And She Was Golden

and these elaborations (inebriated)

Draco is drunk. He heaves a sigh. There are no two ways about it at this point in the evening. A comfortable hazy blur has taken over—he can hardly remember the last time he was so sloshed.

"Pans, I want you to explain what in Salazar's name you've been trying to accomplish." His words are heavy as they leave him.

It seems she isn't faring much better. Eyes glazed over, Pansy is sprawled across the floor, the idea of sitting up long since abandoned.

He carefully stands up from the chaise lounge, letting Blaise slump over as he walks towards Pansy. The ground shifts beneath his feet as he stumbles over to her. Draco vaguely thinks he may regret this indulgence tomorrow morning, but he can't seem to bring himself to care.

He snatches the bottle from Pansy's tight grip, lifts it to take a sip only to realize it's empty. He scowls as he sets it among the growing collection on the table. Blaise had brought back quite a selection from Italy.

Draco and Pansy visited his place there, years ago, a few weeks before the World Cup. A memorable summer spent lounging underneath the blistering Italian sun, the air sticky with heat as they ate ice cream by the lazy ocean, waves lapping at the shore. It's one of the few truly happy memories he has, from before everything went so horribly wrong.

Then another stepfather disappeared, like many before him. A supposed casualty of the war, though it hardly made sense as he was stationed with MACUSA abroad.

Blaise continued to pretend he didn't know any better. Draco asked about them once, unable to curb his curiosity, but Blaise simply shook his head.

The Zabini fortune grew once again, and the vineyards where they spent that summer were inherited by Blaise. The Zabini vineyards were his pride and joy. Under Blaise's management the business thrived and no one could dispute its grandeur. Blaise Zabini had truly cultivated a name for the Zabini family, one that wasn't plagued by scandalous whispers, rumors regarding the beauty of his mother and the misfortunes of her husbands. A trail of elaborate funerals and impressive endowments, all tragic accidents.

Ignorance is bliss.

The easy supply of quality alcohol was both a blessing and curse. The trio had a habit of indulging more often than not. It was nice to switch off his thoughts for a bit, have a moment of peace. Draco would sit down and smile with his closest friends and pretend that his fingers weren't itching for something more. Something stronger.

Something that wouldn't just mute the world, but perhaps switch it off entirely.

Breathe in.

It would be so easy to brew up a quick batch. A quick owl and the missing ingredients would be his within a matter of minutes.

No.

Breathe out.

Draco isn't exactly sure why they decided to get piss drunk tonight, but there must have been a good reason. And anyway, things have been so dreary for so long. It's been years since they loosened up like this, and the wine is good. The wine helps him calm down, eases the twitch in his fingers.

One glass turned into two which turned into three. A little goading and a few challenges and the situation spiraled out of control. He hasn't felt this out of it since they were teenagers only just discovering the wonders and woes of alcohol.

"What... are... you... talking... about?" Pansy enunciates slowly, taking great care with her words. She groans; the task of effective communication is currently far beyond her skill set.

It's a real testament to her impressive state of intoxication. Usually, Pansy would never give up a chance to thoroughly explain her opinion. They have amassed a significant collection of empty bottles of whiskey and wine around them.