Author's Notes: Hello guys! I thought it was high time in ventured away from wrestling fan fictions, and shared with you all my post DH fan fiction, that I've been working on for the past few weeks. A huge thanks goes to the wonderful IMissPadfoot (user ID1133633), who kindly beta'd for me!
Chapter one: Make mine a double.
The young raven-haired witch sat at a table in the Leaky Cauldron, absentmindedly swishing the ice around in the bottom of the glass.
She was lonely, and bored, and hated being in a strange town.
Six months ago, Morrigan O'Brien had been living contently in Florence, Italy, with her family. Then they had got a message that Mary, Morrigan's grandmother, was deadly ill and that they should visit her in England as soon as possible.
Now, Morrigan's family were gathered in St. Mungo's, as the nineteen-year-old drank her weight in fire whiskey.
She hated hospitals even more than she hated strange places, which explained why Morrigan was here alone.
With nothing better to do for the rest of the evening, and a bedroom booked in her name upstairs, the young woman strode over to the bar and ordered herself another drink.
"Don't you think you've had enough, Missy?" questioned Tom, the barman, remembering that the raven-haired woman had already had four drinks in the last hour.
"I'm of age aren't I? And I'm a paying customer?" she demanded, and when Tom merely nodded, she went on. "Therefore, I decide when I've had enough."
Tom hesitated for a moment, and then under Morrigan's piercing stare, refilled her glass.
"Nicely done," came a sneered remark from the other end of the bar.
Morrigan allowed her gaze to drift along to the speaker, and found that it came from a hooded male; all that could be seen of him was cold grey eyes.
"Did I ask you?" retorted the raven-haired woman, and then sauntered back to her table.
As Morrigan consumed yet another glass of fire whiskey, she felt eyes boring into the back of her head. When she turned, she saw that the hooded male, was glaring at her.
Choosing to ignore the obvious rudeness of the male, she turned her head round and continued reading a discarded copy of the Daily Prophet.
The front page of England's wizarding newspaper informed Morrigan that, hero; Harry Potter had just been made an Auror.
It was well known, even in Italy, that Potter had recently defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort, and restored peace to wizarding Britain.
With an indignant snort, Morrigan turned the page.
"Little snot," she muttered under her breath.
When Morrigan finally reached the classified section of the Daily Prophet, she also came to the bottom of her glass, and decided she promptly needed another one. Nothing like a night of brain-numbing drinking to combat the boredom.
As she ordered another drink, unseen by Morrigan, a small family took her table, meaning there were no more available seats, apart from those along side the bar.
Turning, the raven-haired woman noticed this and scowled.
"Damn it," she muttered.
"Here's free," suggested the hooded male, pushing the available stool next to him out with his leg.
"Whatever," replied Morrigan, taking the seat but saying nothing more. She'd come here to pass the time, not make small talk with locals.
After ten minutes of lazily sipping her drink, and scratching at the wood on the bar with her nails, Morrigan looked up to see a pair of cold grey eyes peering back at her.
"Can I help you with something?" she asked, with forced politeness.
"I was just wondering if I could get you another drink?" came the well spoken reply, which was barely more than a whisper.
"Alright," she agreed, with a small smile. "Make mine a double."
The hooded male asked Tom for more drinks, and Morrigan didn't fail to notice the amount of money he had in his wallet, when he pulled out the Gelleons to pay for them.
Maybe tonight won't be a total loss after all, she thought to herself.
As the man with the cold grey eyes slid the double fire whiskey across to Morrigan, he lowered his hood, and she saw he had a shock of white blonde hair. It would have been almost silver, if it had been clean. But instead, it lay matted and dirty down to his shoulders. She also noticed that despite his apparent wealth, the man wore tattered and dirty robes, had mud under his nails, and a shadow of stubble on his chin.
Not wanting to know what could have caused someone with a small stack of Galleons in their pocket, to look so disheveled, Morrigan took a large sip of her drink.
She relished the heat of the alcohol slipping down her throat, and shuddered slightly as she swallowed. Something as simple as fire whiskey never lost its beauty.
Awkward silence followed again, and Morrigan wondered what was keeping her at the bar, instead of her warm bed. But then, if some random stranger was offering to buy her doubles, who was she to refuse?
"Would you like another?" the blonde-haired man asked.
"Please," Morrigan replied, pushing her glass to the edge of the bar.
"You're not from around here, are you?" he continued, as Tom presented them with fresh drinks. "I can tell by your accent."
"No, I'm not. My family are visiting my Grandmother," she replied simply, not wanting to elaborate.
More silence followed as they both sipped there drinks. Then, and she couldn't explain why, Morrigan felt compelled to speak.
"I'm actually from Italy," she informed. "We came over a few months because my grandmother is in St. Mungo's."
"Is she sick?" asked the grey eyed man.
"Yes, the Healers told us she'd die within the month," Morrigan replied, then added with a laugh, "But that was six months ago."
"Well...I'm sorry. I hope she gets better," said the blonde man awkwardly.
"Don't be, I'm not," she lied coolly, but then softened a little. "How about you? Long day at work?
"Something like that," he mumbled in response, and again they fell silent.
Minutes ticked by in awkward silence, as the two people slowly sipped their drinks.
Both could have told tales of their lives, which would have had them talking well into the night. However, they were also the type of people who didn't open up to others often.
All through her school years, Morrigan only had a handful of friends. If friends were what you could call them. The people who associated themselves with her were only her 'friends' because of her older bother.
Sean O'Brien was the school Champion, and his baby sister, Felicia O'Brien, was the sweetheart. Morrigan feel unnoticed in the middle.
She accepted the friendship of her 'brother's 'hangers-on', so that she felt wanted by others, in a school where no one really accepted her.
And now, as an adult, graduating from school just over a year ago, with her grandmother on her death bed in St. Mungo's, Morrigan felt as though she had no one.
If only she had known how much in common she had with the blonde man sitting across from her.
As the night drew to an end, Tom announced that he was closing up his bar. Anyone who had rooms for the night, should make their way to them. Everyone else should leave.
Morrigan rose from her stool, slipped both empty glasses across to Tom, and then turned to the grey eyed man.
"Thanks for the drinks," she said honestly.
"Any time," he replied, with a slight smirk.
As the raven-haired woman made her way across the bar, and then up the stairs to her room, she felt someone following her. She turned, and came face to face with the blonde stranger.
Up close, he smelt surprisingly good, and the hint of expensive aftershave lingered on his tattered clothes.
Morrigan felt the color rise in her cheeks, as she took in his full six foot of height.
"Well, this is my room," she said, leaning back against a random door, just wanting an excuse to be away from his penetrating gaze.
"Really?" he asked with raised eyebrows, and a smirk. "We're you planning on sleeping in my bed tonight then? Because this is my room."
Morrigan turning, pretending to look at the number on the door, but was really hiding the red that was quickly covering her cheeks. Either it was getting very hot in here, or she'd had too much to drink.
"Oh, sorry. I got the wrong room," she finally replied sheepishly.
"A pity," he said, with a slight sneer, as he looked her up and down. "Well if you're ever in town...Miss?"
"Morrigan O'Brien," she offered, now feeling a little calmer.
"A pleasure," he returned, with another smirk. "Well, if you're ever in town again, Miss O'Brien, don't hesitate to take me up on the offer."
Then he slipped a large gold key into the lock and inched his door open, before turning to face Morrigan again.
This time, his grey eyes danced with a playful fire.
"It's Draco, by the way," he informed her. "Draco Malfoy."
Then he closed the door, and left Morrigan standing in the hallway, in perplexed silence.