Draco hears the barstool next to him slide out, but he doesn't even bother to look up, staring instead into the depths of his Muggle martini before brining it to his lips and draining it.
The bartender places another in front of him even before he asks. Considering how many Friday nights Draco sits in this very spot, it’s to be expected.
A man sits down next to him and orders a beer. When Draco finally looks up, he finds him staring.
He’s young. Fit. He looks vaguely familiar, but under the influence of the alcohol, Draco can't quite place him.
Draco just nods at him, before turning back to his drink.
“Want some company?” The man is barely more than a boy. His auburn hair is long on top, but shaved close on the sides and in the back. It hangs down in his eyes, but a flick of his head shakes it back into place again.
Draco shrugs non-committal. He’s not saying no, but he's not going to make it easy either.
“You’re Draco Malfoy.” It’s not a question- merely a statement of fact.
“I am.” Draco nods.
He’s not completely surprised that the boy knows his name. For better or worse, most people do know him, but Draco doesn’t like feeling at a disadvantage and he turns for a closer look. He takes in the details this time, trying to determine if they’ve ever met before. There’s definitely something familiar about him, but he still can’t quite place him.
“I’m James,” the boys says expectantly.
James looks like he’s barely out of Hogwarts. Draco thinks he can’t be much older than Scorpius. He’s tall with a thin waist and broad shoulders, built like a beater. His hair is thick, except where it’s cut short, and there’s something familiar about his eyes.
He looks so hopeful, like he’s just waiting for Draco to catch on.
That’s when it hits him. James Potter.
He’s seen the boy at a distance, but they’ve never spoken.
Of course, it’s obvious now that he’s figured it out. Draco has to physically stop his eyes from rolling. Bloody figures, doesn’t it?
Everyone knows what Potter’s kids looks like. They’ve been plastered all over the newspapers since they were tiny tots, although that came to a considerable halt once they entered the protection of Hogwarts for eight months out of the year.
Draco’s seen the Potter family at Ministry events as well, but it’s been a few years, and there’s no doubt that James has changed from a skinny adolescent to a handsome young man in that time.
Everyone always says that Potter’s youngest son looks just like him, but despite the different hair color, there’s no mistaking the resemblance of James to his father as well. It’s there, written all over his features from the shape of his face to the size of his nose.
James looks him over in a way that leaves little room for guessing his motives. He looks smug, like everything is going his way.
And generally speaking, it probably is.
The illusion of youth.
Not that Draco knew anything about that in his youth. But thanks to Potter, the bloody Savior of the Wizarding World, the current generation doesn’t have the same burdens that Draco did. And he can’t deny that he’s thankful for that. Despite any of their differences, Draco owes a debt to Potter just like everyone else.
“A man who looks like you do, shouldn’t look so lonely,” James says with a flirty, little smile.
"I enjoy my own company," Draco assures him.
James grins and shakes his head, tossing his fringe out of his eyes again. “That may be so, but I think you'll enjoy mine as well,” the kid says, all swagger, as if Draco’s never heard a pick-up line before.
Draco turns, leaning an elbow on the bar and meets his gaze. ”Too soon to tell, don't you think?.”
Draco enjoys the sound of James’ laugh, deep and rumbling, inordinately pleased to be the cause of it.
“Maybe so.” James shrugs as he raises from his stool and tilts his half-empty bottle back for one more swallow. “But if you decide you want to find out, come find me.” He nods his head, motioning towards the back of the club.
It’s certainly not the first time Draco’s pulled in a club, but he’s never pulled a hot, young thing like this. He knows how easy it will be to follow the boy to the loo, but he’s just not sure how easy it will be to look at his own reflection in the morning.
That’s not even taking into account the fact that he’s resolutely ignoring the boy’s parentage.
He stands and drops enough galleons onto the bar top to pay for his tab, and refuses to contemplate all the reasons it is a bad idea to follow James. The one thing he does know, is that the number of reasons outnumber the steps it takes him to reach the door where the young man is waiting for him.
When he pushes the door open, James wastes no time, pulling Draco into a stall and dropping to his knees in front of him.
Draco slides his fingers through the boy’s thick hair, gasping as hot, wet, suction wraps around his cock.
Whatever his conscience is telling him, it will have to wait until tomorrow.