Young (Drarry Fanfic)

Roses

Take it slow but it's not typical.
He already knows that my love is fire.
His heart was a stone, but then his hands roam.
I turned him to gold and I took him higher.
But I'll be your daydream,
I'll wear your favorite things.
We could be beautiful.
Get drunk on the good life;
I'll take you to paradise.
Say you'll never let me go.

— Roses by The Chainsmokers 

~oOo~

January 1999

To say that Harry is confused would be a gross understatement.

It's been weeks since Draco Malfoy had snogged him. Well, he's exaggerating a bit since it was really just a fleeting press of oh-so-soft lips. Winter Hols had come and gone. And Harry couldn't even be arsed to remember what kind of presents he'd gotten for Christmas. Although, he's fairly certain he'd received a new Weasley jumper. According to Ginny, it was a cringe-inducing, eyeball-melting, bright orange monstrosity; all because Ron had helpfully informed Molly that Harry is a Chudley Cannons fan, which is complete and utter tripe.

What Ginny had done with the ghastly thing was anyone's guess. Harry, though, hadn't been too bothered; he had enough Weasley jumpers to last him until his next lifetime. Whatever the case, he'd been too distracted; his traitorous thoughts revolving solely around a certain infuriating blond.

Malfoy had kissed him.

Although, Harry, far too stunned to react, had merely stood frozen on the spot as though he'd been Petrified.

After what had felt like an eternity, when, really, it had probably only been a scant few seconds, Malfoy had pulled back, stared at him for one intense moment, and then... the git began to laugh. That had certainly jarred Harry awake from his shocked stupor.

Harry had blinked in confusion; his brain sluggish and still struggling to process what had occurred. He hadn't even been sure if he should hex Malfoy, punch him, or snog the teasing grin off his beautiful face—

Since when had he started thinking of sodding Malfoy as beautiful?!

Harry had reeled back, too gobsmacked and more than a little terrified of the strange, new direction his thoughts had merrily veered off to. While Harry had been in the midst of yet another existential crisis, Malfoy was still laughing his delectable arse off. Apparently, the blond had found the unnatural contortion Harry's face was pulling utterly hilarious.

"Merlin's frilly knickers, Potter." Malfoy had wheezed breathlessly. "You should see your face!"

In that single shining moment, Harry, stunned and speechless, had experienced what one would call an epiphany as he stared at Malfoy. He had never seen anything so beautiful as Draco Malfoy laughing openly. Thinking on it, he'd never seen Malfoy laugh like that. Ever. The sight of Malfoy—unguarded, cheeks flushed pink, eyes sparkling silver, and nose adorably scrunched—had done curious things to Harry's insides. His stomach had flipped and rolled; his chest had squeezed itself unbearably tight until it hurt. It had been the same exhilarating feeling he'd always get whenever he flew far too fast or too high on his broom.

Malfoy had looked so mesmerising, radiant and warm; a far cry from his usual stoic and cold façade. Even his laughter, full of child-like delight, had sounded like fucking music to Harry's ears.

Still chortling to himself, Malfoy had wheeled around and sauntered back up towards the castle, leaving Harry staring after him in a blank daze.

Needless to say, Harry had felt like he'd taken quite a vicious Bludger to the head that even weeks later, he's still reeling from the impact. He swears that if he were to go to the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey would, without a doubt, diagnose him with severe concussion.