The Other Malfoy [ON HOLD]

24

By the time Davina had gotten fed up with the cabinet, the other half of the large bottle which contained the FireWhiskey was gone. She tossed the empty bottle into one of the random boxes.

Pulling her cotton sleeves back down, she made sure that her mark was completely covered before leaving. Her head wasn't swarmed with thoughts for the first time in what felt like forever. She steadied herself against the walls as she took turns, trying her best to not make too much noise.

She reached a staircase which had just moved into place and began stepping down it, carefully. A portrait awoken from her light she had conjured up with the Lumos spell, snarling down at her. She looked over and quirked an eyebrow.

"Drunken students roaming the halls this late, Merlin, how pathetic the wizarding name has become," The rather large man in the painting huffed. Davina just laughed and decided to continue her slow journey down the staircase.

She felt good. Warm, tingly, like she could crack jokes all day. She felt like the old her, in a way.

Davina thought she would make it to the common room until she saw a familiar messy-haired boy with bright green eyes stalking towards her. She paused.

"Malfoy? What are you doing wondering the halls this late?" He glanced around, she smirked as she pulled herself together and leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"I could be asking you the same thing, Potter," She had hoped that her words weren't noticeably slurred. And apparently they weren't, because Potter didn't seem to have any unfamiliar reactions.

Hopefully he wouldn't be wanting a make-out session, he might get a burning taste of whiskey if he did.

He stepped closer to her, oh great.

"What sort of mission are you on this time, eh?" She teased him as she looked around the abandoned corridor.

He chuckled in response, "I was just talking to Dumbledore about Slughorn," He moved in closer to her as he rested his hand on the wall beside her head. She looked up into his eyes as he stared down at her.

He was like a drug, so easily addictive, she hated that.

But, then again, she loved it.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head down slightly as she leaned up. Right as their lips were mere inches away from one another, she felt Potter pause. She could smell the minty scent of his breath as it fanned against her skin. She looked at him, taking in his unreadable expression.

He instantly pulled back, even taking a step away from her.

"You're drunk," He stared at her.

"What?" She asked as she pulled at her sleeve subconsciously.

"Don't play dumb, I can smell it on you're breath," He hissed.

"Just because you can smell it doesn't necessarily mean I'm drunk, now does it, Potter? I could've had a sip, I could be tipsy, or buzzed — I don't technically have to be drunk simply because you smelt the scent on my breath," She rambled on, challenging him, she wanted to see how long he could keep this going.

"Does it matter, really? Because the way I see it, you've still had something to drink and you're wondering about the corridors alone, you don't know what could happen," He crossed his arms.