Most nights, Draco Malfoy drank until he didn't know which way was up and which way was down. He drank until all the girls were pretty. He drank until he didn't remember a thing that had happened the entire night. But most of all, Draco Malfoy drank until he could forget. Forget how he'd been forced to torture Thorfinn Rowle. Forget the screams of innocent people. Forget the murders and every other horrific thing he'd ever witnessed. Forget who is family was. Forget who he was.

She caught his eye immediately. Even in his intoxicated state he was sure that she had to be one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. Long, chestnut-colored hair that cascaded down her back in a sea of curls. Big, green eyes. Red lips. Flawless skin.

Draco watched as she stepped inside the pub, greeted a few people, and sat down at the bar, five stools down from him.

He realized that she looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her. This bothered him. He'd known a lot of girls in the 20 years he'd been alive, but he couldn't believe that he'd forget one this beautiful.

He downed another firewhiskey and continued watching her. What was a girl like her doing here anyway? A girl like that didn't belong in a filthy pub in Knockturn Alley.

Maybe, he thought, as he took a large gulp of yet another firewhiskey, she's in some kind of trouble. Or maybe she's trying to drink her problems away. Like me.

When she turned her head and briefly made eye contact with him, he finally realized who she was.

Astoria Greengrass.

No wonder I didn't recognize her at first, he thought. Last time I saw her she was in her fifth year at Hogwarts.

She had the same eyes as her sister. That was how he recognized her. In every other way, the two of them looked nothing alike. Daphne was shorter and curvier with honey-colored hair and pale skin. Astoria, on the other hand, was tall and very thin with dark hair and tanned skin.

Sometime later that night, Draco ended up in a fight with some guy who had insulted him. Of course, even in the grimiest pubs in Knockturn Alley, fighting was prohibited. So the next thing Draco knew he was being tossed out into the rain.

He leaned against the wall and tried to figure out what to do. He was too drunk to Apparate home; he could barely stand on his own two feet. He'd never gotten kicked out of a pub before. Plenty of people had hurled insults at him in the past, taunting him about his family or the mark that was forever engraved in his left arm, reminding him and everyone else in the world that he had once been a Death Eater. But he had always ignored them. He'd never started a fight before.

But this had been different.

Astoria Greengrass pushed the pub door open and stepped outside into the rain. She pulled her coat more tightly around herself and squinted through the rain and darkness at the figure leaning up against the building.

"Malfoy?" she called, taking a few steps closer. "Why are standing out here in the rain?"

He stared at her, his eyelids drooping. She wondered how much he'd had to drink.

"Surely you noticed that I just got kicked out," he said, somehow managing to sound condescending even while slurring his words. "Or are you that obtuse, Greengrass?"

She ignored his insult. "But aren't you going home?" she asked. For some reason, the fact that he knew who she was pleased her. She had no idea why, though. She'd always found him to be a bit of a git.

"Too drunk," he murmured. "Might splinch myself."

She stared at him, his blond hair matted down with rain and his grey eyes bloodshot, and she couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him.

"Then what are you going to do?" she asked.

He sneered at her. "Are you really trying to have a conversation with me in the pouring rain?"

"I want to make sure you get home," she snapped at him, annoyed that she even cared.

"And why the hell do you want to do that?" he slurred. "You don't even know me."

"I guess it's because I'm a nice person," she replied. "Although I'm not surprised if that's a foreign concept to you."

He didn't reply. He just continued looking at her, his lips curled. She wanted to smack him. What gave him the right to act like such a prick? She was only trying to help.

"I'll take you home," she said. "To your place, I mean. Where do you live?"

At first he looked like he wasn't going to tell her. But after a minute he must have realized that he didn't want to spend the night out there in the pouring rain and he muttered his address. She grabbed his arm and the next thing he knew, they had landed inside his flat.

Astoria wrinkled her nose. "It smells like cheap firewhiskey and stale cigarette smoke in here."

"You get used to it," said Draco.

"Do you smoke?" she asked, a look of disgust on her face. "That's so… muggle."

"Of course not," he replied, clutching his stomach, looking slightly ill from Apparating. "That smell is leftover from whoever lived here before me."

"You know that there's a spell that would get rid of it," she said, as she eyed him warily, hoping that he wasn't about to puke.

"I'm not sober often enough to bother with it," he replied.

"Lovely," she muttered.

He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "You can go now."

"Fine," she said. "I don't want to stick around this dump anyway."

"Good," he replied.

"But don't you think I at least deserve a thank you?"

He was quite for a moment. "Thank you," he quickly mumbled, not looking at her.

Astoria's eyebrows shot up in the air. She hadn't expected him to actually say it. "You're welcome," she replied, before turning on her heel and Disapparating.

There was nothing Draco disliked more than sleeping. Sleeping meant nightmares. There were flashes of green light. Screams. Voldemort's voice—high-pitched and chilling—ordering him to torture Rowle. "Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure... Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!" He'd wake up, covered in sweat, sometimes even screaming, having forgotten for a moment that the war had been over for two years. That he was safe in bed. That everything was just a memory. A sick, twisted memory that he'd never be able to forget.

Draco awoke the next day from a particularly terrifying nightmare with a headache. He lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Images of the night before flashed through his mind.

Sitting at the bar.

A pretty girl walking in.

Getting in a fight.

Being tossed out in the rain.

Astoria Greengrass bringing him home.

He sighed. Why had he even gotten in that fight? He remembered that the man had said something that had really angered him. Had angered him more than the usual petty insults that were thrown his way. But he couldn't remember what it was. The whole night just seemed like a blurry mess. Just like most nights, actually.

He rolled over, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head, and reached into the drawer of the small table beside his bed. After rummaging around for a bit, he pulled out a small bottle. It was a hangover potion. Something that he always on hand. He quickly downed the entire thing.

As he waited for the effects to kick in, his thoughts turned to Astoria. He wondered why she'd even bothered to help him. He'd been a complete arse to her, or at least he was pretty sure he had been. The details were fuzzy. Not that it had been anything against her personally; he was an arse to everyone. It was just easier that way.

Slowly, he felt the pain in his head fade away. The sick feeling in his stomach also disappeared. He realized that he was hungry. Now would be a good time for breakfast. He glanced at the clock—or maybe lunch. He stumbled out of bed, pulling on the nearest clothes he could, not bothering to check whether they were clean or dirty. Though they were most likely dirty; he couldn't remember the last time he'd done any laundry.

There was no food in his flat—there never was—so he Apparated to the café in Diagon Alley that he ate at nearly every day. He took a seat at his usual outdoor table. All traces of last night's rain had been vanished away by the restaurant staff. There wasn't a drop of water in sight.

He was reading the Daily Prophet and drinking a cup of coffee when a shadow fell over him. He glanced up and found himself looking straight at Astoria Greengrass.

"You look better," she said.

He shrugged, looking back down at his paper, wishing she would go away. He didn't like talking to people, especially when he was sober. Ever since the war, he'd found it difficult to relate to anyone.

He heard a scraping sound and his head shot back up. Astoria was sitting down in the chair across from him.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, his voice cold.

"Sitting down," she said.

"Well, go do that somewhere else," he said. "I prefer to eat alone."

"There are no other empty tables," she said.

He glanced around. Sure enough, she was right. "There are probably some inside," he said.

"I like the fresh air."

"Well, that's too bad, isn't it?"

She just smirked at him.

He sighed loudly, but stopped protesting. It was apparent that this girl wasn't going to listen.

They sat in silence for a bit, and Draco found himself watching her as she ate. She was dressed very casually—her long hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and she was wearing a faded T-shirt and a ratty pair of jeans. She looked a little out of place, like a random muggle girl who had somehow wandered into Diagon Alley.

"You don't look much like your sister," he found himself saying.

She glanced up from her sandwich and smiled. "No, but we do have the same eyes."

"Yeah, I noticed that," he said. "How is Daphne, anyway?"

"She's fine. Busy getting ready for the wedding, obviously."

"What wedding?" he asked.

Astoria looked at him strangely. "She's marrying Blaise Zabini."

"Is she?"

"You didn't know that? Aren't Blaise and Daphne friends of yours?"

"They used to be," he replied. "But I haven't talked to either of them in ages. I don't really have any friends anymore."

He couldn't believe that Daphne was marrying Blaise. He'd never pegged her for the type of girl who'd ever settle down. She'd been a bit of floozy back in their school days, flitting from guy to guy. Even he had fallen into bed with her on a couple of occasions.

Astoria wasn't sure why she had sat down at Draco Malfoy's table. It was obvious he didn't want her there. There was just something about him that intrigued her, something she couldn't put her finger on.

He'd been quiet at first, drinking his coffee and ignoring her, but eventually they began talking.

She was shocked when she found out he didn't know Daphne was getting married. Was he really that cut off from everyone?

"Why were you in that pub last night?" asked Draco suddenly, after the conversation had begun to lag a little once more. "It didn't really look like the type of place you'd usually spend your time."

Astoria blushed. The reason was so ridiculous that she almost didn't want to say. "Er," she said, staring down at the table, pretending to be extremely interested in the name someone had scratched into its surface. "I just felt like it."

Draco didn't seem to buy this. "Seriously?"

"Well, no," she admitted. "I was actually hoping that my ex-boyfriend would be in there. I knew that he goes there a lot, and I really wanted to talk to him. But he wasn't there."

"If you want to talk to him so badly, why don't you just owl him? Then you could agree on a place to meet, and you wouldn't have to wander around, hoping to run into him."

"It might sound a bit mental, but I don't want him to know that I want to talk to him. I want it to be an 'Oh wow, fancy running into you here' moment. I don't want him to think that I'm, like, desperate to talk to him or something."

He chuckled. "But aren't you?"

It felt odd to laugh, thought Draco. He couldn't remember the last time he had. There hadn't been anything to laugh about. Not in a long time. Not until this girl he barely knew had showed up. He didn't think anyone could ever mange to make him laugh again. But she had.

She ignored his last question, not really wanting to delve into the details of her love life with Draco Malfoy.

"What do you do for a living?" she asked. "I mean, all that alcohol you consume, eating here all the time, paying rent. All that must add up."

"I don't do anything. It's family money."

"Oh," she replied. "I see. You're a trust fund baby."

"Like you're one to talk, Greengrass," he said, sneering. "Your family's just as well-of as mine."

"But I'm going to support myself," she said haughtily."I'm going to be a reporter at the Daily Prophet. I actually have a job interview next week."

"A reporter? Going to be the next Rita Skeeter, are you?"

"Oh, yes," she said, rolling her eyes. "I've already got a large supply of Quick-Quotes Quills on hand."

Once again, Draco found himself laughing at something Astoria had said. It still felt strange, but in a good way. It reminded him of a time before the war, before he was a Death Eater. A time when he was just a kid who'd stay up late with his friends, laughing about something stupid.

He watched as Astoria stood up, pushing in her chair. "I have to go," she said. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Wait," he said. "Before you go, can I ask you something?"

She nodded, looking at him expectantly.

"Last night, when I got into that fight, did you happen to hear what the guy said to me that made me punch him? I don't remember, and I want to know what made me react the way I did."

Astoria was quiet for minute. "Yeah," she finally said, "I remember."

"Well?"

"He called you a coward," she replied quietly.

A coward. That guy in the bar had called him a coward.

Draco clutched his bottle of firewhiskey tightly. He hadn't bothered to go out that night. Instead he sat in the darkest corner of his flat, staring at the wall, empty bottles scattered around his feet. The room was spinning and Astoria's words were echoing over and over again in his head.

He called you a coward.

Draco took another swig of firewhiskey, trying to suppress her words from his head.

Coward. Coward. Coward.

"Argh!" he shouted, throwing the bottle across the room in frustration. It shattered into pieces, shards of glass flying everywhere. He'd have to clean it up later, but right now there was no way he'd be able to hold his wand steady.

I am a coward, he thought. That's why I'm so upset.

Only a coward would obey Voldemort's orders out of fear. Other men—brave men—had stood up to him, had refused to follow him. It had cost them their lives, but they died courageously, standing up for what they believed in. But not him. No, he had just done what he was told, too cowardly to do anything else. Of course, what could you expect from someone who'd spent his whole life hiding behind his family name, avoiding every bit of trouble that came his way? Just wait until my father hears about this. He'd been afraid of consequences his entire life. Even now, he was the same way. Too afraid to go out and face the world. He drank himself into oblivion, avoided his family and friends, was plagued with nightmares from the past. And it was all because he was too much of a coward to do anything else. To accept that the war had happened, that he done the things he'd done, and move on, building a new life for himself.

The next morning, he was awakened by the sound of someone knocking on his door. He sat up groggily and looked around. He'd passed out on his kitchen floor the night before.

He stood up, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head, and stumbled toward the door. Who could possibly be knocking? Nobody ever came to his flat.

He fumbled with the latch on his door and pulled it open.

It was Astoria Greengrass.

"You again?" he muttered. "Are you stalking me or something?"

She rolled her eyes, ignoring his question. "I wanted to talk to you about yesterday afternoon. You looked really upset after I told you what that guy had said. And then you just took off, without another word… "

"Could you hold that thought?" asked Draco, feeling extremely queasy. "I'm in desperate need of a hangover potion."

Astoria watched as Draco disappeared into another room. When he came back, he looked much healthier. She was no longer worried that he was going to vomit all over her.

"What were you saying?" he asked.

"I'm worried about you."

"Why?" he asked, that sneer she despised contorting his handsome face.

"Because I am," she snapped, annoyed that she didn't have a real answer to his question.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"I think that you need to get out in the world again. You can't keep ignoring everyone for the rest of your life."

"And why not?"

"Because it's not healthy," she said. "Which is why I think that you should accompany me to my mother's garden party next weekend. It'll be good for you to go somewhere and see some people that you know."

"A garden party?" he asked, a look of disbelief on his face. "You can't honestly be stupid enough to think that I would go to a garden party."

He immediately wished he could take his harsh words back. She looked so hurt when he called her stupid. He was such a bloody idiot, hurting the one girl who seemed to care whether he lived or died, the one girl who could actually make him laugh.

"Fine," she said. "I'll just be going then. Sorry to bother you."

He wasn't sure if he'd just imagined it, but he though he heard her voice crack slightly, like she was about to cry. As she turned and began to walk away, she let out a small sob. This time he was sure of what he'd heard. She was actually crying.

Shit, he thought.

"Greengrass, wait."

She turned back around. "What?"

"I'll go to your little garden party, okay?"

Her face immediately broke into a huge smile. "Great!"

He'd never admit it out loud, but the sight of her smiling made him want to smile too. Her smile was so beautiful, so contagious; it made him forget for a minute that the world wasn't perfect.

Thanks for reading! Don't forget to review!

This is going to be pretty short story. I'm thinking that there will be two more chapters, but that could change.