Broken / Drarry Oneshot

One

Eighth year was not Draco's best year so far. All of his friends had ditched him in the post-war panic to be on the right side of history, but he was dragged under by his father's ties to Lord Voldemort. Luckily, Headmaster Dumbledore knew this would happen, and made sure that Draco would be able to attend Hogwarts after the war. Even though Draco had tried to kill him. Even though his downfall seemed to be the end of Draco's future. Draco still didn't understand how that man had so much faith in him.

Everyone had given up on Draco. Some parents pulled their children out of school because they didn't agree with letting the traitor back in. "That's Lucius Malfoy's son; one of the remaining Death Eater's! And they've let him back into Hogwarts! It's gone to the dogs! Mad, I say!" The remarks followed him down the streets, through the halls. Draco heard them so often that his own worthlessness was ingrained into his own head like cuts on skin.

It was this, paired with his mind whispering derogatory phrases to drag him down in the absence of anyone else to do it, along with the lonesome pain of having no one to talk to, that caused him to turn to alcohol. Draco knew it wasn't healthy. He knew that his tolerance was not as good as it should be and he knew that he was a mess when he was drunk. But he did it anyway. He figured if he was to die of poisoning it would be well worth it– in fact, better! He'd no longer go through life with every single person he walked by shooting daggers–no, bullets, unforgivable curses–at him with every step. The world would probably sigh a large 'good riddance' before continuing the celebration of the win of the war.

Nevertheless, Draco persisted. He knew that in a few months he'd be leaving Hogwarts and that after that he could snap his wand and pretend he was normal. Pretend he was a muggle, live in their world, maybe even attend a muggle university. It'd be better for everyone.

Until then, Draco kept on his track of drinking himself into an almost-dangerous oblivion every weekend and succeeding in classes during the week. On this particular Saturday, Draco was sitting in his room, alone, as McGonagall had granted him permission to have his own dorm due to the relentless tormenting from his peers. He had a bottle of butterbeer in his hand, not trying to get piss-drunk just yet seeing as it was only two in the afternoon. Draco did, however, want to drink his problems away later in the day, but his stock had run out. It was supposed to have led him until Christmas, where he'd be able to get past the lessened amount of students to steal some from the kitchen stock, but last week he'd had a particularly difficult run in with a few classmates who decided it'd be funny to spell him upside down on a chandelier.

Draco still didn't know who had gotten him off of there unharmed, but that was not on his mind as he plotted how to slip past unnoticed by the likely crowds of people outside on the beautiful Saturday afternoon. Unfortunately for the poor boy, he was a little tipsy due to the butterbeer and the aforementioned low alcohol tolerance, and so decided to just take a little walk through the halls and hope he was inconspicuous.

The only things that really changed within Draco when he was tipsy were his ability to tell if he was making a good decision and his ability to stop himself from saying something personal. So, the two things that could possibly get him on someone's bad side, even more than he already was.

As Draco wandered around the halls he was almost saddened seeing all of the kids having fun like he used to. He passed a few of his fellow Slytherin's, his former friends, who shot him glares. Draco almost thought they were going to hiss.

He did notice, though, a few signs pointing to the Potions classroom with the letters "GSA" on them. Draco wasn't sober nor curious enough to stop and think of what they could possibly stand for; he rather continued striding until he was at the door. Without thinking yet again, he pulled at the heavy and familiar door until it swung open, allowing him to step in carefully. Draco noticed that there were people sat around in a large circle, and his eyes circled around them until they landed on the one standing, the one who was obviously the leader, because he always was, wasn't he? The savior himself, a Mister Harry Potter, mid-sentence, mouth open and head facing Draco.