ABSINTHE

a Harry Potter One-Shot by .writer

A/N: For prompt #1 (absinthe) of my HP fic table (see my website, link in profile). Ginny has an encounter with Draco outside a Knockturn Alley bar.

The Knockturn Alley bar was more shadow than light; still, Ginny kept her hood up. Her Weasley-red hair had been pinned into a tight bun, designed to keep any strands from escaping. She didn't want anyone to recognize her, not here.

She ordered a glass of absinthe from the bartender in a low voice. As she watched him prepare the drink, someone sat down at the stool next to her.

“I'll have one of those,” a male voice said.

Ginny turned her head a tiny fraction, just enough to allow her to see who it was. She froze when she saw the halo of white-blond hair.

Draco Malfoy, her mind shrieked. Oh Merlin, don't let him recognize me...

With a stiff motion, Ginny turned back to face straight ahead. The black wool of her cloak brushed against her cheekbones. Quickly bringing a hand up to tug the fabric into a more concealing arrangement, Ginny lowered her hand when she saw Malfoy watching her out of the corner of her eye. With a shake of her arm, her sleeve covered her slender, pale hand.

Unfortunately, the bartender chose that moment to push her drink forward. Her thoughts stumbled over themselves. She had to take the drink, it would look strange if she didn't, but that look on Malfoy's face when he saw her hand...

Gryffindor, she reminded herself before reaching up and curling her fingers around the glass. Her skin prickled with the weight of Malfoy's gaze. With a smooth motion Ginny lifted the glass and brought it to her lips, then tilted it back and swallowed all of the poison-green liquid in a single gulp.

It had been a while since she had last tasted absinthe, but Ginny had an excellent tolerance for alchohol, and she managed not to gasp or cough. She sat the glass back onto the bar and stood, dropping a handful of Sickles onto the scarred wooden surface.

Turning, she left the bar and stepped out into the night. The Alley was not crowded—Knockturn Alley never was—but several cloaked figures walked the cobbled street. Unlike Diagon Alley, it was silent. The type of people who frequented this street were not the sort to stop and chat.

Ginny began walking, her cloak wrapped tightly around her body. After a dozen steps, she slipped her wand out of its holster and held it in a loose grip. Someone was following her.

It was only a few seconds later (though it felt like an eternity) when her pursuer made his move. Ginny felt a strong hand on her elbow, then she was being pulled into a tiny nook in between two shops.

With a quick turn, Ginny faced the person and raised her wand. She had her feet placed in a dueling stance before her mind realized who her pursuer was.

“Malfoy,” she whispered.

He was breaking the unwritten law of Knockturn Alley by wearing his hood down. The moonlight made his hair and skin glow, an easy target for attackers. But he was Draco Malfoy, and he was too secure in his strength and arrogance to be secretive.

“Weasley,” he said, but it wasn't in his usual drawl. Instead, his voice was flat, with a slight undertone of anger. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” she returned.

“Don't avoid the question,” he snapped. “This is Knockturn Alley, and I'm a Malfoy. You, on the other hand, are a Weasley. So I repeat, what are you doing?”

Ginny scowled and lowered her wand. She spun on her heel and began to walk away. “None of your business, Malfoy.”

She had not expected him to grab her and throw her against the wall. She gasped. His hands tightened around her shoulders as he held her pinned against the bricks. “Don't you dare walk away from me,” he snarled. His eyes were dark, like clouds before a storm.

“Let go of me!” Ginny struggled, but he just shook her until she stopped moving. “What the hell is your problem, Malfoy?”

“You are my problem, you conniving little bitch! Why did you do it?” His voice was a growl that did not mesh with the leather gloves on his hands or the cashmere cloak on his shoulders. It did match his bared teeth and furious glare.

“I'm an Auror, Malfoy. I was just doing my job,” she answered him. “Now let go of me.”

Surprisingly, he did. He released her shoulders and stepped back. Ginny watched his hands curl into tight fists by his sides as she straightened her clothing. Sometime since he had grabbed her, her hood had fallen down and her hair had come loose. Red strands of hair fell across her vision. Ginny pushed them back.

“That's your excuse.” His voice was soft now. “Doing your job? That's how you explain what you did to me.”

“Don't take it personally, Malfoy. Besides, you got off easy. A fine that you could have paid a thousand times over--”

“Are you sure jealousy wasn't your motivation?” he interrupted. “You must have loved going after your better, you poor, pathetic piece of trash.”

Ginny took a deep breath. She had long ago learned to ignore insults, but Malfoy had a talent for getting past her defenses. It went both ways, though.

“What, did I hurt your feelings, Draco?” she crooned. A part of her wondered where this cruelty was coming from. “Did I break your poor little heart?”

“Shut up.” The glacial rage of a truly powerful Slytherin was in his voice, but Ginny couldn't stop herself.

“Did you cry when I left you? Wait, are Malfoy snakes even capable of tears?” A part of Ginny agreed with Malfoy; she needed to shut up, to stop before it went too far...

A shadow flickered across Malfoy's face, and for a second Ginny thought he was going to hit her, or worse. But then it was gone, and the icy mask settled into place with the ease of a well-worn pair of robes.

“I hope you rot in hell, Weasley,” he said to her, voice devoid of any emotion. “Though I'm sure I'll see you there.”

Before she could reply, he turned with a swish of expensive fabric and strode away. Ginny watched him go as an empty feeling began to envelope her insides. It started in her chest and spread outward, and by the time Malfoy past out of sight, Ginny could no longer feel her fingers or toes.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I'm sure you will.”

THE END