on the table. It was enough to make the players around the table suck in a collective breath. If they had been conscious.

That gold probably came from someone who was no longer breathing. He saw the dried blood on it. Held her gaze. The standoff wouldn't last long.

Make your move. Make it smart. Or it might be your last.

"Sorry, lads," he said to the sleeping poker table. "I'm afraid we will have to reschedule."

Collective groans rose from around the table. Great. Now, they were waking up.

"C'mon Malfoy. Can't you just deal her in? She's obviously loaded."

He spoke for the woman before she could lose her temper. Because that was never a good thing. "She's not here for games."

He swiped the Galleons away, upsetting the pile in the middle, sending the card players scrambling to redistribute the wealth on the table.

They muttered and groused and thankfully kept it mostly to themselves.

"Coffee's behind the bar," he said, getting up. They were angry, but this woman was deadly. He'd only seen people cross her once.

And then he never saw or heard from those people again.

He would have to choose how to handle this wisely. Vampires were notorious for breaking all the rules, but drinking directly from, or turning wizards, was expressly forbidden. They might not dare to drain the blood directly from his veins, but they could still smite him in an instant once he lost his usefulness.

Or worse, they could smite someone else in his place. If only to teach him a lesson about respect and responsibility.

Wizard blood was a marvelous cure-all for vampires, temporarily increasing their speed and strength. If they had too much of it, they went bat shit crazy. Draco's cocktail of animal blood, tinged with a hint of his own blood and then laced with a sedative potion made them feel fantastic… and sluggish, reducing the danger. They usually paid handsomely for the doses and then go home (or wherever they slink off to) feeling invincible yetand groggy.

Goose pimples raised on his flesh, reminding him that nothing involving vampires went as planned. Apparently, whatever they'd found in his back room had not done the trick, and this woman was wise enough to wait it out to make sure her minions were cured.

"Follow me," he said and led her to the room in the back, the room where he made questionable deals to stay alive.

She gave him one of her winning smiles. "Don't worry, love. You're safe. We know the rules."

Draco forced himself to relax, while on the inside he was still wound as tight as a wire. As he opened the door and ushered her into his office, he took one look back at the table where his 'friends' were probably cursing his name. Or they were celebrating the money he'd left unclaimed on the table. With friends like those, it was difficult to tell the difference.

Then, out of nowhere, a speeding parchment airplane hit him right between the eyes.

Happy birthday to me.