Disclaimer: This is all for fun, I do not claim ownership of the characters or anything recognized from the work of JK Rowling. I am only borrowing them.

Warning: Mature themes, subject to change: mild violence, scenes of a sexual nature as well as general innuendo smattered throughout, adult themes including but not limited to death and disease both mental and physical.

[A/N] 4.2.2016 So the little drabble I had written for the Choose Dare challenge blew up a bit on tumblr...so blame brightki for anything that happens henceforth. Thank you for feeding this plunnie!

This will join the Unlikely saga since at the time of posting this fiction, there were less than 50 works with this pairing.

Playlist: Take Me to Church - Sinead O'Connor | Afraid of Everyone - The National | Relief Next to Me - Tegan and Sara

-Unum-

Draco Malfoy kept a close record of all the things in his life that he could blame on Harry Potter. Mentally, of course, since such a list would be horrendously degrading if it ever fell into the hands of the Prophet or heaven forbid Granger.

"That reminds me, I need to owl her about dinner."

No one answered him. He didn't expect them to, anyway.

Draco sat alone in his flat, purchased outright from his personal account, with only the sounds of Diagon Alley below him as a response. Many of the residents of the flats around him had vacated their homes for the evening and likely most of the next few days to celebrate St. Patrick's Day in Ireland. Though many wizards and witches were abroad, the streets below were still filled with droves of people who couldn't afford to travel or the exorbitant prices of the tickets to the Ballycastle Bats.

Though he certainly could afford them, at least since his funds were released from Ministry clutches (war reparations they said), he could not justify spending so many Galleons on a game sure to be a disappointment. The Ballycastle Bats were swiftly out-losing the Chudley Cannons, and would soon undertake them in the league; ridiculous holiday frivolities would serve to make the event more...gauche.

Standing from his armchair facing the ceiling to floor windows of his top floor flat, Draco took care not to spill his drink. The ice clinked softly as he placed it down on the coaster. Mother had insisted on coasters, though he couldn't be bothered to care about the second hand furniture in this second home.

In all honesty he spent more time at the flat than the Manor these days. Once his funds were released, and he had the option to leave the grounds as a free man, nothing stopped him from purchasing this small sanctuary. Though he was certain he'd done so on the sly, he swore his parents just knew. The two of them knew everything!

"Meddlesome," he grumbled to himself.

The walk from the armchair to the bookcase was the first movement he'd made in hours, and it felt stiff and difficult. While snow was a near-distant memory, the outside air still clung to the inside of Draco's lungs surer than the tar from his cigarettes. Cold easily permeated the soft layers of his lungs and deep into the marrow of the bones holding all the pieces together.

He was certain that if anyone would have warned him of the side effects of spending time in Azkaban, his godfather would have, but he got himself killed by a fucking Horcrux like some thrice damned martyr. Severus would have given him a laundry list of problems, even though the man himself was held for a few weeks, perhaps a month, and their remedies. Draco ignored the voice in his head whispering, if he cared to know, he had the time and resources to research his own remedy. Firewhiskey helped to silence those thoughts.

A fire slept within the hearth, cracking now and then to request his attention. Draco ignored it as steadfastly as his conscience or whatever was nagging him since, even as a roaring blaze, it could not defrost the layers of ice within him.

Each step was agony. Granger tutted and fretted over his legs and feet, waving her wand and suggesting this book or that potion, and finally naming his symptoms after some fairytale written by a Muggle he'd never heard of. He all but cursed her when she suggested that he resembled a little mermaid of all things; the surge of his temper had almost chipped a layer into the ice, but not enough to grant him any relief.

No one knew that you could get addicted to Pepper-Up and the warm feeling it created. After the diagnosis, the Healer at St. Mungo's suggested he move someplace warmer like the South Pacific or Caribbean. At the time, Draco was relying more heavily than he'd ever admit on the kindness of Granger and Potter, so he'd nodded like a good patient and gone home to consider the suggestion face down in a pint of cheap ale. Now the prescribed relocation seemed a fool's errand.

"Fuck this," Draco shouted at the empty cooling cabinet. Slamming the door shut he swiped his empty flask from the countertop and his heaviest cloak from the back of the kitchen chair.

Each step was agony, but he would be damned if he stayed inside staring out the window, counting the stars as sleep eluded him, for another night in a row. He would get good and pissed in a bar like a normal person on St. Patrick's Day.