A.N: Thanks to hallee87 for the beta.



Liquid Courage

Draco Malfoy sauntered into the dimly lit pub in the newly rebuilt Diagon Alley. He just needed a little bit of liquid courage before he did it. Or perhaps a lot.

“Firewhiskey,” he barked at the bartender, gracefully taking a seat at the bar and throwing a few Knuts onto the counter, the coins bouncing a few times before coming to rest. A shot glass was slammed unceremoniously in front of him, the bartender half filling the glass.

“You do realise its two for the price of one and not one for the price of two that keeps the patrons loyal, right?” The bartender just looked at Draco with an unreadable expression. “Fine!” Draco sighed, dropping a few more Knuts on the wood of the bar. With a smile, Draco’s glass reached capacity. “Thank you,” he drawled sarcastically. “I’ll be sure to tell all my friends about the fantastic service.” He threw the shot back quickly, relishing the burning sensation as it slid smoothly down his throat.

Right, he thought. He could do it now, liquid courage flowing through his veins. “I think I need another one.”

*~*~*

Twenty minutes later, six empty shot glasses of the potent alcohol scattered the small area of bar that Draco had claimed as his. “And it’s not even as though she all that great,” he slurred to the bartender. “I mean she turned my hair bright bloody blue once. Bright blue! The bints dangerous I tell you.”

“Then why are you with her if she's so horrible?” the bartender asked, clearing the glasses from in front of Draco.

“’Cause she lets me,” he sighed. “Cause she smart, beautiful, witty, amusing and most importantly,” he said with a small hiccup, “a fantastic shag!”

“She sounds wonderful,” the bartender said, sounding decidedly unimpressed.

“You know that she was the only one who gave me a chance. None of her bloody army of brothers did or any of the bleeding Order. Yeah. Your bloody ‘rights for all brigade’ didn’t want to give me a chance! But she did. Not at first mind you. She was as bad as the rest of them at first. Always finding some way to have a go at me or do something to me. She turned my hair bright blue once! Bright blue! But eventually she succumbed to my charms,” The bartender snorted, refilling his glass.

“Really!” Draco insisted. “Once she started talking to me, she couldn’t resist!” He nodded, emphasising his point. “She was helping me prepare for my trial. I had to tell her all about when I tried to kill Dumbledore and answer all these question McGonagall and the Werewolf had prepared. You know,” he said thoughtfully, “if the old codger had just told me he knew what I was up to, and told me all that protection babble, he could have saved everyone a whole lot of bother!”

*~*~*

“She was there you know,” he said drunkenly to the bowl of peanuts. “At my trial. She sat in the front row. Gave me this big kiss when they let me off with a slap of the wrist. Well, it was a rather hard slap. Having to register with the ministry every bloody month till I’m 30! But I’m not in Azkaban and now I have her. Or at least I did.

“Do you know what the ungrateful bint wants me to do? The houses, the jewels, art, fancy robes, learning about a bloody Muggle plug. None of that’s enough for Ginny bloody Weasley. Nooooo. Now she wants me to tell her that I love her. She used to say I didn’t have to say it back. She just wanted me to know that she loved me, but now the bint gone and got all surly about it.”

“There, there,” the bartender said unsympathetically, placing two shot glasses on the table, the amber liquid spilling over the rim. Draco clumsily reached for the first shot, throwing it back slowly. He reached for the second, only to see an empty glass in the bartender’s hand.

“Should you be drinking when you’re working?” Draco asked, scandalised.

“My bar,”

“Oh. So, leather?” he asked, indicating to the stool on which he was perched.

“Vinyl,”

“Explains a lot,”

“Have another drink,” the bartender said sourly.

“Sure!” Draco said happily, throwing a few Galleons on the bar. “S’why I’m here you know. Get a little courage before I tell her. Cause I do love the surly bint.” He looked up at the bartender through his drunken haze, her freckled face almost clear to him. He swallowed the burning liquid in his glass, spilling it on the bar as he brought it shakily to his mouth. “Okay, I think I’m ready.” He reached across the top of the bar, knocking the glasses to the floor. Ignoring the bartender’s indignant whine at the sound of shattering glass, he grasped her hands tightly.

“Gin, I love you!” he proclaimed loudly, focusing, with difficulty, on her face. He rose unsteadily to his feet and promptly passed out.


*~*~*