Crossover between Veronica Mars and Harry Potter.

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Draco is used to getting his way, getting what he wants no matter what it is, who it is. He’s wanted lively redheaded girls, scarred boys, and broken men, and he’s had them all. And when he sees an American with more tattoos than skin and more failures then triumphs, Draco decides that he wants him.

But this stranger won’t have him, won’t listen to him, won’t entertain the thought of it. And when Draco asks him why, petulant and entitled with vodka spilling on the table, the stranger gives an odd smile.

“You’re too much like someone I knew once,” his gaze grows distant, peering into the past he’d tried to run away from, tried to leave behind, only to have a reminder of that person sit down across from him, put a hand on his thigh, and whisper dirty promises in his ear. They’re too much alike with their “fuck you” attitude and their false death wish and their overwhelming will to survive just to piss everyone else off.

“Someone you knew?” Draco asks, folding his arms across his chest.

“We used to be friends,” he answers, throwing money on the table, mimicking the gestures of a rich boy back in California. “A long time ago.”