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"For fucks sake Pans, we could be drinking the cellar dry, not whatever this shithole sells." Draco grumbled for the tenth time. Or hundredth. He'd lost track by now.
Pansy snorted, "And what? Pass out in that depressing thing? Darling, we're here to have fun. Loosen up."
"We're going to pass out anyway." He argued.
"Potter of all people is having fun, and you can't?"
Potter was dancing with Weaslette, or atleast was trying to. By some miracle he had far more grace than fourth year.
He looked at Draco and froze, as if not expecting Draco to be there. Weaslette leaned closer and whispered in his ear. He looked at her and smiled, then leaned in and kissed her. He never did that with Draco.
Pansy nudged him. "Look at curly over there."
The man in question was gorgeous. Absolutely stunning—brown curls falling over his eyes, tanned skin glistened with sweat, lit up by the club lights. Leather pants stretched across a sinful arse, strings of a thong peaking through the sides.
"Go on." She said, pushing him towards the man.
"Yes, yes, I'm going." He grunted.
green eyes pleading for more— fingers running through his hair— fingertips tracing his scars— ghost of a touch lingering too long— No.
Fuck. No.
He would not go down that rabbit hole. Not again.
He let Potter ruin him once. Never again.
He grabbed Pansy's shot and drowned it, relishing in the warm buzz it gave.
Potter's words echoed with every step he took.
"It was just fucking. I love her. Always have."