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bambi

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Posts : 13
Join date : 2012-04-13
Age : 20

PostSubject: yo yo yo yo oy o oy oyoyoyoly o   Mon May 02, 2016 4:54 am



Draco doesn't like frat parties.
 
He hasn't exactly worked out why he's stood in a crowd of guys he doesn't know, watching more people he doesn't know play beer pong eight feet away - but give him a couple of hours and he'll have forgotten it all. The thing is, he really needs to get back to his dorm and finish making notes for his four exams next week. But the crowd suddenly cheers and Draco yells too, forgetting everything as the current player sculls two pints of beer after losing again. Draco stumbles as he's pushed forwards by impatient watchers. Fuck, he thinks and his head feels like it’s full of clouds, but also loud, angry wasps. He hears a shout from the table in front and a few people laugh in response. Draco’s inability to stay sober is the butt of the joke and he flips them off clumsily. “Fuck off, Potter.” He yells.
 
He kind of hates him, but they're best friends. Sort of.
 
Anyway. He's been watching her for the last five minutes, maybe ten, and he thinks he recognizes her. She's sat behind Harry, tugging nervously on her braid when she catches him staring. She grins shamelessly at him for a split second, all white teeth and bubblegum pink lips, then goes back to watching Harry lose.
 
Draco actually feels butterflies in his stomach. 
He thinks its could be the copious amount of alcohol he’s had (only two shots of Sambuca, actually, but he’s pissed either way) but he wants to just grab her and, well, kiss her a bit. A lot actually, but he doesn’t. He just continues to stare until he feels a strong hand grab onto his arm, dragging his gaze down and away.
 
“Hey, quit being creepy!” A voice shouts in his ear. Draco laughs.
 
“Erin! Where have you been? Potter’s getting trashed.” He remarks, gesturing to the table in front.
 
“I had dinner with my parents. Ran longer than expected.” She whines, and Draco grimaces sympathetically.
 
“Why are you staring over there, anyway?” Her eyebrows wiggle suggestively, and Draco feels redness creeping up his neck.
 
“No reason.” He pauses, and then concedes. “Who is she?” he slurs. Surprise flits across Erin’s face.
 
“That’s Amelie.” She pauses. “Why? D’you want me to introduce you to her? She’s in the baking club with me, I can ask her for her number-”
 
“Nah. I’ll be alright.” Draco smiles. Erin nods slowly and leaves to get them more drinks.
 
 
Oddly, this is how it starts.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
After his second shot of Sambuca (he’s still pretending he’s not a lightweight, but it’s impossible not to notice how he’s been acting seriously senseless after his first drink) Draco finds himself back in front of the game table.
 
He decides that she's pretty, extremely so, but not exactly his type. Where the light hits her round face her skin looks absurdly soft and her smile almost shines. His gaze wanders over her features as he brings his cup to his lips, and takes another sip of his drink. An unpleasant taste burns his throat, and he starts to notice she has really, really pretty eyes. But his attention is quickly drawn to the odd way she’s playing – if she can call that playing at all, he thinks. Her aim is awfully off and she misses the table twice in the short time he watches.
 
A shout distracts his attention for a moment, but it’s too late and when he starts to move his vision quickly darkens. Just above his right eyebrow is smarting horribly and his knees give out underneath him. He feels his drink leave his hand and he can see bright blue and white spots, then faces in front of his as he falls ungraciously to the ground.
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
His eyes open slowly, each blink lasting what feels like half a minute. His vision swims with colour and his head feels like a balloon about to burst as he tries to remember what happened. He forces himself to breathe.
 
It comes back to him in fragments. You were/are drinking. You were hit by something in the head. A…ball?
 
“What,” he starts, not even sure if anyone can hear him, “What is happen-”
 
"Hey," a soothing, light voice interrupts him, and a soft hand presses against his cheek. Her thumb runs shakily along his jawline. "It's okay," she whispers, "you're alright." He can smell alcohol on her breath and a faint hint of some exotic, aromatic fruit, mango, perhaps. He sees a blurry movement by his side and a face slowly appears in his vision. Of course, it's Amelie.
 
“Ah, you-” he struggles to finish, a surge of nausea making his head pound. Then he can’t hear anything – he barely has time to push her out of the way before emptying his guts on his other side (a bin/bucket has been strategically placed beside the toilet – Amelie is a planner, after all). After a few moments of heaving, he feels better. He opens his eyes (properly this time) and sees the girl frantically rummage in her pockets, producing an almost empty pack of tissues. Draco watches as she removes one from the packet and reaches for his face. She gently wipes his mouth. He almost blushes – her touch is gentle, and strangely intimate. They’re both quiet.
 
"Can you move your hands and feet for me?" She asks. He obeys.
 
"What's your name?"
 
"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." He mumbles, and it's so not how expected to (or wanted to) introduce himself to her.
 
"I'm Amelie. I hit you with the ball, I’m so sorry-” She sounds concerned, but there’s an edge to her voice. Draco watches through half lidded eyes as she bites her lip and it takes him a moment to realise she's trying not to cry.
 
He slowly pulls himself up from the floor and seats himself on the lid of the toilet. Amelie moves her hands to his knees to keep him stable – he’s swaying and she assumes it’s not a good sign. She takes one of his hands. It takes him another minute to realise that she’s shaking.
 
“I think you have concussion; I didn’t mean to-” a sniff cuts her off, her gaze avoiding his.
 
Her distress is somewhat endearing and Draco finds it difficult not to smile; he slowly realises how stupid he looks, and he can actually feel the blood running over his lips when he does.
 
She kneels in front of him and stretches to reach his face.
 
"You probably have a fever," she comments. Her fingers trace the line of his brows. "You're sweating."
 
"Am I goin’ to live?" He tries to smile, but his head pounds again and he winces.
 
“Don’t talk.” She orders, and hurriedly unrolls the tissue from the holder. “I need more tissue,” she grumbles to herself. She watches as he tries to stand up and after he's failed twice she slips her hand over his, resting on his lap.
 
"Draco, sit down."
 
"Your dress will get dirty, sit here." He ignores her and offers, shuffling along the seat. She shakes her head.
 
"Stop being so stubborn, damn it.”
 
He smiles properly this time, like actually smiles, and sits quietly as she runs her palm over his forehead. Her skin comes back dark, dark red, and Draco feels dizzy just looking at it.
 
“Shit,” she whispers, and runs her hands under the tap.
 
“Nice going, med student.” He jokes again, but she just frowns.
 
A knock at the door causes them to both to start and Erin’s face peeps around the corner. “I brought wipes and vodka,” she half shouts over the bass reverberating around the house. Catching sight of her friend’s injury, she frowns for a moment. “Shit, Draco. That looks nasty.” She comments, and then lightheartedly leans into him with a cheeky grin and sizes up his wound. “Might scar. You’ll look bad-”
 
Draco narrows his eyes, recognising the lack of actual sympathy in her tone. “What do you want, Erin?”
 
“You should go to the hospital.” Erin turns and says to Amelie, who reacts as if she’s just been told she’s won the lottery.
 
"Great idea! Let’s to the hospital," she yelps. “I’ll call the ambulance, my phone’s just-” Erin stops her, tugging her braid gently.
 
“Why don’t you walk to the A&E,” Erin suggests, “it’s only, like, fifteen minutes walk down the road. You’ll get there quicker too; ambulances take hours around here.”
 
Draco tilts his head, thinking out the idea. Erin winks subtly (not) at Draco and throws the wipes at him, resting the vodka next to Amelie’s knee and shutting the door as she leaves.
 
Amelie starts to shake her head, but Draco stops her. “Let’s go.” He stands quickly and loses his balance for a moment. She rushes up to catch him and they stand oddly for a moment, her hands gripping his sides and him leaning over her. It’s sort of uncomfortable but also strange; Draco clears his throat and they both pull apart.
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