For the umpteenth time that month, Draco was trying to dodge Marissa Marlowe.
He was well aware the other men must think he was a fool. They didn’t say it to his face because he didn’t really talk to them, but he could tell from the shaking of their heads whenever he successfully escaped the clutches of Marissa.
Marissa was absolutely beautiful. She had perky breasts and a perfectly rounded arse that she showed off in short, tight dresses, which usually reminded him of Muggle girls on the huge posters that could be found everywhere in London. Her face was no less appealing; she had large blue eyes, bright blonde hair, and lips that pouted as though they were perennially asking for a kiss.
And yet, Draco didn’t want her. She reminded him of both Pansy and Astoria; Pansy, because they were similar, and Astoria, because they were polar opposites. Currently, he didn’t want to think of either girl, so Marissa was as desirable as the tattoo on his left forearm.
“Draco,” she purred, thrusting her chest towards him, “take me out for a drink some time, won’t you?”
Summoning the sneer which used to appear so naturally on his face in another lifetime, he said, “I’d rather you call me Mr Malfoy, Miss Marlowe. Have you finished your paperwork?”
“I can do that in a jiffy,” she said.
To Draco’s further annoyance and incredulity, she took out a lollipop from her skirt pocket, unwrapped it and slid it suggestively into her mouth. All of this was done without breaking eye-contact.
He yawned. “If you don’t wrap it up by the end of the day, I’ll make sure you get a salary cut,” he told her. “Now, excuse me.”
She giggled in reply.
It would be a complete lie if Draco were to say that he wasn’t physically attracted to her. Although her tactics were too obvious and ill-chosen for his tastes, he was still a man, still young, and he had gone without sex for years. Sometimes, he wondered if he should have a one-night stand with her, a sort of “shag you tonight and forget you tomorrow” affair.
But Draco wasn’t a reckless idiot. Having gone through Pansy, he knew exactly what Marissa was after; like a leech, she would stick to him and suck him dry. That wasn’t the kind of woman Draco wanted to come home to.
And yet, he had his needs. If he didn’t go out with someone soon, he would eventually succumb to the dizzy clerk’s wiles.
It transpired that he wasn’t the only one worrying about his not-really-self-imposed abstinence from sex and romance. Pucey cornered him in the kitchen one night as he was doing the dishes.
“You need a shag,” she began without preamble. “Or are you gay?”
Draco spluttered. “Excuse me?”
“Look,” she said in a businesslike manner, “you got the job, you live away from your parents now. What’s stopping you from going out there and getting a girl?”
“I can’t just grab any girl!” he said. “I need to like her, and then think of a way to make her like me, and then- ”
“Stop being so last century.”
“But “”
“You don’t have to be so elaborate.” Rolling her eyes, Pucey continued. “D’you think that girls wait for stuff like that these days? There are plenty who don’t want commitments, just a bit of fun.”
“And how do you know, Miss Settled for Life?” asked Draco sarcastically.
“Because I used to be one.”
“All right,” said Draco, taking off his gloves. “Where do I find these girls?”
“Have you never been to a club?”
“I may have heard of them.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Let’s just concentrate on the more important topic here.”
“There are plenty of wizarding pubs in London. Greg doesn’t fancy them, so we don’t go there. But I can give you the directions to a few if you want. Only thing is that you’ll need someone to go with you.”
“Is that mandatory?” asked Draco.
“Not mandatory, no,” said Pucey. “But you don’t want to turn up alone, do you?”
“Unfortunately,” said Draco, “I have no choice.”
Draco had been apprehensive about the club in Knockturn Alley, mainly because he had a feeling it would be swarming with people he knew from school, but as soon as he stepped inside, he breathed a sigh of relief. The place was packed with people; he recognised a few, but none of them was the type he’d expect trouble from. Thanking Merlin, Morgana and the rest of the legends featured on the Chocolate Frog cards, he went further in, heading towards the bar.
The pub was a hazy blend of swirling lights whose sources weren’t really visible. Music seemed to blast from every corner, and many of the partiers had emptied into the dance floor. When Draco looked up at the ceiling, he saw a few people floating among what looked like purple clouds; they had beatific grins in their face which suggested they were airborne out of choice.
I can happily get lost in here, he told himself.
The bar was nearly fully occupied. Squeezing into one of the empty seats left, he ordered a cocktail.
“In no time at all,” Pucey had said, “someone or the other will be asking you to buy her a drink.”
Draco waited for twenty minutes. Not a soul seemed to want him to buy her drinks. Everywhere, he saw happy pairs enjoying the night; those on the floor were dancing so close their bodies threatened to merge, while each corner was filled with couples who were kissing with such force that they were in danger of rolling off the sofas and falling flat on the ground.
I can happily get lost in here if only I manage to grab a bloody partner, he corrected himself.
As though he had spoken the magic words, a girl appeared out of nowhere and took the seat next to him.
“Hi,” she said.
Draco appraised her quickly: tall, brunette, pretty, dimpled cheek, and great cleavage.
“Hello,” he said.
She leaned towards him. “Fancy buying me a drink?”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
The girl flashed him a dazzling smile.
“What would you like to have?”
“Poppy’s Cocktail.”
“Two Poppy’s Cocktails here,” he yelled at the bartender.
It was amazing how effortlessly his confidence had sprung up. Draco supposed it was the place … or the fact that his body was making urgent demands. Either way, he was feeling his old swagger returning.
“What’s your name?” he asked her.
“You can call me Trixie.”
“Are you really Trixie?”
“For tonight.” Yet another smile. “What’s yours?”
“Vincent,” he replied without thinking. “Did you go to Hogwarts?”
“Nope,” she said.
She was perfect.
Poppy’s Cocktail turned out to be the most marvelous drink Draco had ever tasted. It reminded him of Firewhisky, Butterbeer, his father’s favourite mead, and lemonade “ all at the same time. Within ten minutes, both he and the girl had finished three glasses each.
“D’you wanna dance?” he asked her.
She nodded and pulled him towards the floor. Draco soon found out that there wasn’t much room to manoeuvre to dance properly. However, neither he nor the girl was complaining. His arms were around her waist, while hers encircled his neck. All that mattered was that they had an excuse to gyrate against each other’s body.
“Do you want to leave?” she asked him.
Draco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Pucey, he thought, you should be teaching Divination at Hogwarts.
“Sure,” he said.
“Let me just tell Ewan first.”
“Ewan?” asked Draco. The name sounded familiar. “Ewan who?”
“Ewan Delaney.”
“Friend of yours?”
“Yeah, I came with him.”
She took his hand and led him through the crowd. Draco tried to concentrate: where had he heard it? That voice in his head was telling him it wasn’t good.
“Ewan!” yelled Trixie. “I’m leaving with him.”
Draco saw a young man with slick, nicely-styled hair sitting on a red sofa, looking extremely Muggle. He was wearing a black shirt with his collar open, and he had paired it off with tight black leather trousers. Draco had never seen him before in his life, but instantly, he knew he was supposed to despise him, not just because he was wearing those outrageous clothes.
When he saw the woman sitting next to the fop, he realised why.
It was Astoria.
“Hello!” she cried, looking as though she was genuinely thrilled to see Draco.
“Oh, do you know Vincent?” asked Trixie, pulling Draco over to the semi-circular sofa and sitting down next to Astoria.
After the briefest of hesitations, Astoria said, “Of course. He’s a friend.”
Draco felt a sudden surge of wrath rising in him, which only increased when Delaney stood up and, extending his hand towards Draco, introduced himself.
“I’m Ewan,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Vincent,” said Draco, ignoring Astoria as he gripped Delaney’s hand a little too hard.
“How are you?” asked Astoria.
“I’m “”
He couldn’t continue as Delaney sat down and put an arm around Astoria.
“Leaving,” finished Draco. “Let’s go, Trixie.”
“She came with us,” said Delaney.
“And I’m taking her with me.”
“It’ll be fine,” Astoria insisted. “You want to go, don’t you, Trix?”
“Yeah I do!” said Trixie. “I like him.”
“Let me drop you then,” asked Delaney. “I brought a car, and both Tria and I are leaving right now “”
Tria? It sounded like a stupid name.
“That would be lovely!” cried Trixie, but Draco said, “No, thanks. I’ve never been in a car.”
“Ohhh!” said Trixie excitedly. “Are we going to fly into your place on a broomstick? That would be amazing! I’ll go even though I’m a bit scared of heights.”
“No, I “”
It was only then that Draco realised the girl must be a Muggle. Shocked, he sat still, unable to go on.
“I think he’ll be taking you via Side-Along Apparating, Trix,” said Astoria. “That’s when you disappear from a spot and appear at another within seconds.”
“Like in Star Trek,” said the girl, laughing. Before Draco could think of some excuse to not take her, she kissed his cheek, told him she needed to go to the washroom and left.
“Ewan,” said Astoria, “could you get me a drink?”
“Sure, Tria,” said Delaney. Brushing Astoria’s cheek lightly with his lips, he got up.
“Have fun,” he said to Draco and walked away.
“Are they twins?” asked Draco scathingly. “Do they have to peck people’s cheek before leaving?”
“They’re just being nice, Vincent,” said Astoria.
Draco wanted to snap back a bit more, but Astoria moved closer to him and he changed his mind. She looked very pretty in her glittery black dress, and she smelled like a heady mix of citrus and musk.
“Why did you leave that day?” she asked him.
“Something came up.”
“Then why didn’t you return?”
“I “ I didn’t need the robes anymore.”
“So, the designers in Italy are better than me, eh?” she asked him, elbowing him.
“What are you on about?”
“Your trip to Italy,” she said.
Completely confused, Draco asked, “What trip?”
“For Merlin’s sake,” said Astoria, “how many Poppy’s Cocktails did Trixie force you to consume? Your recent trip to Italy.”
“I never “ ” He understood suddenly. “Did you write to me?”
“Yeah, I did,” she said. “Didn’t Narcissa tell you? It was a week after the last time you were at the shop. My owl returned with a note from her saying that you had left for Italy.”
So, his mother, ashamed of the fact that her son had run away, had lied to Astoria that he had gone on a vacation. Although he resented her, it was certainly convenient for him at the moment.
“Oh yeah,” he drawled. “Yeah, I’d gone there.”
“When did you return?”
“A few days ago,” he lied.
“Aren’t you going to drop by at the store again?”
“If I need robes,” said Draco, “I will.”
“And you won’t if you don’t?” she asked him.
She was so close to him. If Draco lowered his head just a little, their lips would touch. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol in his head, or the effects of the realization that “ maybe, just maybe “ she cared for his company, he wanted to kiss her so badly at that moment. He would have done it, too, but Trixie arrived, shouting she was ready.
“She’s a sweet girl,” said Astoria quietly.
Without bothering to say goodbye, Draco left the pub, almost dragging Trixie behind him.
Trixie swooned and nearly fell on the floor as soon as they Apparated into Draco’s drawing room. She giggled and before Draco could stop her, pulled him into a violent kiss.
It felt good. Draco responded instantly, grabbing her bum and crushing her against him.
His brain went numb as his body took over. Soon, they were in his bedroom, taking each other’s clothes off and running their hands over whatever they could reach. A part of him kept insisting that he shouldn’t enjoy this, but the hunger in him was too great to ignore. He ran his lips across her neck and along her shoulder and between her breasts, always goaded by her urging moans.
Muggles, witches, they were all the same “ delightful and warm and full of wonders.
They were on his bed, and she was pushing him down, taking over. He gladly accepted and let the sensations overcome him. Nothing could spoil such a glorious thing, or so he thought until something escaped his lips.
“Astoria.”
It was too soft for the girl to hear, or perhaps she was more drunk than him; she didn’t seem to have registered it. But Draco had gone cold. He abruptly pushed her aside and said, “This is wrong.”
“What the fuck did you do that for?” she yelled angrily.
“I’m sorry,” he said, frantically putting his clothes back on and throwing hers on the bed. “I can’t do this.”
“You dickhead!” she cried, bursting into tears.
Within ten minutes, she was snoring on his bed. Draco went to his bathroom and let the hot water attack his frustration and agony. Astoria was probably with that Delaney wanker right now, and she probably thought Draco had had sex with Trixie, or whatever her real name was.
Sitting down on the edge of his bathtub, he cried. He was tired of everything. He was tired of his obsession with Astoria. He wished he had never met her.