Eighth Year (Drarry Fanfic)

Part Two: Brand New

And I thought, be still my heart
This could be a brand new start, with you.
And it will be clear,
If I wake up and you're still here with me in the morning.  

— Be Still My Heart by The Postal Service

~oOo~

Clad in tight black trousers, fitted charcoal gray t-shirt, and black leather boots, Draco bid Narcissa goodnight and stepped out of the Wards. The outfit was subdued enough that he could just blend in with the crowd, unnoticeable, but it was nonetheless flattering. It made his pale colouring stand out in sharp contrast. Out of habit, Draco ran his fingers through the hair at his temple and paused, remembering that he had lopped off his long locks. It was now closely cropped on all sides, leaving only the top relatively long. His mother had eyed him quizzically when he'd first cut it, but she had smiled soon after, saying she loved it. It was a relief. He couldn't stand his long, pale hair. It reminded him far too much of how closely he resembled Lucius.

Draco stood for a moment, breathing in the balmy summer breeze. It had been an unusually hot day, even for Nice. It was already past sundown yet the temperature remained at the mid-twenties. He stared out at the coastline, watching the Muggle lights flicker on, dotting the stretch of beach like fairy lights. He smiled as he finally decided on a destination. It was the local Muggle club he'd frequented last summer when he escaped to Nice after the Trials. It wasn't exclusively a gay bar, but it was definitely LGBT friendly. It was one of the few places Draco felt he could let loose. Closing his eyes, Draco Disapparated with a barely audible gust of wind.

Taking a steadying breath, Draco found himself in a familiar alley beside the club. The throbbing baseline of the pounding music streamed out into the night, muffled yet distinct. With a quick Disillusionment Charm, he marched towards the door and easily bypassed the beefy bouncer.

Draco elbowed his way through the swarm of bodies, muttering a quick Finite as he lost himself in the crush of people. He made it to the bar and tried to wave down the bartender. Without much success, Draco huffed impatiently, drumming his fingers on the counter. Between a few minutes and centuries later, the barman finally turned his precious attention to Draco. Fluently rattling off in French, Draco quickly placed his drink orders—two shots of tequila and a tumbler of scotch. All of which he swiftly downed in a single breath.

He sighed contentedly as the alcohol burned a fiery path down his throat and pooled like lava in his gut. Moments later, a heady buzz began to pound in his ears, making his head swim. He felt deliciously lightheaded and giddy. Works like a charm. Draco grinned to himself as he leaned against the bar and surveyed the dancefloor.

"I've never seen anyone finish off three drinks that fast before." A bloke with an American accent chuckled as he sidled up right next to Draco.

Draco turned slightly and arched an eyebrow. "Yes, well, I have a rather high tolerance for spirits." After all, it took a good amount of Muggle alcohol to get a Wizard thoroughly sloshed.

"You're British?" The American slurred, grinning, hungrily raking his eyes over Draco. "Your accent is pretty damn hot."

Draco turned away, frowning. The bloke was attractive but an annoyance. The sudden intrusion was killing Draco's buzz and he was going to have none of it. He came here to dance, get pissed, and forget. Even if it was just for a moment.

Draco pushed himself off the bar and was about to make his way towards the dancefloor when the American grabbed his arm and pulled him close. Draco stiffened as the man's musty breath ghosted over his skin. "You're fucking gorgeous, you know that?" He brushed his nose against Draco's ear and breathed in deep, "Dance with me."