"Another, Sir?"
He gestured his head in assent, and the short man promptly refilled his mug. Lifting it to his lips, his sucked in a long gulp, the bitter, acidic taste curling his tongue and wrinkling his nose. Messy curls glossed his mind briefly, but he knocked back another shot, dissipating the image.
Four years.
Fucking four years.
Hunching over on his stool, gestured to the man who was at the bar. He promptly opened another bottle, pouring it alongside something white... but he didn't care.
Soft cheeks.
He bit his lip, or tried to, considering there was a thick rim of glass there... where had that come from? There was a vague consciousness of liquid spilling past his jaw, before the liquid stopped flowing. He slammed the mug down, and then the bottle was there.
Slim fingers, pulling at smooth skin.
Ambiguous, coarse fingers reached up to trace a rough jaw. Why was it rough? She said she didn't like facial hair. It could be an inch long... or a meter, or a millimetre... Fingers lingered, passing over wet lips, where soft ones had descended.
Four years ago.
The bitter taste met air and intensified. He reached out his glass, knowing it would fill again. It was a muggle bar, but he knew it would refill. The man wanted the gold in his pocket. Leprechaun gold, the stupid bartender. But he was a muggle, and it was all he had on him right now.
Cool beer flowed past his lips again. It was good. It took away the pain. The bitter taste had left, leaving cool water behind.
My back hit a solid wall. I was slim, not skinny like the Potter boy, or fat like the boys who followed me around everywhere, but I didn't have an ounce of muscle on me.
Potter. The memories faded a little. Potter... The man grasped at his memories, trying to identify the name they had spoken, and grateful for the distraction.
Potter. The skinny boy with the ridiculous line on his face. The worshipped boy, the loved one. Even when his best friends were...
Draco's eyes slid shut and he succumbed to the images his mind was weak against.
My back hit the wall. Warm fingers untangled themselves from my hands and slid up my arms as heat pressed against my chest. Leaning over, just grazing my lips with the tip of her nose, she moved her face into the crook of my neck and pressed a tantalizing kiss just below my ear. Her arms had slipped past my shoulders and were making their way down my back, slipping down to hold my waist, leaving a fiery trail. My neck arched as warm lips tugged on my neck, nipping and kissing at the sweet spot there. A soft breath eased its way from my lips, and she leaned back, smirking when she heard an involuntary moan wrench itself out of me.
"Don't hold back. This room doesn't let any sound slip out."
I growled and lunged for her lips. She giggled as she dodged, kissing my cheek instead.
"Nobody likes a tease."
"Except for me." Eyes alight with mischief, she winked.
"Oh, really?" A smirk pulled at my own lips, and I tugged her down onto the large cushion lying on the floor. Reaching down, I pressed my own lips at the juncture of her jaw, and worked my way down, leaving a trail of kisses leading down to the point where her collarbones met. I gave it a dab of my tongue and I heard her slight gasp. Fingers trailed over her sides and she groaned, head hitting the wall behind her.
"Fine, fine." she breathed, and I'd smiled.
"Who loves teasing now?"
"Shut up and kiss me."
Slim fingers tugged at my jaw, and she pulled my mouth onto hers. Moulding my mouth onto her unbelievably soft lips, I moaned again. I blushed faintly if I ever did, but the heat passed with a laugh from her lips onto mine, and I swear I tasted sunshine.
More memories of stolen kisses and secrets washed over him, returning like the tide. He remembered his last year at Hogwarts being the most alive of them all, because one person cared . One loved him. He remembered that last time when they thought they were going to die. He believed they both would, inevitably. He never wanted to fight, never wanted to be bad, and he would die.
He remembered how she came to him. Their tears mixed on their faces and on their tongues. It was their last.
He saw her, in the crowd, that had gathered to see a limp Harry in that oafish giant's arms. She was at the front, with the Weasley boy, gripping his hand like when she'd kissed him in the hallways. He knew whatever had happened between them was nothing.
He heard that she was alive. But he received no contact. Not even any calls, and she knew how telephones work. Nothing. She forgot him, and moved in with that Weasley boy...
And here I was. Avoiding the wizarding world.
Four years. Four bloody years.
She left me. I knew in my heart, as much as I wanted to deny it, that she was never coming back to me.
She was on her own path.
And here, I was.