He reached for his keys, placing one in the knob of his flat. His hand was smooth, even in the darkness of the stoop. The ring on his hand, his family crest, replaced as it should be. It was really unfortunate that he couldn't really forget. How do you forget all that happened in a war? For the first time, he knew he was ready to let it go, to give it away and move on. He wondered what the girl was fighting. He wasn't sure it was the same, but she certainly was a sad creature, ready to trade away her own past. However, as much as he would do it, he didn't suspect that the public would have been as forgiving. No, they wouldn't let him forget.
He pushed the door open, dropping his jacket. He was fairly certain he missed the chair, but he didn't stop to pick it up. His head wasn't quite right. He felt drunk, which he supposed was possible. Other than that, everything seemed to be in place as he stumbled into the bathroom. He no longer saw the sallow reflection, that horrible body that was nearly destroyed. He really should have killed it himself. He had considered it until the girl distracted him. It always seemed to be his first consideration. He had dark urges, certainly, but something kept him from achieving his final goal. As much as he wanted to destroy the creature, that sickly human being that he loathed, he really couldn't do it. That final piece of him that had kept him from killing the aging wizard on the tower had remained strong. He simply couldn't give in, and let those urges take him.
At least he rid the whore of whatever money he had earned, and at least his head was a bit clearer in spite of the alcohol intake. The alcohol made sense, no matter that it was making his to mach churn a bit. He understood alcohol. What that boy did, he would never understand. Nor would he understand the Duke's draw to him. It didn't matter that the thing spewed poetry out of whatever was left of his mind. The thought made him feel just a bit worse, as he splashed water on his face. So much privilege wasted on someone so undeserving.
Next time. If there was a next time. There may never be one, although the blond vowed it. He made several vows, but he had his own doubts as well. Next time, I'll do it. Hollow words. He had a chance, just like the night on the tower. He failed.
Disgusted, he stalked out of the bathroom, collapsing on the bed. Draco drifted off, only to wake off and on through the night, seeing visions he never wanted to revisit.