Young (Drarry Fanfic)

Prologue

Young...
We were so young
when we thought
that we knew how to love.
Fought about anything,
everything led to dysfunction.
But we just gotta own that shit.
Don't let it go like this.
Maybe we can go from this, yeah.

Caught...
We were caught up in the high,
it was better than drugs.
Too high to see that it would all lead to destruction.
At least we both know that shit.
We just gotta own that shit.
I hope that we can go from this, yeah.

Don't worry, my love,
we're learning to love,
but it's hard when you're young.

I'm calling you up,
you tell me it's over.
You say what you want,
but it's hard when you're young.

Yeah, it's hard when you're young.

— Young (The Chainsmokers)

~oOo~

June 1999

"This is the last time, Potter." Malfoy says slowly, yet his voice is firm, resolute.

Harry feels as though he's just been struck by a rogue Bludger. He's still halfway to pulling his jeans back on and Malfoy is only just buttoning up his shirt. The blond is still flushed pink and breathless, looking thoroughly well-fucked from their recent bout of shagging.

The very air in the train compartment suddenly stagnates. Its heavy; suffocating. Harry feels as if his chest is being squeezed. He's speechless. Harry could only stare at Malfoy as he wills himself to breathe; to remain impassive; to not lose the last tattered shred of his composure.

He's known since the beginning that whatever this is—was—between him and Malfoy was just purely physical. Malfoy had made that abundantly clear. Harry, however, had fallen far too fast and too deep. It didn't make much sense back then and it still doesn't, even now. Yet, Harry, like a fool, had hoped for more.

He should have stopped while he was ahead.

And now, not only had Malfoy unwittingly ripped Harry's heart out, the blond had proceeded to trample all over it as well.

The late afternoon sunlight catches on Malfoy's white-blond hair, illuminating his whole face like a halo. He looks ethereal and so fucking beautiful that Harry aches at the mere sight of him.

Harry feels so hopeless. Empty. He just wants to curl up somewhere and die.

And so, he grins, raising a quizzical eyebrow at Malfoy.

The blond has finished dressing himself and is now quietly watching Harry. Upon seeing Harry's sunny smile, Malfoy's own face dims, grey eyes shuttering close. Harry doesn't notice any of this. He's too caught up in his own emotional breakdown.

Harry fights to keep his voice light as he teases, "Sounds serious." He lounges indolently back in his seat across from Malfoy; trembling hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"You could say that." Malfoy shrugs, looking out the window; face carefully blank. The train slows. They're pulling into King's Cross Station.

Silence descends upon them and Harry knows he won't be getting any other explanation from Malfoy.

The Hogwarts Express grinds to a screeching halt and Malfoy smoothly rises to his feet. Harry watches as the blond collects his expensive traveling bag. He now looks as impeccable as ever, not a single strand of hair out of place. Harry couldn't believe that mere moments before, in this very compartment, Malfoy had been naked and sweating, looking thoroughly debauched, keening and writhing as Harry fucked him hard and fast.

Malfoy turns to look at Harry, smirking lightly, "You'd best get back to your ickle friends, Scarhead. You've been gone a while."

Harry snorts as he lazily stands, grabbing his Invisibility Cloak from where he'd thrown it earlier. He walks up to Malfoy and holds out his hand. "It's been fun, Malfoy."

Malfoy stares from Harry's outstretched hand to his face, then back again. A small smile tugs at the corners of Malfoy's plush lips as he grasps Harry's hand. He looks right at Harry, grey eyes curiously intense yet unreadable.

"Goodbye, Potter." He murmurs, sounding just a touch wistful; his fingers tightening ever so slightly on Harry's hand.

Harry couldn't speak. He swallows thickly; throat tight, eyes burning. Malfoy pulls his hand away and quietly exits the train compartment with one last fleeting glance at Harry.

Harry wants to stop him; to hug him; to kiss him senseless; to ask him to stay; to tell him how he truly feels.

But he doesn't.

The door softly shuts behind Malfoy; the quiet sound echoing with painful finality in Harry's ears.

Closing his eyes, Harry leans his forehead against the door; chest numb, heart dead. He inhales deeply, fighting to regain control of his wildly surging emotions. He can still smell Malfoy. He can still feel his warmth beneath his fingertips. Harry bites his lip and thinks he could still taste him too.

Malfoy is gone. Harry won't see him ever again. Even if they do cross paths later on, it'll only be as passing acquaintances. Nothing more, nothing less.

Harry pulls himself together with great effort and finally leaves to find his friends. He doesn't look back. There's no reason to. This chapter of his life is over. His Eighth Year at Hogwarts is finally done. His future now awaits. Similar to what he's done with everything painful that's ever happened to him in the past, Harry will also put this behind him and move on from it.

He finds his friends waiting for him on the Platform. Everyone wonders where he's been. He makes vague excuses. Only Ginny remains silent. She comes to stand beside him and they share a meaningful look.

Only she knows.

Ginny's eyes are warm and a bit sad. She worries about him. Harry merely shrugs. Ginny softly sighs. She slips a comforting hand through his, threading their fingers together. She understands him like no one else. He's grateful.

Its not even a week later that Harry's world gets flipped upside down; inside out.

He reads about a certain blond Slytherin's engagement in the Daily Prophet.

Draco Malfoy is marrying Astoria Greengrass.

Harry Potter's already battered heart is finally reduced to ashes.