Knots In Our Heartstrings [Dramione]

Pinky Promise Kisses

"I just..." Draco said, "I don't massively know where I am, and I've just... Not been here before."

Darla grinned, eyes sparkling and wide like she was ready to let loose on a secret she'd been keeping to herself for far too long.

She offered her hand, gentler this time, and Draco found himself placing his own in hers.

"Our patrons aren't permitted to use magic inside," she smiled warmly, dipping the stamp into the ink pad once more, "Too many mishaps over the years. Keeps everyone inside safer. Happier."

She pressed the stamp firmly into the back of his hand, rounding it once before lifting it to reveal an intricate B surrounded by a speckled constellation of stars.

"Welcome to Bartholomew's," Darla grinned, "Don't start a riot."

Blaise turned them both towards the glass doors as they swung open.

"Love you, Darla," Blaise called.

"Fuck you, Zabini," she shouted after them, but the booming roar of Bartholomew's was fighting to drown out every word. "See you around, Charity."

If the entryway had warmed him, stepping foot into the main bar was like stepping into an inferno.

The noise of the crowd rattled in his chest, rocking against the heavy thump of his heart and slamming against the breath in his lungs.

The flights drew him in, catching and twinkling in every corner of his eye, forever drawing his attention to somewhere different as soon as his gaze had settled.

And the people.

The people were alive.

Bartholomew's sucked him in, a gentle coaxing hand lulling him forward with every breath he consumed.

The weight of Blaise's hands left his shoulders, and Draco found himself spinning on his heel.

"I don't think this is a good idea. Clubbing? Why are we going clubbing? I fucking hate clubbing."

"Relax," Blaise threw his hands up in defence. "It's not a club, it's a bar," he stated firmly. "And if you do hate it, consider it homework."

Draco frowned.

"Homework?"

"Fine, if you really truly do hate it, we can leave."

He sighed, the tiniest smidge of relief washing over him since they arrived.

"Thank you."

Blaise grinned fondly, the lights catching in his eyes, rippling against the deep purple of his robes.

"Come on," he said, walking past Draco with a gentle beckon of his head, "There's people I want you to meet."

And so he followed him, weaving through the crowds, a new sense of dread settling deep within the pit of his stomach.

Witches and wizards whirled around him, rippling in mery waves as they pooled together.

Blaise walked them in and out of groups as he continued on deeper into the bar, passing through rooms full of tables and chairs, sofas, one with a full bar running down the centre of it, and another with toweringly high ceilings. He looked up, gazing overhead at the sweeping chandeliers and streamers, watching as empty glasses flew up, crashing into the ceiling before raining back down in gentle shimmering stardust.

He pulled on the cuffs of his shirt, smoothing over the silver cufflinks with his thumb and ensuring they were still securely in place. His fingers travelled up, tracing over the buttons of his shirt, counting them, keeping them tidy and flush, as he reached the collar, he found himself tugging at the neck, his thumbnail tracing along the edge of the top button as he fidgeted in the heat.