Muggles ✧ Drarry

ꪜ𝓲𝓲

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.1ᴋ
ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ: ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 9ᴛʜ, 2020
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Draco rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time in that moment. It was a coping mechanism due to all of the stress that had just been dumped onto his shoulders from the news that Potter had shared with him not a moment ago, and it was becoming increasingly rapid as the quick moments passed on.

They were sitting at Potter's house again, this time sitting at the table like proper human beings, drinking some tea—spiced chai imported directly from India with two sugars, a dash of milk, and a few drops of vanilla for Draco, some blue...thing for Potter—made to perfection by the Chosen-One, damn him.

Potter took a sip of his tea while shooting daggers out of his eyes, and Draco gulped, but then righted himself. "Don't be a bitch," he resolved after a moment of being silent. His legs were crossed over one another to make him feel more dignified, but dignity was absent when it was Draco's fault. Because it was his fault.

"I'm not the one who just fucked up our lives for the rest of eternity," Potter countered.

"Says the one who lost our magic," Draco countered superiorly.

Potter shrugged and sipped his tea again. "Suit yourself. You can blame me for what you did—"

"Do you even have the article with you?" Draco interrupted him. "Can I at least see what you're so miffed about before you continue pointing fingers like an irresponsible child?"

Potter's eyebrow raised as he stretched a bit. "I didn't realize you hadn't read it." His voice was strained from the stretching. He slumped back in his chair, and Draco frowned at his posture before realizing that he was away from the gaze of the public and had no reason to be so uptight. His own stance shifted in absolutely no way, shape, or form, but his mask eased lightly.

"Right. Well," Draco picked at invisible lint on his button-down, "I don't read Witch Weekly, unlike you."

"I don't either," Potter admitted. "Gin used to have it sent to the house though and I must've forgotten to cancel the subscription. It's also kind of hard to miss your own face on the front page." The Gryffindor got up from his seat and left to go and find wherever he had stashed the paper. Draco watched him leave, and then took a sip of his tea.

He tried to swallow what Potter had just told him, but couldn't. People would do absolutely anything to get news, he reminded himself, so this was really just a wrong-place-wrong-time sort of situation, like everything else bad that seemed to happen to him. He was hardly the one to blame for this, even if at first it seemed logically like it was his fault.

Potter returned, a fresh copy of Witch Weekly's newest issue in his hand. He handed it to Draco and then plopped himself down into his chair while the blond examined it.

The bright yellow "Witch Weekly" lettering was spread across the top of the page, and it sparkled before shifting to a pink colour that nearly blinded Draco on the spot. In the centre of the page, there was an image of Potter pulling Draco in for a perfervid kiss at their table in the small muggle restaurant on Draco's birthday. Then the image showed the small dazed period after where Draco and Potter stared at each other lovingly before the loop repeated and Potter was pulling Draco in again.

It was mesmerizing to say the least, and the blond's silver eyes found themselves trained on the way he melted into Potter's embrace. It was doctored, Draco was certain. There was no way that he looked like that when being kissed by the Golden-Boy; he looked too...pliant. Like he would bend over backwards at anything and everything that Potter suggested. But Draco knew that that was far from true, since he was too stubborn to ever agree with anything that came out of Potter's dreadful mouth.