Signum Vitalis (a dramione story)

In which there is a pub and confessions

There were too many people on the street. Why were so many people in a pub district this early in the afternoon? Why were they out at all? Hermione shied away from a group of scantily dressed teenagers- no, they must be young twenties if they were here. Why was Draco making her come here? He better not be here. No, he better be here so she could find him and... Strangle him? Hug him? What did that man have in that huge bag and was he looking at her? He was walking past. One glance over her shoulder and he was already past her. There were too many pubs. There were too many people in pubs, especially this early. Would he have picked the Mexican or the grill bar? That lady just brushed past her. Hermione didn't feel any spells. Would she feel a spell? No, she was okay. Pub. Which pub would he go into? She was going to kill him. He better not be dead. Was he drunk? Would he hate himself if he got drunk? What should she do if he was? Kill him. Probably.

None of the pubs looked like places Draco would go. Especially the old Draco just looking for a place to get drunk. Hermione was getting to the point where she was pretty sure she was going to have to turn around and start combing each pub individually when she saw a wooden sign that pointed down a set of unlit stairs. Slytherins were more comfortable underground because of living in dungeons, right? It looked like somewhere to hide, at least. Hermione was sure that was a draw for him. She followed the arrow.

Out of the afternoon sun, walking into the pub was like stepping into a twilight zone where time didn't seem to matter. There was an old telly playing the sports channel in the corner, the smell of cigarettes clung to the room even though there was no visible smoke and there was the distinctive clink of pool balls coming from the other room. There weren't any other women in the room and it felt like any of the men who were sober enough to pay attention were paying attention to her.

"You want something, sweetheart?" the bartender called, not moving towards her. She stuck her chin out and instantly decided she hated this place. The bartender, still wiping his glass, stared at her expectantly.

Hermione ignored him and scanned the occupants of the room. There were few, which suited Hermione just fine, and none of them looked like Draco except one man slumped in the corner, hiding from as little light as there was. Something heavy pressed against her insides. He couldn't have gotten drunk that quickly, could he? They were courting and yet he had run straight to alcohol.

She walked over to the man-that-was-possibly-Draco who, now that she was close enough to see, was wearing a purple shirt. She paused just out of arms reach.

"Draco?"

The man groaned, but it sounded like a Draco groan.

She inched forward, poked him in the shoulder, and cautiously backed up again.

He grunted and twisted his face in his arms towards her. He squinted up at her. "Hermi- the hell." He buried his face into his arms again.

She blinked once at Draco and then turned on the barkeeper. "It can't be two in the afternoon and you gave him all that alcohol? Are you trying to let him kill himself?"

The barkeeper put the glass down with a hard clink and pointed a finger at her. "Now listen, bitch, I didden give him nothing so keep your prissy mouth shut."

"You didn't give him alcohol? Then why is he like this?" Hermione asked, gesturing towards the prone Draco, and feeling panic inching up in her again.

The man scratched his five o'clock shadow and sneered at her. "Why don't you ask him, princess?"

She looked down at Draco but he still had his head buried in his arms. She poked his shoulder and, when he didn't respond, she poked him harder. "Draco, why are you like this?"