18+ | In which Draco Malfoy wants redemption.
After the war, Hogwarts students are asked to come back for an eighth year. Draco realises that being back isn't as easy as he thought it would be.
From being tormented by his peers for the mistakes of...
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SCARLETT doesn't know wether he is joking or not.
Get drunk with Draco Malfoy? Well, that certainly wasn't in her plans for this evening.
As she watches Draco take a long sip of the liquor, his face contorts with distaste as he lets the burning liquid run down his throat.
She takes a few seconds to look at him, and only now does she realise how good looking that rude man is. Well, maybe it's because of the two shots she has already taken in Leon's dorm a few minutes ago that make her head spin and think this way.
But that black Oxford shirt with the first few buttons undone hugs his torso in all the right places—has he always been this muscular? And those veins on his forearms, exposed since his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows... And the stark contrast of his dark shirt with his blonde hair and cold eyes. And those high cheekbones, defined and chiseled facial features clearly perceptible beneath the dim lighting...
Oh—
Get a grip, she thinks.
Scarlett clears her throat, blinking and shaking her head in exasperation at her own self.
Folding her arms over her chest, she narrows her eyes and lets a shallow laugh escape the back of her throat. "How responsible of us, don't you think? Head Girl and Boy alone in a dorm, getting drunk whilst letting all those reckless kids having a party downstairs."
Draco rolls his eyes and takes a few steps towards the brunette, holding the bottle of Fire Whisky out in front of her eyes.
She glances at it with a quirked eyebrow before giving in with a dramatic sigh. She grabs the bottle and takes a sip, her nose scrunching at the strong taste of liquor burning her mouth.
"I'll blame it on you," she says, pointing her finger at his chest, "if we get in trouble."
"Why me?" He scoffs. "You're as irresponsible as I am right now."
Tilting her head to the side, she lets her eyes saunter over the outline of his sharp jawline. "Come on, Malfoy," she speaks in a murmur before meeting his eyes. "You've always been more responsible than me. Always been so..." She waves her hands in the air, "strict on following the rules. Always stayed on the line."
She takes another sip of the beverage before tending the bottle back to the blond. She doesn't so much as blink when their fingers brush.
"That's where you're wrong about me," he drawls. "You're the good girl, Princeton. Not me. Never have been, never will be."
She snorts, stepping away. Her fingers brush over the edge of a dresser free of books and bottles of fragrance, unlike the two others in the room.
Looking to her left, there is an untouched bed. Black silk sheets, fluffy pillows. She takes a guess this used to be Draco's bed and takes a seat on it. She brushes the palm of her hands over the soft comforter, a soft hum of contentement vibrating in the back of her throat at the feeling.
