"I don't know, but I hope they play Fein." Harry screamed toward the stadium, struggling to be heard over the roaring crowd.
"Harry,” Ron replied, giving him an exasperated look, "this is a Serpent's concert. You seriously think they're going to play Muggle songs?"
Before Harry could respond, the stadium lights dimmed, and the crowd exploded into cheers. Then, there on the lifting platform in the middle of the stage, the unmistakable figure of Draco Malfoy began to rise, illuminated by the pulsing lights.
And to Ron's absolute horror, the unmistakable beat of Travis Scott’s Fe!n started blasting through the speakers. The crowd went even wilder as Malfoy, flanked by his bandmates, ascended, his platinum hair gleaming like he’d personally hexed the lighting to make him look ten times cooler.
Ron’s jaw hit the floor. "No bloody way.”
Draco, now standing at the top of the platform with a bass guitar slung casually over his shoulder, strutted to the mic with all the confidence of someone who’d never been told ‘no’ in his life. The crowd was wild, practically vibrating with energy, and Harry? Well, Harry was absolutely living for it.
“Are you ready, London?” Draco’s voice echoed through the stadium, smooth and arrogant. The crowd erupted, and without missing a beat, Malfoy launched into the bassline with an almost lazy smirk.
And then came the chorus.
“FEIN! FEIN! FEIN!” The crowd shouted, and Harry —to Ron’s demise— was right there with them, arms in the air, shouting like he’d just downed ten Butterbeers. “FEIN! FEIN! FEIN!” Harry’s voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He was a man possessed.
Ron’s eyes widened, his hands still glued to the sides of his head.
Harry, eyes sparkling like a kid in Honeydukes, didn’t even look at him.
Because there, under the flashing lights and the pounding beat, Malfoy looked like an absolute rock god. His blonde hair was messy, but in that perfect, styled-to-look-effortless way. He wore a black leather jacket, tight enough to hint at the muscles underneath, with silver zippers and accents that reflected the stage lights. Beneath the jacket, a black, sleeveless shirt clung to him like it had been tailored specifically to make everyone in the crowd lose their minds.
His pants were equally tight with just the right amount of wear and tear to look rebellious, and the heavy black boots he wore added to the dangerous edge. As he played the bass with a casual flick of his fingers, the veins on his forearms stood out, and the leather cuffs around his wrists didn’t hurt his “bad boy” vibe either. He was the kind of hot that made people stop and stare—and right now, Harry was one of those people.
Draco’s lips curled into a smug smile as the crowd screamed for him, his grey eyes flicking towards Harry’s direction for the briefest moment. Was it his imagination, or did Malfoy’s smirk grow a little wider when their eyes met?
“Merlin’s saggy pants, Malfoy’s not even real ,” Ron muttered, his voice barely audible over the music, completely horrified by the spectacle in front of him.
But Harry? Harry wasn’t even hearing Ron anymore. His eyes were glued to Draco as if nothing else in the world mattered. The stage lights caught on the silver rings Draco wore as his fingers glided effortlessly over the bass strings, and it was almost hypnotic.
Draco took a step toward the mic, his movements slow and deliberate, like he knew exactly how to drive the crowd wild. His voice poured through the speakers, smooth as velvet, as he joined in the rap
And Harry—well, Harry was leading that spellbound group, shouting “FEIN! FEIN! FEIN!” right along with him, practically starry-eyed at this point.
Ron shook his head, looking at Harry like he’d lost his mind. "Mate," Ron yelled, tugging at Harry’s arm, "you're drooling!"