I kissed a boy (drarry)

Chapter 11: Draco's POV

Draco had lost count of the hours that had passed in Filch's ridiculously small office, sitting there on the desk, trying not to glance at the green eyed boy who was slumped against the cold stone wall. There was a strangely comfortable silence between the two, and all that could be heard was the downpour of rain thrashing against the windows. Potter lay quite still, his dark hair falling into his eyes, staring into space with an eerily blank expression, looking almost as if he was seeing something Draco couldn't. The blond couldn't help but stare at him, watching the gentle rising and falling of his chest, and the way the his curious green eyes would catch the waning moonlight.

Then he pressed his lips together, humming a soft melody that sent shivers down Draco's spine. It was a sweet lilting tune that the blond swore he had heard before - the tune that reminded him of clear skies and cloudy days. But how would Potter know? "What's that song you're humming?" he asked tentatively. Potter whipped his head around, a blush rising to his cheeks.
"I don't really know - I think it might be called La vie en rose or something. I like to think that my mother sang it to me before she," he swallowed the lump in his throat, "you know - died."  He said this last part quietly, saying it more to himself than Draco.
"But Edith Piaf was a pureblood, and you're mother was a-"

"Muggle born? She learnt the song from my father - at least that's what Hagrid told me." Draco couldn't understand why Potter was telling him this. The green eyed boy's figure was more attentive now, and his eyes were taunt with the dark frustration of a person who resented the past. The blond suddenly had a overbearing urge to hold the Golden boy close. Something about the thought of him singing a haunting french song made Draco want to grab Potter's face and kiss him until he was a flustered mess. But instead he stayed rooted to the spot like an idiot, his heart racing and his eyes unable to move from the dark haired boy's lips. What the hell was wrong with him? Potter raised an eyebrow.
"Are you ok?"  Why is he so painfully oblivious?

"I'm fine - do you know any of the lyrics?" That got his attention.
"I think the first line went something like, des yeux qui font baisser les miens, but the rest is all just kind of a blur."  Draco gripped the desk. God, hearing his enemy speak french should not sound that good.
"Are you sure you're-"  Right at that moment the door burst open, revealing a red-faced Granger.
"Oh Harry, I've been worried sick! What the fuck were you thinking, landing yourself in a detention-and to top that - getting yourself stuck in the room!" Other than the initial shock that goody-two-shoes Granger swore, Draco could feel a twinge of annoyance that she had unlocked the door so soon. Not that he had enjoyed being stuck with Potter or anything.

Barely acknowledging Draco's existence, Granger grabbed Potter's wrist and practically dragged him out of the room, still ranting about something like 'safety' and 'ignorance'. As the dark haired boy disappeared around the corner, Draco could of sworn he saw him shoot a tiny wink in his direction - but then again it could have just been a trick of the light.  He found himself kind of wishing it wasn't. Once Granger and Potter were out of sight, the room became deathly silent, and that left the Slytherin sitting on the smooth mahogany desk on his own, face flushed and fists clenched in sexual frustration.

What Potter thinks shouldn't even matter, right?

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The next day ~

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Whispers of excitement filled the cold night air as a sharp breeze ruffled the fabric of Draco's forest-green jacket, and a gloomy storm cloud passed over the dull grey sky. All anyone ever wanted to talk about these days is that stupid dance, and it was driving him crazy. There was no escaping the sickly sweet voices that the wind carried through the school grounds, until it seemed like half a dozen simpering eighth years were breathing down his neck, and asking the same fucking question, "who are you taking to the Lunar Ball?" Not even in the dark corners of Hogsmeade, where the hustle of the rest of the Wizarding world was meant to be drowned out by desolate cafes and empty alleyways, could he be separated from the proposing couples surrounding every free section of the village-like place.

It's not like it mattered anyway - Hogsmeade is always packed - today was no different. Draco took a tentative step towards The Three Broomsticks, watching the mellow glow of light flicker from the small window pane, and catching snippets of cheerful conversation from the inside. Swinging the heavy wooden door open, the blond was instantly hit with a warm, sugary smell that sent a comforting tingle down his spine instantly, and his mood lifted considerably. Sliding the money for a butterbeer across the counter, Draco grabbed his Drink and half stumbled to an empty table, spilling it slightly. The rest of the evening passed by like a bad dream - he sat at the smallest table in a shady corner of the room, watching as people came and went, and the overlapping voices swam around his head in a dream-like manor.

At some point, Potter and his friends entered, all smiles and fake tones. Draco could recall him glancing around the room - as if looking for something - but his gaze quickly met the floor as one of the people surrounding him slung their arm around his shoulder, pulling him to a nearby table. The blond swayed a little, an elusive expression passing over his face. What is wrong with him? Is it something in the drink...? Draco glanced down at the dregs of his Butterbeer, clutching the handle of the cup tightly and frowning.

Scarcely aware of the sharp pain evident in the back of his head, the pureblood slipped out of consciousness, and he could recall someone screaming for help.

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Translation: La vie en rose - life in pink. I'm pretty sure at least. Didn't take a two year exchange in France for nothing 😍🤞

Edit: I'm still shit at speaking French though—

-R🧚