Drarry One-Shots

iii ~ Graffiti {i}

DISCLAIMER: This is a muggle AU in which Harry and Draco have never met.

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"Harry!" I hear an exasperated voice call up the spiral staircase. "Come on! How can it possibly take you this long to get ready?!"

I roll my eyes and turn off my loud stereo before responding. "I'm coming!" Grabbing my jacket, I hustle down the steps to the location of an annoyed Hermione. "It's not like we're on a time punch," I remind her. "It's a skatepark. It's literally always open."

She huffs in frustration. "Yeah, but I'm really looking forward to showing all the art to you and Ron."

"We know, 'Mione. You've been talking about it for weeks," Ron adds, entering the living room where Hermione and I stood. "We just have different schedules and never have time."

"Exactly. But tonight, we do have the time, so it needs to be tonight," the fair-skinned girl states.

I walk to the front door and grab my dirty converse. "We will do it tonight. We can go right now. You guys both ready?"

My friends both confirm that they are, indeed, ready and had been "waiting on me." Oops, I think to myself as we walk out the front door.

My skin is suddenly being nicked and bitten by the frigid, crisp air of Wisconsin's mid-fall as I step onto the creaky porch. I gaze around at the colorless landscape known as my neighboorhood. The grass, once a flourishing green, is now dull and lifeless, plastered to its chilled ground. The trees' leaves have departed their homes and now lay, decomposed, on the earth's frozen crust.

"Are we taking your car, 'Mione?" my red-headed friend asks, gesturing to said vehicle.

"Sure, why not," the inquired replies with a shrug.

Eventually, we arrive at the skatepark that Hermione has been going to for months. The night sky above is drowned in midnight blues and blacks, its colors only being interrupted by the brilliant moon and stars. Every inch of the ramps is covered in graffiti. Some pieces are simply indecipherable squiggles, while others are exquisitely beautiful works of art. All of them together could either be perceived as a cluttered mess or, as I see it, wonderfully jumbled pieces that belong to hundreds of individual's imaginations.

I realize I've been staring when I hear my friends calling my name. "Over here!" Ron calls, waving me to the very back wall/ramp combination of the skatepark.

"Thought you were right behind us," he says once I catch up to them.

I shrug. "Yeah, I was just looking at all this," I clarify, gesturing to our surroundings.

After many failed attempts, Hermione finally scales the ramp and perches herself at the very top of the artistry. Ron and I, despite also making several failed attempts, eventually make it to the top as well.

I gaze down at all of the people below us. There's a younger girl, maybe 15, with long black hair that's covering a torn up jean jacket. She wears a grey knit beanie and isn't around anyone else, simply seeming focused on her work.

My eyes land on another person. This time, it's a man. He looks like he could be 18 or so, maybe a bit older. He is surrounded by a group of people who I assume to be his friends. He's clothed with a black leather jacket, dark, dirty blue jeans, and tattered combat boots. His head holds touseled brown hair, not unlike mine.

The last person my eyes find is by far the most out of place in a crowd full of outcasts: a tall figure wearing a black suit, black undershirt, and black dress shoes. He stands out from the crowd not only because of his attire but also because of his physical appearance. His skin is pale and his hair is bleach-blonde, shining like a beacon in the crowd of mostly dark or dirty-haired individuals.