Absinthe And Wormwood

Absinthe And Wormwood

"Absinthe, on a winter evening,
Lights up in green the sooty soul."
-- Charles Cros

It was, Draco would reflect later, not a day out of the ordinary.

It wasn't his birthday, nor had he performed any strange spells to spark off any event. He went to classes, he traded insults with The Boy Wonder, and he played a dozen rounds of wizard chess with Blaise before going down to dinner.

No, it was just like any other day. Until night time.

When Draco Malfoy closed his eyes and tried to sleep, he saw a woman lying on a divan, her dark curls thick and loose over her bare shoulders, holding a glass of green liquid in her right hand. Her dark crimson gown was sewn with gold thread, the bosom low enough to be provocative, and here and there he could catch a glimpse of her legs under the velvet.

Then he was transported to where she was, a strangely warm room lit by golden candles - even though he could feel the bed beneath him and hear Crabbe's snoring if he tried very, very hard. The room had a window which showed the Eiffel Tower in the distance, and he knew that this place was Paris.

Draco noticed, too, that there was another person in the room. His head was bent and there was an easel in front of him, and Draco knew that he was painting the woman. Somehow, Draco understood instinctively that the two of them could not see him. He was only an observer.

There was something familiar about them ... and when the painter lifted his head, Draco realized what it was. The painter was Draco - only not quite, because this Draco had darker blond hair, and there was three days' worth of stubble on his chin, and his face held no boyish youth, but only traces of jadedness.

An older Draco. And the woman could only be Pansy Parkinson. Only this time, with the heavy white powder and the red, red lips, Pansy could be described as cruelly beautiful.

"Should we not take a rest?" the older Pansy asked. She opened her eyes suddenly and Draco was struck by their greyness, how lazy but predatory her glance was. For a moment she stared into the corner where Draco was standing, and he fancied that maybe, just maybe, she could see him.

"When I have finished, perhaps," the older Draco answered, his eyes never leaving the canvas. There was a crease between his eyebrows as if he was frustrated, and he was clenching the brush tightly.

Pansy stretched, and set down the glass of liquid. She walked over to the older Draco and kneeled by him.

"You have been lingering at the same colour for the past hour," she said, "and I see that your muse isn't coming to your rescue tonight."

He started to interrupt her but she put a finger to his lips. With a free hand she brought a bottle labelled 'La Fée Verte' into his sight, and Draco saw his older counterpart quiet down and nod.

La Fée Verte. He was sure he had heard it somewhere.

Pansy set a strange, slotted spoon over the opening of the bottle, and put a sugar cube atop the spoon. Then she dribbled a glass of water over the sugar.

As the cold water met the contents inside the bottle, it changed into a bright green colour - almost glowing in the golden dimness of the room.

She ran her fingers over his lips, her face a breath from his. The older Draco leaned in to kiss her, but she lifted the bottle to his face. "You need this more," she said, and she was smiling.

When Draco woke up he remembered completely the dream and what La Fée Verte was - absinthe.

The dream surprised Draco. Before it he knew what absinthe was (it had been mentioned in several books he had read, and in his Herbology textbook: "Wormwood is known to be an important ingredient in the once-popular Muggle spirit absinthe"), but he had never cared for it. It was a Muggle drink, and therefore it must be inferior.

But his curiosity was piqued.

That morning at breakfast, Draco stole a look at Pansy, who was sitting with her minions half a table away. Her hair was straight, unlike the dark curls of the woman Pansy in his dreams, and her face was sharper, but it was she all the same.

It suddenly struck him that both he and Pansy had the same sort of grey eyes, though why the thought had jumped into his brain, he had no idea.

"Draco? Draco?"

Jolted out of his thoughts, Draco turned to Blaise. "Sorry - you were saying?"

Blaise looked at him intently, and then shook his head. "Is something the matter? You are awfully quiet today."

"It's just -" Draco started to wave his hand dismissively, but stopped. "Listen, Blaise; you free to go to the library with me later?"

***

When they got to the library, Draco noticed with distaste that Granger was there, along with Potter and Weasley. Blaise muttered something under his breath and glared at them. He wasn't too big a fan of The Trio either.

Weasley was the first to speak up. "Well, well, Malfoy in the library. I guess pigs do fly."

"Perhaps you are too inept to understand how a Flying Charm works," Draco shot back, "although I guess that is expected."

Weasley turned red, and Potter glared angrily at Draco. If it had been any other time, Draco would have loved to stay for a fight, but he walked away from the three of them and down an aisle. He had a task on his hands, after all.

General Section. Absinthe. Absinthe. His eyes searched the rows and rows of books for something on it.

"What are you looking for?" Blaise asked suddenly, from behind Draco.

"Aaaah!" Draco yelped, then immediately felt stupid. He would be damned if The Trio had seen him. "Blaise -" he started in a warning tone.

"I know; I'm sorry," he said as he rolled his eyes. "Now, what are you looking for? We can split up and search. It's faster."

It took a while for Draco to answer. Blaise was one of his closest friends, but sometimes he tended to probe too much. For some reason, Draco did not feel like telling him that he had dreamt of Pansy.

"Absinthe," Draco said reluctantly.

"That Muggle drink?" Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

He gestured to the shelves. "All that can be found here concerns magic and wizardry. Absinthe will not have a place here. The most you can get is probably a mention of how absinthe is produced by brewing wormwood with other herbs."

"Well I was thinking that it was better to search without hope than to not search at - wait a minute, wait a minute. How do you know so much about absinthe?"

"Well..." Blaise hesitated. "I used to fancy a woman who was obsessed with absinthe. So I read everything about it that I could get my hands on. Everything. I was hoping to impress her, you see."

"Did it work?" Draco asked, amused.

"Unfortunately, no. I threw up after my first taste of that green stuff. I don't like it. It tastes like turpentine."

Draco laughed, and then he paused. "You said woman," Draco questioned, cocking his head.

Blaise grinned, but he didn't elaborate. Instead, he changed the question. "I have a book that could be useful. Do you want it?"

***

Blaise hadn't been lying. Within an hour, Draco turned from a complete novice to an expert on the history of absinthe.

La Fée Verte, The Green Fairy. The drink favoured by artists and poets and writers.

In the nineteenth century, absinthe crossed all social boundaries and was consumed by Muggles from every caste, by wizards who favoured their superiority over Muggles. There was no one anywhere who had not tasted it before.

It was a true universal spirit in every sense of the word. Some say that it had hallucinogenic properties; that it was responsible for the many beautiful works of art that painters of that period produced. It had a high alcoholic content - much, much higher than Firewhiskey. Sixty percent, perhaps more.

Then, absinthe fell from grace. The Muggles condemned it at first, and then the wizards. It faded into oblivion, marking the end of a decadent era. It fell so far from grace that nowadays, rarely have people even heard of the miracle drink that so inspired artists of its time.

Like the older Draco.

Another dream, another place.

This time it was of Venice, in the time of the Cairevale, and the canals reflected the buildings, the stars and the sky so well that it was like living in a world of twin images.

There was a palazzo lit by flickering lamps, murals on every wall. A maddening crowd of gaily dancing people, their true faces obscured by colourful feathered masks.

Someone who looked very much like Draco was standing in the middle, looking confused and awkward. His gaze was locked onto the woman standing near the door, wearing a décolleté dress and a beautiful diamond necklace.

Intrigued, he asked the people next to him, "Who is she?"

They entertained him, for artists were meant to be respected and admired in this age. But their answers were vague. "She is the woman who sells absinthe."

She must have noticed him staring, because s smiled.

"I've heard of your name," she said later, when they were standing at the balcony. "They say that the Muggle painter Picasso pales in comparison with you."

"We have our own styles of painting," he replied modestly.

"I see," she said quietly.

His eyes were on the absinthe bottle she was holding. "You may think I am a fool for confessing this," he said, "but I have never drank absinthe before."

"Never?" she repeated. She shook her head gently. "How - strange. Other artists call it their muse. I've never met an artist who have not tasted it before."

"May I try it, then?" he asked, more out of curiosity than anything.

And she said with an enigmatic smile, "Not unless you kiss me."

The next morning Draco ran into Pansy on the stairway, and his first reaction was to back up. Twice had he saw her in his dreams, each time bewitching, each time mysterious.

He was scared.

"Are you scared of me, Draco?" she asked in a teasing voice when she noticed his reaction.

He shook his head - too fast.

"Why would I be?" he replied, turning his body sideways so that he could move past her in the narrow passage. He caught a whiff of her hair - it smelled like roses.

"Maybe because you have been seeing me in your dreams," she said.

Startled, jolted, Draco turned around. Pansy was smiling.

"Just joking," she grinned. "Have a nice day, Draco," she said, before she walked up to the girl's dormitory, and he couldn't chase after her because the stairs would turn into a slide if he did so.

***

They had lessons until three that day, after which they were free to go as they pleased. Draco decided that if he could not make heads or tails of the situation at all, maybe getting his hands on an actual bottle of absinthe might be useful.

He made Blaise come with him to Hogsmeade, to The Three Broomsticks, and was promptly chased out by Madam Rosmerta banishing a broom.

"Absinthe! Absinthe! As if Roger selling Grade A Firewhiskey to minors like you isn't good enough. Go away!"

"I'm not underaged, Rosmerta!" Blaise shouted as he ran away. "I'm sixteen years old, for Merlin's sake."

They trawled pub after pub ("Sorry child, can't sell no liquor to you," "Absinthe! Who sell 'em these days!"), and eventually ended up at the Hog's Head.

Blaise hesitated outside the entrance.

"Come on," Draco urged. "It's our last hope. You aren't scared, are you?"

"No," Blaise replied shortly. "But my cousin works here, and if he sent word to my father that I've been drinking..."

"It won't happen," Draco reassured him, and of this he felt fairly sure. Hog's Head was known to be discreet.

They entered the bar.

***

The first thing Draco thought was, this is too bitter.

Bitter; too bitter, with the sharp sting of alcohol. When he swallowed, a sweetness lingered in his mouth. A completely new taste that he had never experienced before... yet knew all about.

But somehow, he realized that this was not the best absinthe that could have been - the absinthes of long ago were so much more aromatic and rich. This, at best, was a watered-down version.

Blaise made a face. "I told you it tastes like turpentine."

But Draco did not think so. Already he could feel an addiction, an obsession surfacing that was buried under his psyche all the time. Like he had awakened something that had lain dormant all the time.

He dreamt many times that winter. Always of absinthe and him and Pansy, in different places and eras. Dreams of absinthe and grey eyes.

He saw the real Pansy in a different light.

She wasn't beautiful in the way that turns heads, but she wasn't plain either. What she had, Draco realized, was a timeless, undefined façade that enabled her to fit into any period in history.

He needed her like he needed absinthe nowadays. The lucidity that came after drinking it was a drug to Draco. He saw everything completely, with every sense amplified.

Sometimes, he wondered. Maybe when he fell for absinthe, he fell for Pansy. They came with each other.

And he wondered what true beauty was anyway - a perfect face? Because though Pansy was not blessed with good looks, she was beautiful in other areas. Beautiful in her cunning manipulations - why else did she dominate a house known for its slyness? Beautiful in the scent of her hair. Beautiful in her grey eyes. Those eyes could seduce a man and reduce him to nothing in a blink of an eye.

***

And then one day, it all turned into a reality.

He was alone in the common room one day, rushing to finish his History of Magic homework. The fire was crackling, and he had a bottle of absinthe by his side. It had cost him one hundred Galleons, but it was money he was all too ready to part with.

When he looked up for a second, she was there, next to him.

"Draco."

"Pansy."

He remembered, suddenly and completely, how she had looked when she was naked in his dreams, and he swallowed.

Her eyes drifted to the bottle next to him. "You are going to be in trouble if Professor Snape realized you have been sneaking this in."

"He won't send me to detention," Draco replied with a wry smile. "Being the teacher's pet has its advantages."

Her eyes were still locked on the bottle. "What is it?"

"Absinthe."

She looked at him sharply. "That's a Muggle drink."

"But intoxicating, nevertheless," he said. "In fact, I might say that it's the only thing that the Muggles have ever done right."

And she asked, "Can I try it?"

And Draco said, "Not unless you kiss me."

I want you to fall for me.

She was starting to protest when Draco put a finger to her lips.

"It's a dare," he said. "I promise you I won't try anything."

A touch of her lips on his. The smell of her hair. An image of an absinthe bottle.

When she leaned back her eyes were glazed, and Draco knew that maybe, just maybe, he could make her fall hard and fierce for him.

***

Christmas Eve. Hogwarts was decked out in full winterland splendour. Outside it was frightfully cold, but inside Hogwarts it was warm.

Pansy was lying in his arms, asleep, while he was glancing at the wall opposite them. Something flickered at the edge of his vision. The candle next to him was still lit.

Slowly, gently, he reached out to snuff the flame without disturbing her, leaving the entire room in total darkness. He could see nothing, but he felt her heat down his front, and her thigh on his. And he held her a bit tighter, before closing his eyes.

This time the dreams did not come.

And so Draco found his muse again in this lifetime, just like one lifetime before.

The absinthe that had brought them together twice stood by, bittersweet, infused with the magic of wormwood.