Drarry One Shots

The Bodyguard

A/N So, this one shot was originally going to be a chapter in another longer story I've written (called 'Letters'). Anyway, the characters weren't doing what they were supposed to be doing and decided to take the story in a different direction (it happens that way sometimes), so, with a bit of tweaking this turned into a one shot. I suppose it could be seen as a bit of a teaser, partly because it introduces a character called Peanut, who I'm absolutely in love with, and who plays a major part in my other story. The setting of the open-air nightclub is based on a real club in Ibiza - though adapted to suit my story.

I hope you enjoy xx

*****

He crossed his long lithe leather-clad legs and slung an arm casually along the back of the sofa, taking a deep welcome breath of warm salty sea air.

The speakers next to him pounded deafening dance music, all heavy base beats and rhythmic sampling. He felt the knots of tension slip away with every beat of the drum. The Ibizan party mood was already in full gear and he half-watched the semi-clad figures dancing and twirling on the open-air dance floor, their sweaty bodies broken and contorted by the jagged strobe and flashes of coloured lights in the darkness of the night. There was a hedonistic pulsating to the movements that was as hypnotic as the people lost in their own absorbed worlds of movements to the beats.

Normally, he liked to choose one of low white sofas in the open so that he could look up at the stars as he lost himself in the music, but tonight Draco was sitting in the shadows at the edge of the outdoor beachside club. He sipped his cold muggle lager from the bottle and watched: a voyeur on his low sofa seat under the relative protection of an area covered by white sails. He had a perfect view of the pontoon for the tender which brought in clientele from the large expensive yachts moored in the bay.

He checked his watch, it was 12.23am. Not long now, he thought, as he waited for the man to arrive before he merged into the throbbing crowd of dancers that filled the already packed dance floor in front of the DJ's booth.

As he looked towards the tender that was drawing close with yet another full load of passengers from the yachts, white lightning streaked across the distant dark sky, highlighting turbulent pink and orange clouds away in the void across the Mediterranean. An early summer storm was brewing and he smiled languidly to himself. He loved dancing in the rain.

He loved it here. He could lose himself in the anonymity of the muggle club. He could forget who he was for the night and lose the baggage that he'd carried, that his name had burdened him with since the war. He could free himself in the music and dancing. Not that he came here that often, normally only for one night at a time; always for his birthday, and then sporadically two or three times a year while the Ibiza club season was in full swing.

That is, until three nights ago. Three nights ago, he'd come on his annual birthday trip and it turned out he'd been back every night since.

He was alone, as was so often the way these days. He didn't care. He'd cut himself off from his parents and certainly not stayed in contact with his so-called friends from Hogwarts. It was a mutual decision and not something he was particularly heartbroken about. He occasionally saw something of the Golden Trio at the Ministry or St Mungo's and they were just about on awkward speaking terms. None of his work colleagues at St Mungo's socialised with Draco. He preferred to keep it that way, partly because he just wanted to prove himself through his work that he'd thrown himself into after the war, partly because it kept his sexuality secret. Not that he didn't know his colleagues gossiped about him, indeed, just before he came out here, he'd overheard a couple of the Medi-witches discussing the fact that they thought he was probably gay because he never openly dated and had rejected a number of advances from his female colleagues, but, honestly, it was none of their fucking business anyway. The wizarding society wasn't particularly homophobic, but it was simply that he'd become reclusively private since the war. It was easier that way. He didn't like to draw attention to himself. The war had taught him a very painful lesson about such behaviour and he often wondered if his route through school might have ended differently if he hadn't been so outspoken and arrogant and blinded about his father's ways. Perhaps if he'd kept his mouth shut and actually listened to his father's bigoted words, he'd never followed a path that forced him to take the Mark, to become the 'Youngest Death-Eater', a title he was not proud of by any means.