Eighth Year (Drarry Fanfic)

Always

Draco stared into space, idly playing with his quill. He could vaguely smell the musty scent of ancient tomes, the faint tang of ink as it dried on parchment, the subtle aroma of smuggled chocolates that drifted in the air. He loved the library. It calmed him. Reading had always been one of his passions outside of Quidditch and well... Harry Potter. Right now, however, he was too lost in his daydreaming that he'd entirely forgotten where he was, much less remember that he was supposed to be writing a fourteen inch essay on Runology and It's Relevant Uses in Advanced Potions.

Draco was too caught up in remembering a very vivid dream. One he'd had a few nights prior. The same night he'd gotten sloshed out of his mind on Firewhisky as he sat out under the stars, talking and laughing with Harry. He couldn't even remember how they'd made it back to their dorm room, but he knew it was Harry who'd managed the near impossible feat. Draco could only recall snippets of disjointed memories: inane conversations that led to bouts of irrational laughter as they stumbled and swayed through the corridors, falling more than a few times --- the bruises and scrapes he'd noticed the following morning being proof of their misadventures.

The dream, however, was what had kept Draco captivated... and aroused. It was so vivid that he could still feel Harry's warm lips, scorching breath, and skillful tongue tracing the sensitive skin of his abdomen even days later. It had literally been driving him out of his mind. He couldn't even look at Harry without blushing redder than the Weasel's ginger locks.

As it turned out, Harry had also been acting rather strange these past few days. He wasn't exactly avoiding Draco but he seemed a bit tense, even somewhat distant. Due to this abrupt change, a gut-wrenching ache had settled dully in Draco's chest. It was just there, throbbing in time with his heartbeat, constantly mocking him. It would seem that their tenuous friendship was doomed to end before it could even fully take root.

It confused Draco and also left him wondering, in mortification, if he'd done something embarrassing in his inebriated state. Did he maybe blurt out something about his feelings? Or worse, did he perhaps blatantly come on to Harry? The humiliating possibilities were endless and Draco couldn't find it in himself to ask Harry about it. He was no bloody Gryffindor, for Salazar's sake! He could only stew in his maudlin thoughts and wallow in his misery as Harry Potter once again drifted away from him. Pathetic.

Draco chewed his lips, staring blankly at a bookshelf, formulating and discarding ideas in his frayed mind. In his haze, he could vaguely hear his name being called but he brushed it off nonetheless. It wasn't until a hand was placed on his shoulder, followed by a gentle squeeze, did Draco snap out of his stupor.

"Darling, are you alright?"

Disoriented, Draco turned and simply stared for a mute moment at the worried countenance of the girl beside him.

She nervously rubbed his arm, tilting her head as her frantic eyes searched his blank face. "Draco? You're really starting to scare me, love."

"Pansy." Draco breathed out, suddenly keenly aware of where he was. It felt like he'd been hit by a stray bludger right on the head, abruptly dispersing the mist and fog that had but moments ago filled his mind. The light in the library suddenly seemed far too bright. Even the smell of old books and the drying ink on his parchment now smelled unpleasant, nauseating. Draco swallowed, fighting the bile that threatened to come up.

A soft sigh from his other desk companion drew his attention. Draco turned his head and locked eyes with Granger --- Hermione. The same look of nervous concern he'd seen in Pansy's gaze was mirrored in her warm, brown eyes. Hermione shifted her gaze and pointedly stared at the parchment in front of him. Following suit, Draco sighed as he noted a massive inkblot spreading like an angry stain over his essay. It would seem he had left his quill resting on the parchment, turning the unfinished word he'd been writing into a messy blob of ink. Draco reached for his wand but Hermione had already swished and flicked the unsightly smear away.