Whatever You Want, Draco Malfoy || Drarry

Chapter One

A clock gently ticked in the quiet room. The hands read three twenty-five. Draco groaned softly, a faint puff of dust swirling above his head as he moved. He pressed his hand to his chest, every beat of his heart echoing in his head with a thrum of dull pain. He slowly pushed himself up, gripping the musty sheets until his head stopped spinning. The curtain covering the only window was too thin to block out the sunlight and filled the room with a sickly yellow hue.

The bed creaked as he stood up, almost stumbling over his own feet as he crossed the linoleum to the kitchen a few feet away. Draco stopped abruptly as he stepped in something sticky and pulled his foot back with a grimace. He stared at the refrigerator and then reluctantly returned to his bed, flipping his pillow out of the way and grabbing his wand.

"Scourgify," his voice came out rough.

Draco aimed the spell at the floor and his feet and then threw another one over himself, frowning at the rough prickle of magic over his skin.

His button-up shirt was wrinkled and smelled like cigarette smoke. His hair was getting long, reaching the top of his shoulders, but it was tied back into a messy knot at the nape of his neck where he didn't have to see it. He started to look too much like his father when it got long. He'd have to hack it off soon, seeing ghosts in the mirror messed with his head.

He shoved his wand into the back pocket on his slacks and went to the fridge, tugging on the handle and then pulling harder until the seal on the door finally popped free.

The fridge's meagre contents rattled. Draco squeezed his eyes shut at the brilliant light inside, fumbling around blindly until his fingers found the little switch that turned off the light and held it down. He opened his eyes and grabbed the first bottle he saw, some shit brand of orange juice, before quickly closing the door.

Draco twisted off the top of the bottle, gulped down a third of the orange juice, and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the freezer, refilling the bottle of orange juice to the top. He screwed the cap back on, mixing it together with a few lazy twists of his wrist. 

Before he left, he stepped into the bathroom. He had left the medicine cabinet open, the mirrored door pushed against the wall. Draco splashed some water on his face and grabbed a couple of painkillers from the medicine cabinet. He washed them down with his shitty cocktail, as he stepped outside.

The small apartment block was a square with the centre open, a couple floors ringed with railings outside narrow doors leading to narrow apartments. Below was a small stone courtyard with a few concrete benches and concrete planters filled with limp, dead grass and the hints of flowers that might have once been there.

"Ey, Draco!" A young black man raised his hand in greeting from the courtyard, the faint sickly sweet smell of weed floating up from the cigarette in his hand.

"Samuel," Draco waved back and headed down the stairs crossing the concrete and dropping onto the bench beside the young man with his tight cropped black hair.

"How're you doing, man?" Samuel asked.

"Spent the night in my own bed," Draco said.

Samuel made a tch noise, "That's good. You gotta stop hoeing around."

"What are you, my mother?" Draco asked.

"Nah, just a friend," Samuel said. He lifted the cigarette to his lips and took a pull, letting the smoke slowly drift back out of his mouth before he spoke again, "You're gonna get hurt. All it takes is one bad guy."

"I'm careful," Draco said, "I have my wand after all."

Samuel laughed and then coughed lightly, "What you need is some brass knuckles. Or a knife. Not that little stick of yours."