So, I've been writing this story now for about a week and a half (just started working on chapter 6!) I will admit, I kind of have no idea where it's going, but I'm sure I'll find my way.
DISCLAIMER - I own nothing! Suing will get you nowhere!
Chapter 1
News of Lucius Malfoy's death spread like wildfire throughout the wizarding world. It had been the leading headline in the morning paper - Lucius Malfoy, Death by Firewhiskey. Draco Malfoy, the sole heir to the Malfoy fortune, sat in a seedy bar in Knockturn Alley staring at the newspaper. The papers had not gotten their story wrong. In fact, it was the most on the nose piece of journalism he had ever read in the rag.
To his right were four empty glasses turned upside down on the bar. Draco frowned; had he really already drunk four tumblers of firewhiskey? And now there was a fresh glass in front of him. "Like father, like son," he muttered to himself as he downed the fifth drink.
The door to the pub opened as a raucous group of men entered. Draco ordered another drink, muttering to himself about the unruly trash who were allowed in the establishment. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him around on his stool.
"Got something to say, wise guy?" A tall, well muscled man with olive skin and intimidatingly dark eyes towered over him. The man crooked a smile when he realized who he was threatening. "Ah, the Malfoy boy. Following in his daddy's footsteps all the way to the grave."
A lazy smirk quirked up the right side of Draco's mouth. It didn't seem to bother him that the man standing over him was taller and at least twice his weight. He was just too drunk to care.
"Well, if we're following in our fathers' footsteps, yours must have lived in a gutter," the blonde quipped, lifting his glass to his lips. He finished the burning, amber liquid in one swift sip before depositing the glass on the bar top. His senses were dulled from the several shots of firewhiskey, so he didn't react when the angry man pulled back a fist and let it connect with Draco's jaw.
The drunk blonde fell back against the bar, but the hoodlum wasn't done with him. And now, it seemed, his friends wanted in on the action, as well. Draco felt the blow to his left eye, felt the skin around his eyebrow crack open. Blood trickled down from his lip and coated his teeth. But he didn't care, he didn't move, didn't fight back.
Blackness was beginning to swim through his mind from the firewhiskey and repeated blows, and Draco welcomed it. He waited for unconsciousness to completely claim him until he could feel nothing, hear nothing, see nothing. Just as he was slipping under, he felt the sensation of hands on his arms, pulling him towards only God knew where. His skin felt numb, yet achy, as this mysterious savior dragged him out of the fray. A wave of nausea swept over him as the familiar tug of Apparition took hold of him and whoever had a hold on him.
It was warmer now, wherever he was. Soft light turned the insides of his eyes orange. Cool fingers poked and prodded at his injuries, but Draco felt nothing but the digits.
"Is he gonna be okay?" someone asked quietly. Draco swore he knew the voice. If only he could sober up long enough to place a name with the deep timbre.
"He'll be fine," another man said. "Just a few stitches necessary. You should have woken her up. She's much better at healing spells than I am."
"Sorry, Neville," the first man murmured. "I didn't want to wake her. Besides, with their history, she might have just added to his injuries."
The man he called Neville chuckled. "Too true," he said, his voice shaking with laughter. Draco wondered if it was Longbottom tending to his wounds. "Although, I'm sure you know he and I have quite the history too."
"Yeah, but you're way less stubborn," the first man pointed out, laughter in his own voice as well. "You think he could stay here the night? I wasn't sure if he was still living at the Manor or if he'd taken up permanent residence on that bar stool."
Draco listened to the silence that passed between the two men. Surely Neville Longbottom wouldn't toss his drunk and bloodied hide out into the snow, not in his state of semiconsciousness.
Neville sighed deeply. "I guess," he muttered. "I'm not telling her though. You brought the puppy home, you have to walk him."
"Not a puppy," Draco grumbled. His throat was sore and there was a coppery taste on his tongue. It hurt to speak, but he felt the need to defend himself against Longbottom's words.
The first man, the one who had brought him home, laughed uproariously. "So, you are alive, Malfoy," he declared. "Good to know Neville's talents weren't going to waste on a corpse."
"Fuck off," Draco raspily mumbled.
He heard what he thought was a wand fall to a table before Neville spoke. "This is the best I can do. I say we get him to bed and have Hermione fix him up in the morning."
"Granger?" Draco asked, squeezing his eyes tighter together.
"Yeah, Hermione Granger," Neville confirmed. He lifted Draco's left arm, looping it around his shoulder, while the mystery man did the same with his right. He was moving down a short hallway before the pair stopped and opened a door. It was several seconds before they moved again, easing Draco down onto the floor.
"He's not throwing up in my bed," the familiar-sounding man said defensively. A pillow was slipped under Draco's head before a blanket was draped over him. "Sleep well, Malfoy." The door closed, throwing the room into total darkness.
For hours, Draco tossed and turned, totally unable to get comfortable on the hardwood floor beneath him. His head spun with each little movement, his stomach churning as he forced the contents of his stomach to remain there. With a groan, he slowly pulled himself into a seated position. He found himself near the foot of a queen-sized bed, its owner slumbering away. Though his snores were soft, they sounded so much louder in Draco's booze addled ears.
He needed out.
Stumbling to his feet, Draco rose and exited the room, careful not to slam the door behind him. Once in the hall, he surveyed his options. There were two doors across from the bedroom he was in, and another next to it. One of the doors across was open, giving Draco full view of the bathroom. He would have to remember it for later. He turned to his right, placing his hand against the wall for balance. Slowly, he walked to the bedroom next door and entered.
The bed in the center of the room looked comfortable and inviting. Inching along, he used his left hand to guide him around the bed, feeling the soft comforter beneath his fingers. He pulled it back and climbed in. He stayed near the edge, careful not to get too near to the sleeping form. With a deep sigh, Draco closed his eyes and fell asleep.