The Slytherin Six
Draco no longer had control of his arms. He was so drunk off firewhiskey that they simply had a mind of their own now. He knew making that bet with Theo had been a bad idea. But honestly, how was he supposed to know that Theo could perform the whole first act of the Nutcracker? He really shouldn’t have been surprised; Theo had a weirdly inclusive upbringing with a very eccentric tutor.
Draco looked around the room. The table was scattered with cards from a forgotten game of poker earlier that night. The bar cart was shockingly empty – quite opposite of how it had been when the evening started. Where were Pansy and Daphne? Hadn’t they just been sitting at the table whispering? He could see two Blaises and two Astorias on the couch, but he was pretty sure that was the result of the copious amount of firewhiskey he had been forced to chug in punishment for losing the bet. Though to be honest, having to witness Theo pirouette across the room should have been punishment enough. Just then, the doors to the parlour burst open as Daphne and Pansy sauntered back into the room with a fresh bottle of bourbon.
“Cheers! To the – “ Pansy hiccupped through her toast, “to the Slytherin Six!”
The room echoed their cheers as they all rallied around their new bottle like a challenge. This had become a weekly routine for the group of Slytherins after the war. It started off as a way to drink away their traumas and avoided the sneers and crude remarks they all received out in public. Draco’s parlour room became the place they could simply exist as themselves. Over the years it became their Friday night tradition with their chosen family. They’d start off complaining about anyone who had looked at them wrong throughout the week, and slowly – and sometimes not so slowly at all – it would descend into drunken chaos that typically ended with Theo passed out on the couch, Blaise draped over the table in a position that had to make his neck hurt in the morning, and the girls, Astoria, Daphne, and Pansy, the only ones smart enough to venture out of the parlour to find one of the many unused beds in the Manor. Tonight was the same as always.
Once everyone assumed their sleep positions, Draco stumbled back to his room. He needed a hangover potion and a shower to wash away the whiskey sweating through his pores immediately. He had to be at work at the Ministry in about 4 hours, stupid Potter making them come in on a Saturday. If he wanted to get in at least 2 good hours of sleep, he’d have to sober up quickly. He didn’t need to work – not for the money anyway. His inheritance was enough for him and any future children to be set for their lives. No, he needed to work because it was a condition of his pardon. 3 years ago, when the war ended, he sat in front of the Wizengamont and waited for them to sentence him to a life in Azkaban – after everything he’d done, he knew he deserved it. However, he had been utterly shocked when they told him he would be pardoned on the condition he worked with the Auror Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to track down the remaining Death Eaters in hiding before they had a chance to recoup and attempt to finish what Voldemort started. He how no idea how he had gotten so lucky, but he was not going to question it. He had spent the last 3 years with his own – albeit tiny – office in the Ministry’s DMLE wing, keeping to himself, researching leads of where escaped Death Eaters like Dolohov, Mulciber, and Greyback are hidden. Tomorrow was not one of those quiet research days, however. Tomorrow, his peace would come to an end because he had been assigned to work directly with the Aurors going forward, including their leader with a bleeding heart, Potter. This, he supposed, was the true condition of his pardon – work with Potter. Not even with Potter – for Potter. It was going to be a nightmare, and the only thing that could make it worse was if he didn’t get rid of this hangover before he went in.
“Kipsy,” Draco called and as soon as the name was out of his mouth, the elf appeared with a pop before him.
“Good evening, Master Draco! What can Kipsy do for you sir?” The small elf squeaked.
“A hangover potion, please Kipsy.”
“Yes sir! Kipsy will fetch that for you right away sir!”
Kipsy disappeared as Draco padded to the bathroom to turn on the shower faucet to its hottest temperature. Another pop alerted him to the return of his house elf, so he stalked back to his main room while he allowed the bathroom to fill up with steam.
“Kipsy has brought your potion, sir. Kipsy is not knowing if sir is hungry or thirsty so Kipsy has brought sir some crackers and cheese, chocolates, tea, and water because Kipsy is not knowing what sir would want.”
“Thank you Kipsy, how thoughtful,” Kipsy blushed at her master’s compliment, the rose color climbing high on her cheeks, and popped away for the final time that night.
Draco downed the swirling purple hangover potion, tossed a slice of gouda into his mouth, and headed into the thick steam of his bathroom.
A couple hours later, Draco stepped out of one of the many Floo-linked fireplaces that lined the Ministry atrium. As much as he would have preferred a few more hours of sleep – or to not be here on a Saturday at all – Draco did enjoy the calm quiet of the empty Ministry. His footsteps echoed loudly off the walls as he made his way to the lifts. The metal doors rattled shut and the ding of the buttoned sounded as Draco pushed the number 5 for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When the doors opened, he turned right as opposed to the left he usually made toward his small office. Draco was the first to arrive to the meeting room. He began making himself a cup of tea – Merlin knew he would need it to deal with the self-righteous aurors who would be joining him.
At 6 on the dot, Potter entered, followed by Ernie Macmillan, Anthony Goldstein, Roger Davies, Michael Corner, Susan Bones, Angelina Johnson, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, the head of the DMLE, who no doubt hand-picked this group of aurors personally. Draco had just sat in his chair at the table, the others following suit, as Shacklebolt said, “Right, almost everyone is here; just waiting on Granger.”
Draco looked up so fast, he was sure to have gotten whiplash and right on cue, Granger walked through the door.