Henrietta Potter And The Slytherin Child - (A 'Henrietta Potter' sequel) || D.M

2 - Of All The Bars

February 2005
(Twelve and a half years earlier)

Draco Malfoy downed his second whiskey of the night, slamming the empty tumbler back down on the bar.

He heaved a heavy sigh and thought about the woman who was waiting for him back home. Astoria was perfectly nice; she was kind and beautiful and didn't nag. On paper, Draco had to admit, she was perfect.

His mother had encouraged the coupling from the start. Families were formally introduced and arrangements had been made without Draco ever having to lift a finger. Astoria was keen, he had known she had a crush on him during their Hogwarts days. Daphne had told him enough times.

But of course, he had only eyes for one girl back then.

He felt that familiar twist to the heart whenever he thought about her, Etta. He furiously tried to push it away, but the whiskey was already making it difficult and, before he knew it, he found he was losing himself in thoughts about her. Every inch of her face was still so clear in his mind, the way she smiled, the way she scowled whenever she was cross. And she had been cross a lot, he thought, chuckling to himself.

"Glad to see that whiskey has cheered you up," the barman grunted in his direction. "Another?"

Draco nodded, sliding his glass towards the overweight man in front of him. "I was just remembering something." he muttered, as a way of explanation for his unexpected moment of buoyancy.

"Something good?" the old man enquired, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Draco answered, trying to ignore the dull ache of his heart as green eyes flashed once again in his mind, "something perfect, in fact."

*****

Being an Auror fucking sucked.

I thought it was going to be fun times ahead, busting the bad guys as good triumphed over evil every Monday morning.

But no, instead I found myself constantly knee-deep in paperwork, which was brought to me by the barrel loads, and the most exciting thing I had got called out for over the last six months was to break up a tedious spat between two drunk wizards who could not handle their liquor.

Ugh. My life.

It was a Thursday evening and as I looked at my watch, I saw it was eight thirty. I should have clocked off hours ago, like everyone else. I knew Ron had already left, as he popped his head round the door at five minutes to five to inform me that our dinner plans were off as Hermione had just owled him to let him know she was ovulating ("Sorry, Etta, you know how it is...").

I had simply nodded and smiled, resisting the urge to tell him that no, I do not fucking know how it is at all. But I said nothing because they had been trying for over a year and I knew how much they desperately wanted a child.

Sighing heavily, I thought about the empty flat that waited for me. My mind briefly drifted to thoughts about Draco, as it so often did if I was not careful, and I wondered if he was spending a romantic evening snuggled up with his wife on the sofa, sharing a bottle of wine.

My heart gave a violent, painful twist and I shook my head, as though trying to expel the image from my mind.

It had been almost seven years since I last saw him. Seven years since I told him I never loved him and walked to my death. In that time, I had kept busy, throwing myself into my career and keeping my head down from the world. I had thought about contacting Draco many times, but my stupid pride would always get in the way. And I was pissed off at him for walking away after he found out I was still alive, abandoning us mid battle.

And then after three years of silence, the news of his engagement broke out. Astoria Greengrass. He had moved on and found another woman to love.

It broke my fucking heart.

Especially as I could not seem to move on myself. I had dated a few times, but they always turned out to be fame whores, selling their stories to the paper the second they had slept with me. It made it difficult for me to trust anyone. And it did not help that I compared every man to Draco. No one could come close to him in my eyes. He was perfect.

And married.

So, there I was on a Thursday night at the age of twenty-four, all alone and feeling sorry for myself. I did not want to go home. But I did not want to stay sat in the office like a sad sack for another minute either.

Getting up from my desk, I grabbed my coat and my bag and marched out of there as quickly as I could. I needed a drink and I needed one fast.

I rarely went to the pub after work, unless on the odd occasion when Ron literally forced me into one. But tonight the urge hit me like never before, and as I walked down an unfamiliar street in London, I found myself stepping into a somewhat unremarkable little Muggle pub.

It was not very full, just a handful of people sat alone nursing drinks and looking, much like myself, as though they did not want to go home. A few heads lifted as I made my way across the room to the bar. I tried not to make eye contact with anyone but then gladly remembered I was in a Muggle pub and therefore no one would recognise me. Tonight, I just wanted to drink in a bar like a normal person.

Keeping my eyes on the prize, I located an empty stool at the bar and hopped upon on it, the overweight, balding barman already moving across to take my order.

"What'll it be, love?" he asked gruffly, 'cleaning' a glass with a filthy looking rag.

"Ummm..." My eyes swept over the many, many bottles on the shelf behind him. So much choice in these Muggle bars!

"The guy sitting here seems to be enjoying the whiskey," he said, gesturing to an empty stool further down the bar.

I raised my eyebrows quizzically. "Oh. Invisible, is he?"

The old man let out a loud roar of laughter as though I had just made the most hilarious joke in the world. I could not tell whether he was taking the piss or not.

"Gone to take a leak I guess. Came in miserable as sin, not unlike yourself, if you don't mind me saying. Caught him having a sneaky chuckle at the whiskey though."

Oh, for fuck's sake, trust me to choose a pub full of complete freaks. I was beginning to wish I had not bothered. But I badly wanted that drink.

"Just the whiskey then, please," I said curtly, reaching in my bag for my purse.

He took the hint and stopped talking to me after that.

I slowly sipped the whiskey, enjoying the sensation of the warm liquid burning down my throat. Closing my eyes, I allowed my mind to empty of all thought and felt lighter than I had in ages. I was vaguely aware of another patron approaching, and heard the scrape of the stool and that dreadful barman asking, "Same again?"

"Potter?"

My eyes flew open. I knew that voice.

Slowly, I turned my head to the left, and there, perched on the 'invisible' man's barstool, was Draco Malfoy.

***