Toxic

Meet Cute

Baby, can't you see... I'm calling...

Draco couldn't help the annoyance that coursed through him as he made his way through the bar, bodies bumping into him or rubbing against him. Some dance track that was the latest hit in the wizarding world was blaring through the speakers, grating further on his nerves.

Why his friends insisted they spend their Saturday night here, he would never understand.

At the grand 'ol age of 27, he was one of the last holdouts in the group. Nott, Crabbe and Goyle were all married now. Blaise - his supposed best friend - was still single like himself, but appeared to enjoy going out more than Draco did. Every other week he had some new witch on his arm and more than his fair share of raunchy hook-up stories.

It was all rather coarse to Draco. While he was certainly no saint, he didn't understand the joy some men took in flaunting their escapades to others in some sort of dick-measuring contest. His nighttime activities were his and his alone, as far as he was concerned, though Witch Weekly certainly loved to speculate from time to time. Usually when there was nothing particularly juicy going on with the other celebrities in their world - namely members of the Quidditch league, or Salazar forbid, the Golden Trio themselves. There had been far more stories on his former captain Marcus Flint now that he was settled as one of the League's top chasers and still seemed stuck in his Hogwart years - namely fucking anything he could get his hands on and trying to take down Oliver Wood.

Rather juvenile, in Draco's opinion.

No, he preferred a quieter life. Had gone out of his way in the years following the end of the war to ensure that he had one. Which is why he was particularly miffed at the fact that his friends had tricked him into coming to this horrible, loud dump of a bar where he recognized far more faces than he cared to and was getting far more looks than he wanted.

Supposed it could have had something to do with his expensive attire - he still made a point to dress in nothing but tailored suits and robes - but he had reasons to believe that wasn't it.

"There he is!"

Draco turned his head, barely hearing Blaise's voice over the music. Frowning, he made his way over to the table where he was standing with Nott.

"Where's Crabbe and Goyle?" he asked as Blaise shoved a glass of beer into his hand. He glared down at the offending beverage as though the man had shoved a bloody horcrux into his hand.

"Can't make it. Married stuff," Blaise said lightly, still shouting over the music. "Their loss."

Draco looked up at him and then around the table before taking a sip. It tasted like piss water, but he needed some sort of alcohol if he were going to make it through the night.

"You ready to meet your new boss?" Nott asked, a smile on his face. Blaise laughed as Draco glared at him.

Meeting his new boss was the absolute last thing he was ready for. After years of pouring his heart and soul into the Potions Research Team at the Ministry - even bloody help set up the damn thing - and then another several months of doing anything and everything he could to try and prove that this O. A. De Loughrey that they were looking into for the position was a crock, he had gotten absolutely nowhere. And this was after Watkins - his former boss - had basically promised Draco the position upon his retirement.

"Don't understand why you care so much, mate. Not like you need the job," Blaise said casually.

"It's the principle of it," Draco snarled, looking to his so-called best friend. "That position was supposed to be mine. I've given that department everything and this is how they repay me?"