𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 [𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

Offensive wording ahead, please read with caution.
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Goyle's Pub

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DRACO had been completely smashed.

His body held so lightly, swaying and singing along with the others in the booth, reeking of the alcohol he could no longer smell.

He had his left arm fallen lazily over Daphne's shoulder, his other arm over Blaise's, his blazer he'd shed earlier in the evening thrown onto his lap.

Clarisse had passed out, her unconscious self splaying along the leather of the boot.

Draco felt as though he were simply a cloud of fog, simply sifting through the air like nothing. His head had been hurting him — he ignored it, choking on a giggle that captured in his lungs.

His long fingers closed around the thick handle of his jug, the foam from the surface stained across the volume of the glass in a ringed shape. He raised his hand, his grip adjusting to the weight of it.

This had proven to be difficult with the likes of someone who carried such a flimsy and unreliable hold.

Gregory watched the blonde man, his shoulders slouched as he seated on the edge of his stool, his weak knees threatening to cave in once he leaned forward.

Draco brought the rim of his jug to his mouth, the excess foam painting a curved line across his spread lips, some slipping onto his tongue as he knocked his head back, draining his jug of the remains of his alcohol.

He almost lost balance, his tall frame sinking into the leather backrest behind him, a loud series of laughter ripping from his chest because it's absolutely hilarious.

His arms shot into the air to prevent his fall a moment too late, almost smacking Daphne's cheek and Blaise's shoulder.

Matter of fact, Draco had thought it was Blaise who had helped straighten him, his hand shackling the blonde man's arm and yanking him while his other patted him between the sharp blades of his shoulders.

"Oh yeah — thanks Blaise," muttered Draco, his hand grappling around his structured nose, which protruded from his face so graciously. "There you are." he added afterward, a satisfactory chuckle rolling from his tongue.

"Draco, mate," Blaise had begun, his tone hinting at a brief condescending, slipping his hand into the ring of his jug, laying atop of the blondes. "I think you've had enough."

Blaise's fingers chipped away at Draco's, pinching the skin in an effort for him to release his hold. Draco pouted at the other's success.

"No. What are you talking about?" His neck folded back as his face scrunched, his voice strained and forced from the blockage of his proper chords. "I am totally — and completely — fine."

"You're fine?" asked Blaise, skeptically, his eyebrows jumping as a smirk curled on his lips, his head cocked slightly.

"Yes," Draco said, stretching out the word to be as long as possible, sounding similar to the hiss of a snake. In this space of time, he figured out how to further on with his speakings, and he came up with, "in fact, I'm better than fine — I'm GREAT."

His arms shot into the air enthusiastically as he shouted voluminously, drunken cheers and chants from the others expanding through the atmosphere of the pub.