Young (Drarry Fanfic)

Last Day Alive

***Author's Note: This chapter is extra long because I. got. carried. away... Oh well! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

~oOo~

Bottled up in adolescence.
Bottom of forbidden essence.
Twisted up in adolescence.

Waking up within your arms.
Feel alive and dangerous.
You're dangerous.
We're dangerous.

Run into the bright lights,
most nights.
Now or never.
Always and forever.
The last day alive.

Now or never—
It's now or never.
The last day alive.

Promises within the air.
Drowning in love affair.
The night is young,
and we are young.

—Last Day Alive by The Chainsmokers

~oOo~

March 1999

The stands are heaving, groaning under the weight of the entire population of Hogwarts. The roar of the crowd is deafening. The players are mere streaks of red and yellow as they shoot through the air; the Quaffle switching hands with dizzying speed amidst Bludgers beaten with enough force to easily decapitate someone.

It's mayhem, but Draco hardly even registers the cacophony that engulfs him. As far as he's concerned, it's all just white noise. He's entire being is focused solely on one person; nothing and nobody else.

Potter.

He's a stunning vision; glorious on his broom. Fierce and fast, he strikes like a bolt of lightning out of the blue, leaving his opponent shocked and floundering. He's untouchable, a veritable force of nature. It's as though he is the embodiment of the very scar that mars his forehead.

For a fleeting moment, Draco allows himself to feel a sliver of sympathy for the hapless Hufflepuff Seeker. The poor bloke doesn't even know what hit him. He's flying about in a daze, as though he'd been Confunded. He's been caught in the tempest that is Harry Potter and he's utterly helpless against it.

Draco smirks as he watches the Hufflepuff fall for yet another one of Potter's feints. The bloody idiot is being toyed with and he doesn't even realise it. He's too preoccupied with trying to keep Potter in his sights that he hasn't even bothered to search for the Snitch himself. It's only a matter of time before Potter spots the elusive, golden ball. For now though, Potter is merely having his fun, as evidenced by the beaming grin on his flushed face.

He's mesmerising to watch and Draco is a most willing captive. Lost in the sea of raucous students, Draco can indulge without fear of repercussions for daring to gaze at the Saviour with his heart on his sleeve and longing in his eyes.

He knows all too well how it feels to fly against Potter. It's a source of great joy and even greater sorrow to him. It keenly reminds him of his own inadequacy. It resonates too closely with the fundamental reality of their relationship. Draco is just not good enough and he never will be. He can exhaust himself, keep on trying, but he will never catch up. It's like chasing the horizon. He will never be able to bridge the distance. It's simply impossible. Potter will always be beyond his reach.