Young (Drarry Fanfic)

Don't Say: Part I

Dropping bombs in cups of coffee.
You said it hit you all at once.
I'm already tired and it's still morning.
Then you clear your throat,
Deep down I know that this is done.

You tell me you're sorry and I'm laughing.
You say sometimes these things just don't work out.
'Cause you're only human, this shit happens.
Wait, I don't mean to stop you,
But darling, I have to cut you off.

Don't say, don't say you're human.
Don't say, don't say it's not your fault.
I won't take the bait or these excuses that you're using.

So, don't say, don't say you're human.

— Don't Say (The Chainsmokers)

***AN: The following two chapters were immensely difficult to write. A lot of things happening in a single moment. So many emotions to convey from both sides. I hope I was able to do just that. The original chapter was nearly five thousand words long, as such I split it into two. Happy reading, my loves. See  you next chapter. ♥

~oOo~

Looking at how lively Potter is currently, one wouldn't even be able to tell that the git had broken an arm and cracked a few ribs mere hours ago. Draco scoffs in disbelief as he watches Potter from across the club. Despite the dim light, Draco could easily spot him. It's as if he doesn't even need to search for him. He just knows where Potter is, drawn like a hapless moth to a flame.

His entire being gravitates towards Potter; his magic reaching out, grasping at the flaring tendrils of power emanating from the Chosen One. Draco wonders, yet again, if Potter could also feel it — the incessant pull of Draco's magic, calling out to him, telling him that they belong together; that this thing between them is so much more than just physical compatibility and mutual lust.

Flanked by Weasley and Granger, Potter has a huge grin on his face — brazen and confident. His vivid, green eyes sparkle like emeralds under the flashing strobe lights of the club. His cheeks are flushed — from alcohol or the lingering euphoria of the team's victory, Draco doesn't really know, but it's a good look on him nonetheless. Potter's presence is magnetic, pulling the attention of the whole goddamned place towards him. Nobody can seem to take their eyes off him and Draco is no exception.

Possessiveness so potent flares within Draco, searing into him like a white-hot, branding iron. Mine. His entire being snarls, incandescently furious. His eyes narrow into slits as he watches Oliver Wood sidle closer, leaning in to whisper something in Potter's ear. He knows Wood fancies Potter. The heat of longing in the Keeper's covetous gaze — whenever he looks at Potter — is hard to miss. It's quite the open secret among Puddlemere's staff and players.

Trying to drown the helpless rage boiling in his gut, Draco slams back his firewhisky and signals the barman for another; his eyes never straying far from The Boy Who Lived To Torment Draco Malfoy. He wants nothing more than to stride over there and wrench Wood's arm away, maybe even break a few dozen bones while he's at it. As a Healer, he knows about dozen different ways to do just that, quickly and efficiently.

Draco sighs, nodding his thanks as he picks up his fresh tumbler of liquid consolation. He wonders, yet again, if he's made a terrible mistake of coming back to England. But he also knows that even if he leaves again, he will never truly be rid of Potter. Memories of the man would no doubt continue to haunt him. Draco is simply destined to be tormented by Potter. Merlin knows he's tried all he can to forget and move on, but five years later and despite all his efforts, he's right back where he fucking started. And sadly, nothing has changed. Potter still sees him as nothing more than a convenient shag — someone he fucks when the itch to bugger a bloke hits him. He could let Potter screw him until the next century, but at the end of the day, the man would still go back to Ginevra Weasley.