It was the busiest night The Dragon had suffered in a long time. Draco hadn’t stopped making rounds through the tables for over an hour, and if things got any busier he might have to start serving the scotch himself.

He noticed the glasses were looking a little low at the Exploding Snap table, and swung by the bar to make mention of it to Shane.

“Looking low at six,” he muttered as he edged behind the bar and poured himself a shot of Firewhisky.

“I’m on it,” the newest bartender replied from beside Shane, whipping out another bottle and five glasses.

“Could do with some help from that boy of yours now, eh boss?” Shane laughed as he pulled out two bottles of liquor and flipped them upside down to pour into glasses without spilling a drop.

Draco raised an eyebrow, impressed as always. “You stay away from Scorpius with your bartender tricks. I don’t want him getting any funny ideas.”

The smallest of smiles flicked across his lips at the thought of his son, who had spent the last month of the summer staying with him in Prague. Scorpius had been spending parts of his summer at The Sleeping Dragon since he was five, and he knew the place better than Draco did. He could bartend better than anyone except perhaps Shane, and he had learned to play each table with Prague’s most ruthless businessmen.

He stared down at the shot of Firewhisky, his brows knitted together. Best not think too hard about Firewhisky – it never led to good things. He downed it, hoping to drown out the treacherous thoughts.

The end of the summer hadn’t been something Draco had looked forward to to begin with. He always hated saying goodbye to his son. But as he stood beside Celia on the platform, waving goodbye to Scorpius, he heard the angelic tinkling of a laugh that haunted his dreams. He never stood a chance, for although his head screamed at him to ignore the sound and continue smiling at his son, his heart clenched and his neck turned to see a flash of her red hair through the fog.

“Draco?” Shane asked with the air of someone repeating himself.

Draco shook his head as if to clear out the thoughts and looked up. “Yes?”

“Kovar is here. He and his people took the back room. He wants to see you.”

Draco nodded. “Take care of things out here for a while, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Draco straightened his tie. He detested Kovar. He was loud and rude and acted as if he owned the world. He threw money around like tissues, and it intimidated everyone but Draco, who knew a thing or two about throwing money around.

Nevertheless, the man was his best customer, and Draco made a point of humoring him. Humoring a customer, however, did not constitute kissing his feet. Draco had enough business to keep from degrading himself in that way.

He strode into the back room to find Kovar sprawled out on his green leather armchair, and four burly brutes scattered around the room, fingering their wands. Draco quelled the low growl at the bottom of his throat.

“Kovar, good to see you again. You are well?”

“Very well,” he responded in his slow, resounding voice. “I expect you know why we’re here?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

The men exchanged glances. “We heard from sources of ours that the tables are being set up,” Kovar explained.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The man in the corner tightened his grip on his wand.

“I think you do,” Kovar insisted in that slow voice. “And I don’t have a problem with that. I, however, have been a customer since The Dragon opened, and I think I’m entitled…”

“No one at The Dragon is entitled to anything other than the chance to try his luck,” Draco hissed venomously. “This meeting is quite through. If you don’t intend to buy a drink or play the tables, you’re welcome to leave.”

“Malfoy,” Kovar grunted, heaving himself up from the chair. “I understand you don’t have a favorable opinion of me, but I-”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t have any opinion of you at all,” Draco replied curtly. “Excuse me.”

By the time he had returned to the barroom, his temper had cooled completely. It was funny how composed he had come to be in the last ten years. Very little, if anything at all, riled him up anymore. Draco simply considered it another benefit of apathy.

He cringed at the sight of a woman seated at the bar. She was chatting animatedly with one of his bartenders, her long blonde hair glowing under the lights. Her name escaped him, but he was sure once she caught sight of him she would howl about how he hadn’t made time for her recently.

She turned to wave at someone else in the room, and Draco followed her gaze to another woman coming from the restroom. Time slowed to a crawl as she glided across the room and slid into the adjacent barstool, asking the bartender for something to drink.

Draco felt his eyes roll back into his head for a moment and his knees go weak beneath him. He grasped the nearest chair with a shaking hand and struggled to breathe. He would know that hair anywhere, the fire that burned with the million colors of the sun against her cream-colored dress.

He didn’t think he could bear it as she turned slowly in her seat, cocking her head almost instinctively. Her gaze searched the room until it found his, and he could see, even from twenty feet away, her chocolate eyes widen with anything but happiness.

Her companion turned as well, her mouth falling open slightly as she caught sight of him, and Draco recognized her vaguely as another girl he had attended Hogwarts with.

There was nothing left for him to do but let his feet carry him across the room to the bar. When his brain failed to produce a greeting, she cleared her throat and said, “Hello, Draco.”

He swallowed. The words, so simple and nondescript to anyone else, rang in his ears. He felt like crying.

“Hullo, Ginny,” he said in a voice that sounded too smooth to be his own.

“You might not remember me from school,” said the woman to Ginny’s right, tucking blonde hair behind her ears. “I’m Luna Lovegood. You’re Draco Malfoy.”

Draco nodded, grateful for something to do.

“What are you doing here?” Luna asked cheerfully.

“I own The Dragon,” Draco replied, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, that’s lovely. It’s a beautiful place,” Luna remarked.

“Thank you,” Draco breathed. Ginny was looking at him with wide, frightened eyes. She looked absolutely beautiful. It took his breath away and broke his heart just to be so close to her.

“You both enjoy your time here,” Draco said in his best cordial voice. “Shane, drinks on the house for these two.”

Ginny opened her mouth as if to say something, but Draco brushed past them into the back room, his head pounding. He sunk into the armchair Kovar had occupied less than ten minutes before, and held his head in his hands.

He heard the door creak open and shut quietly behind the intruder. Something clunked onto the table before him, and Draco looked up to see a tumbler of scotch.

“Thought you might want something like that,” Shane muttered, sitting down across from him.

Draco reached for the glass and downed it before settling back into the chair. He could feel Shane watching him thoughtfully. Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

“Is she the one?” Shane asked softly, tracing circles on the table with his thumb.

“What?” Draco snapped.

“Is she the one? Is she the girl you’re always looking for, always waiting for?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Draco, I’ve worked at this place for seven years. I’ve seen dozens of women walk out those doors, not by choice, but because you sent them out. It’s like you’re always waiting for this certain girl to walk into your life. Is that girl in there the one you’ve been hoping for?”

Draco had lowered his face back to his hands during Shane’s little speech. “Go help the others, Shane,” he mumbled into his arms.

The man nodded, always certain what he was needed for, grabbed the glass, and left.

Draco exhaled shakily. He should have just stayed asleep.

The bottle before him on the table was almost empty, but his mind remained disappointingly sharp. Never before had the Firewhisky failed to dull his mind or pain. But he knew it was another fire that his heart desired at the moment.

Shane had cleaned up several hours ago, how many Draco didn’t know. The bar was dark and empty and echoed with every clink of his glass.

She had never really said she loved him, had she? She had smiled when he told her, but…

He felt his mind slip a bit as he took another swig. No, no. She had never loved him. He hadn’t loved her either. No. You can’t love someone you’ve only spent a month with. That had been his problem with women: too trusting and easily persuaded.

Not anymore, though. Not anymore.

He laughed out loud at that thought. All those women he had turned away – he secretly enjoyed rejecting them. If he could just make them feel a semblance of the pain he felt, it would all be okay.

“Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine,” he muttered blearily, laughing into his bottle – the glass lay forgotten and shattered on the floor.

He heard the door open behind him, the little bell over it ringing loudly.

“Go away, we’re closed,” he shouted, turning in his seat to see who had interrupted his misery.

She stood there in the doorway, her hair windblown from walking the streets, and her dress fluttering around her knees. His stomach swooped unpleasantly.

“Go away,” he repeated, slurring the words together slightly.

“I have to talk to you,” she said, stepping into the room.

“I’m all talked out, Ginny,” he replied, shaking the bottle in hopes of finding more whiskey.

“Please, please, I have to tell you,” she cried, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from him.

He stared at her. “Tell me what? You never told me anything. You’re not the kind that tells.”

Tears were glistening in her eyes now. “Please,” she whispered.

“No. Leave me alone. You’re good at that.”

An actual sob escaped her lips, and Draco felt his heart twist more firmly. “I was pregnant, Draco.”

His mind was blissfully blank from whiskey and tears and simply being close too her, but his lips parted slightly at her outburst. Its weight nestled into his brain and all he could muster was meeting those chocolate eyes with his own.

“I thought the baby was Harry’s. I’d told you myself that I thought it was cruel to take a child from its father, and so I went back to England.”

“I’m glad you’re so steadfast in your morals,” Draco spat, slamming down the bottle.

She cringed. “Draco…”

“What? What do you want me to say? I’m happy for you? That’s bloody fantastic! Bully for you and Potter and your procreating talents!”

“She’s yours!” Ginny screamed, standing up and red in the face. “She’s your child!”

His heart had stopped in his chest. She breathed heavily before him, her face flushed and angry and her hair wild. Another sob died in her throat. Before he could utter a word, she turned and fled The Dragon.

Author notes: Reviews, please.