AN: Thanks for waiting for this. I'm working on four fics at once, including Cut, which a new chapter should be up soon, perhaps by the weekend. As always, many thanks to where_is_truth and rainpuddle13 for their quick and insightful beta jobs!
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The outburst took Ginny and Colin by surprise. She'd been sitting and regaling him with tales from America, and then suddenly Draco was bellowing about whores and his father. The sheer rage had purpled his cheeks as he stood now in front of the men he'd just lambasted.
"Get out, you sodding fucks! The whole lot of you, out!" he screamed when no one budged. His beautiful assembled crew began to mutter amongst themselves when Draco seemed to completely go round the bend. He began rushing each of the small tables, upsetting drinks and flailing his arms, screeching for his guests' imminent departure.
For a fleeting second, Ginny almost felt a speck of sympathy.
Almost.
As she watched him ransack the room and literally chase away his people, she was disgusted and embarrassed that this had to happen here on Colin's watch.
Colin stood impassively behind the bar, mopping up stray water rings.
"Aren't you just barking mad?" Ginny hissed as Draco continued his childish drunken rage.
Colin shook his head. "There's nothing in here that I can't clean with my wand. It's money, Ginny dear, unfortunately, it's all money."
***
Draco stood piss-drunk in the middle of the dance floor he'd just effectively vacated. Scanning his bleary gaze to the tables that lay beyond, he focused on the half-empty drinks he'd missed, then the broken glasses dripping sticky liquor concoctions on the bright parquet floor. His head felt heavy again, and he plopped down on the floor, massaging his temples.
He'd had such a searing moment of clarity when Borden mentioned his father. Oh, Merlin, how he'd tried to dissociate from his father's image.
Draco's business was all aboveboard-- he was obsessively meticulous about keeping it so. And so he worked hard during the day while partying his arse off at night. His precious father would have never done that. No, his sneaky, evil, violent bastard of a father had nearly ruined any chances Draco had of becoming successful, and that was even after Lucius had died quite neatly in Azkaban.
And here he sat, hunched over, head swimming and a couple of stray tears falling on the floor of the nightclub he'd just signed the deal on that day.
***
Colin exited the bar, striding purposefully to the now-prone Draco. Colin crouched alongside him, retaining the demeanor of a long-time butler or valet. Ginny had no idea how he kept his cool.
"Mr. Malfoy, shall I arrange a room for you at The Leaky Cauldron?" Colin asked quietly. Draco cracked an eye, wondering how he'd ever saddled himself with poncey Creevey as a barkeep. But the man did mix a good drink.
"No, no, I'm staying here," Draco declared, struggling to his feet. When he got to his knees, he began to sway and grabbed onto Colin's leg for support.
"Gimme some help here, man. I'm going to the corner table and holding court like a fucking king!" Draco crowed, the prospect of surveying his land suddenly important.
With a blank face, Colin helped Draco to the corner table. With a swish and flick of his wand, Colin cleared the table of soggy napkins, shattered glass and spilled libations.
"Oopsie! Looks like I spilled my drinky-poo on my new puffskein coat!" Draco laughed, not exactly sure why this was so funny to him.
Colin got Draco situated in the booth so he could learn the lay of the land, albeit the empty land.
"Mr. Malfoy, do you wish to sit here alone or shall I open the club to its regular patrons?" Colin asked, picking up Draco's lush black fur coat and whispering a quick cleaning spell to remove the pink stain from the lapels.
"'Sokay to let 'em in," Draco said, thinking he needed to know his customers. Yes! That was it! He needed to meet them personally! Creevey handed him his now-clean coat and he slipped it on with only a bit of trouble.
"And my last question for now. To whom do I send the bill for your party?" Draco thought for a second, his eyes nearly crossing with the effort of deciding who to stick with the tab.
"Jus' send it to me. An' stick on twenty five percent for yer trouble," Draco said negligently, losing his cultured accent.
Colin nodded impassively; turning back toward the bar where he saw sparks flying from Ginny's corner, where she was aiming cleaning spells at other portions of the room. Smiling to himself, he wondered if she could resist aiming some harmless hex at the drunk.
"An' keep those drinks comin'!"
***
A half-hour later, Colin had floo'd in the eleven other employees, collected Draco's discarded shirt, cleaned the dance floor and the surrounding tables, and managed to keep Draco suitably happy with watered-down vodka and pumpkin juice.
Ginny marveled at his efficiency.
Colin instructed the two regular doormen to let in the clubbers. A flood of lavish, outlandishly dressed witches and wizards streamed in. There was a reason the club was named Every Flavor; people of every ethnicity and color and creed frequented the bar, known for its carefree attitudes. It was not unknown for couples of every kind to be found snogging or more in the lavatories or on the mezzanine that overlooked the dance floor. As long as you didn't hurt or offend anyone, anything went.
Ginny smiled, waving to several people she knew and often danced with, but they didn't come to the bar. She knew they wouldn't. Right now, the excited crowd only wanted to start dancing to the slinky beats the Music Maker, the in-house music director, could make. The Music Maker took no requests and was not visible behind his black-tinted booth. No one was exactly sure of his name, but Ginny had heard a few credible rumors that it was Ernie MacMillan. It didn't matter - he was famous for his erotic sounds. The management of Every Flavor had no problem upping his salary when he was courted by other clubs.
And those beats were certainly pumping tonight. It was getting harder and harder to see Draco in his corner, but she occasionally caught a glimpse of him toasting some patron or another. Once in a while someone walked over to him, but it was quickly evident they realized how drunk he was and decided not to continue their probably inane conversation.
Colin was making his drinks weaker and weaker as the night wore on, keeping just enough alcohol in so Draco could smell it. Ginny sneered at his obvious inability to hold his liquor. During a prolonged period when most of the dancers had moved to the side, she could see him absently stroking his luxurious coat and drinking with the other hand.
Funny how he should have looked ridiculous, but he didn't. If you forgot the face and looked at him from the neck down…wow. She'd seen the way his leather pants fit earlier, and topping off that marble translucence with the black fur coat made her distinctly throb in places she shouldn't.
It was well past two a.m., and Ginny could not sit in her corner any longer. Colin was busy now preparing drinks, and he had no time to talk to her. She had come here to dance, right? Sliding from the impossibly tall stool onto her impossibly high heels, she strode onto the dance floor and took up with a group of her club friends.
***
Whoa. These pumpkin juice and vodka stingers were harsh! Draco decided he'd had enough, telling Colin so when he brought the next round. Counting seven glasses in front of him, Draco thought perhaps it wouldn't be prudent to have any more now that the club was filled with people he'd like to keep as customers.
His stomach was sloshing and he was in desperate need of a leak. His vision was extremely muzzy and it took him ten minutes to navigate the path from his table to the loos and back again. He returned refreshed and glad he'd not thrown up. Appearances were very important to Draco. Even drunk, he thought, one must be in control.
A clean table, a tall glass of water and a plate of tidbits sat in front of Draco as he eased himself back into the booth. Ah, maybe this was why he'd felt exceedingly drunk. He'd not eaten that night, or at least, so much earlier that he'd forgotten. He tucked into the tiny sandwiches Colin had prepared for him, nibbling on the strawberries and pineapple that garnished his plate. He had no idea clubs kept these sorts of things on hand. This was bloody good. He'd have to look into the club serving actual food.
As the music changed from one throbbing beat to another, Draco cast an eye toward the music booth. The manager of the club, a florid wizard in his forties called Tedrick Goodnight, had told him it was his old prefect friend Ernie MacMillan, manning the controls. Draco had laughed privately when Goodnight had said friend, but he let it go. Draco had no idea why MacMillan would want to do something so mundane as creating dance tunes, but from the looks of the salary he was paid merely to stay at the club, it was worth it.
People were dancing in little clumps, some groups obviously better acquainted than others. The group directly in front of him was casually dancing and talking while groups nearby were so close together it was hard to tell people apart. Draco smiled a little, raising his water glass to anyone who glanced his way.
The Music Master changed the music to something that was obviously a crowd favorite, because an appreciative roar rose from the dancers. People began to clear from the dance floor, though, and Draco jostled the table in order to see why.
Two men and two women were in the middle of the floor.
A dark, clashing, raspy song came on. The lyrics indecipherable- the singer ran the gamut from whispering to shouting.
One woman was startlingly blonde, clad in tight red leather. Her male partner was equally Teutonic, and matched well enough. The other male was dark, with short, spiky black hair, and on his arm was quite possibly the most magnificent woman he'd ever seen.
The lights were low enough that Draco couldn't distinguish the true color of her hair, which he pegged as rich, thick brown. She wore an almost painted on white leather halter and pants on her lithe frame, leaving little to the imagination. Her feet were encased in delicate high heels, but the fall of her pant leg belied her true height. When a moving light chanced upon her, Draco could see her flawless skin and white teeth.
He would meet this woman just as soon as her little troupe finished their incredibly erotic dance and his raging erection subsided. From the precious little Draco could discern from the lyrics, they were acting out the song. The brunette and her darker partner were simulating the sexual act so well that he could see other patrons beginning to sneak hands into private places and placing furtive kisses along exposed skin. Some couples stole away to the mezzanine or the loos.
The song began to slide into its parting notes and the brunette was swept into the air by her partner. He pushed her down his body suggestively and a few moments later the end of the song came as did, Draco suspected, more than a few of the watchers. The woman was in the dark man's arms, bowed back, her hips pressing into the cradle of his. He held her with one hand and traced down her body with the other.
Those still assembled burst into rousing applause. The quartet took gracious bows and walked off the floor, gleaming with perspiration that shone as the house lights unexpectedly went up. The Music Maker called them back to the center for another round of applause. Draco stood to applaud, taking care to brace himself against the table.
Draco was stunned to realize that not only did the witch have glorious red hair, but that he knew her. Fucking shame he couldn't remember her name…