AN/Warnings: Whee! I got the Salazar Slytherin card in the HP game. I'm really sad, aren't I?

Draco rants, raves and repeats. Fear. I wrote this randomly because it attacked my mind and I couldn't help it. Possibly the most non-angst story I have up.

Enjoy at your own risk. Uh…what warning can I give? If you don't like me sympathizing with Draco, I suppose, and it's PG-13 for Draco's colorful use of vocabulary. That's it, really. Girl Scout's honor it's not slash (unless you've come in looking for it. I wrote it with a more of a teasing atmosphere in mind, and the fact I was never a Girl Scout), which I know makes you sad, but this is meant to be more of a Draco rant fun time, with a dash of Harry thrown in to make it more interesting. I've also always seen Harry and Draco as a characters both with a very dry sense of humor, so that ends up in here.

[Newer Author's Note: This is an older story I found in my Fanfiction folder-thing. I had gotten to around where Draco's by himself in the Great Hall, I decided to fix it up and finish it off.]

As for the title? Don't ask. I think it makes sense. Slightly. Just a tiny bit. Think about it.

Enjoy.

My Best Friend Every Other Tuesday

OR

A Very Bad-Ass Story According to Draco Malfoy

"The winner of the house cup is…" Draco bit his nails in anticipation. Please God, say Slytherin, please, please, please…

"Gryffindor!"

Shit. Shit because he lost, and he has just ripped off most of his fingernail.

Draco scowled across the room, where the cheery Gryffindors all hugged each other in excitement. Damn all their happy little selves to hell. Crabbe and Goyle could only shrug at each other, while Blaise muttered something about trying next year. Pansy sighed, and looked to the other side of the Hall. Flint rolled his eyes and muttered some obscenities (he was still around, God knows why), and Snape shook his head up at the teacher's table, while McGonagall smiled triumphantly.

He saw Harry Potter look at him for a moment, his eyes showing some slight confusion. Wasn't he supposed to march over there, lift Potter up by his shirt collar, and hiss something nasty?

Yeah, right. This was the sixth year in a row Gryffindor had won. The bloody sixth time! Always no less than ten points behind, all because Harry would go save some fucking innocent. Saved the school from Voldemort in the first year. Saved the little Weasley girl in the second. Third? He had no idea, but even that was fishy. Time travel. Why? Just because he sometimes felt things out of place. He wasn't stupid, you know. Fourth year, the whole Triwizard tournament, big whoop-dee-doo. So what? Ooh, look, that's lucky, their wands cancel out, and Harry lives by the skin of his teeth, but that nobody Diggory doesn't. He dies. Oh. My. God. Please note the sarcasm.

Fifth? Oh, yeah, right, we had Potter's little teenager angst stage. I hate the world and the world hates me, I order everyone to feel sorry for me. Somebody, give this boy a trophy. Teenage angst is so rare these days.

The final day of the sixth year at Hogwarts ended on Tuesday, for one reason or another.

Draco collapsed back onto the Slytherin bench, his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. He didn't want this anymore. No more worthless competition, no more fighting over pointless facts of the past that wouldn't change.

"Come on, Dray. It's the end." Of another year, Blaise meant. It seemed more like the world as he knew it. Was it even worth trying to win anymore? Slytherin hadn't won since almighty Potter came.

"Yeah. I'm not going home, anyway. Both of my darling, loving parents are away, and the house elves aren't much company, they're terrified out of their wits." The only smirk that passed his face was a fake one.

"Right then. You'll have fun, heard Potter's staying too. See you later, then." Blaise waved, and walked out of the room, robes flowing behind.

When even Goyle and Crabbe had deserted him, he smacked his head against the wood table regularly, barely lifting his head, but still coming into contact with the wood over and over and over again. He left his head on the table for an immeasurable length time.

He felt a thin, icy hand on his shoulder, the cold going through his robes.

Snape. He didn't have to look up to see him. He was there, his head turned, dark brown eyes looking back to the teacher's table. His slightly curled black hair reached his chin, and wasn't any different from ten minutes ago. He took in air, and spoke;

"Stop whacking your head on the table, Malfoy, you're going to dent it." Draco wasn't sure if he meant the table or his head. Snape sighed when he got no response.

"Dear boy, you tried. Hell, we might be Slytherin, but we're not made of stone." Came his strained voice, tired of reprimanding and scolding. When the presence of the man was no longer there, he lifted his head, his eyes dull and almost lifeless. The eyes of someone who knows what his life is going to be like, and can't do a damn thing about it.

"But it wasn't good enough, was it, sir?" He asked the supposedly empty Grand Hall, and his voice echoed back to him. Draco already knew the answer.

Snape had just reached the large wooden doors of the Hall when he heard the lost voice. He didn't even look back, or reply. He sighed, and muttered;

"No, I suppose not."

With that, Serverus Snape left the Hall, and Draco Malfoy continued to knock his forehead against the table.

---

Somewhere around five hours later, Draco had stopped injuring his forehead, and had stared lazily at the enchanted ceiling, as it started to fade to a sunset.

He had a throbbing headache, but couldn't be bothered to move.

So he sat. With a killer headache. 'Ow. Someone, go get Madame Pomfrey. I'm dying here!' His mind ordered some invisible house elves. Where were they, anyway?

Draco suddenly realized how bossy he was. He grinned, and stroked an invisible goatee in thought.

He rummaged in the pocket of his black trousers, and pulled out a Famous Witches & Wizards card. He had them all, except the widely rumored card number one hundred. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was Potter.

The one in his hand was card forty-eight, Salazar Slytherin. He twirled it around in his fingers, when a small gust of wind almost whisked from his hands.

He glared up accusingly without lifting his head, half expecting it to be Blaise again. He exhaled loudly in annoyance, and opened his mouth to reply.

"Yo."

The person just looked at him like he was a serial killer running rampant around Hogwarts, purposely killing Gryffindors because of a past bad relationship…

Draco thinks he's becoming more insane every day.

Potter stares at him for a very long time, and it's getting very annoying, and very uncomfortable.

However, because he's as stubborn as the other, he continues to stare back, his eyes almost all the way rolled up in the top of his head. It hurts to move his neck, and he ignores the slightly painful position his eyes are in. He didn't think his eyeballs could feel pain.

"Am I stuck all summer with a psychopathic blonde?" He mumbled, running a hand through his hair, but it got stuck. This led to a few snickers from said psychopathic blonde.

"Pothead, why the hell aren't you going home to the Muggles?"

"Because, Malfoy, Dumbledore nearly killed them last summer for whacking me round the head with a saucepan. I've still got a bruise there, too."

"Fascinating."

"I know, isn't it?"

---

A few hours had gone by, and the two boys were still sitting at the Slytherin table, having said nothing for ages. Draco had been busy sucking on his bleeding and mutilated fingernail instead of trying to socialize with Potter.

"Are we the only ones left, Malfoy?"

"Of that I am unsure, Pothead. I suppose Dumbledore's around somewhere. That man practically lives in the walls of the school. Probably Snape, and McGonagall. Binns, too. That old spook rarely leaves his room anymore."

"Mm."

"Wanna go trash the Ravenclaw dorms?"

"Aren't they locked?"

"Don't speak of such blasphemy, Pothead. The dorms are only locked during the school year."

"Sure. Why the hell not, Malfoy. Why the hell not."

"Exactly. You have become wise, Pothead."

---

The two ambled around Hogsmeade, as both stopped outside of the Quidditch supply store.

"Wow…" Potter breathed, his breath spiraling into steam. For one reason or another, Hogsmeade had decided to have one of those 'Christmas in July' things.

There in front of them both, was the Firebolt Nova. It boasted that it had everything the Firebolt had - and more.

He put his hands up on the glass like a child looking in a toy store just before Christmas. Then again, it was almost his birthday, and it was July twenty fifth.

"Oh, get over it, Potter, and stop drooling. You'll have to buy it yourself." Malfoy pulled on his scarf, trying to drag him away from the now fogged display. Potter made a sound that resembled one of a dying cat, and reluctantly followed.

"But Malfoy…" He whined, which resulted in another sharp tug on the scarf. Malfoy's long fingers made it all the way around the knitted scarf, as his nails dug into the Gryffindor colors. The nail he had ripped off by mistake before was only slightly better - it sometimes throbbed with a dull pain, or a sharp, stabbing one.

"Come on, Potter! I'll buy you a Chocolate Frog if it makes you feel better."

"Honest?"

"Honest." The blonde boy rolled his eyes, and Harry grinned like a maniac.

"Well, come on then!" This time, Potter grabbed his green and silver scarf, and dashed in the general direction of Honeydukes.

Malfoy responded with a gagging sound, and ran (or rather, was forced to run) after the dark haired boy in front of him.

"Potter! Don't run so damn fast!"

---

Malfoy, whose face was paler than usual from his almost untimely death by strangling, coughed again for sympathy as they left Honeydukes.

"Oh, let it go, Malfoy." Harry mumbles, as he takes a bite out of the Chocolate Frog, the sweet taste warming him up immediately.

"What card did you get?" Malfoy leans over, as Potter sits down on the nearest bench. Malfoy follows.

"Godric Gryffindor. I've got ten of him. You want it?" Godric starts silently throwing a fit, yelling and screaming (well, if they could of heard him). He doesn't want to get stuck with possibility the most Slytherin-ish boy on the planet. Draco looks down at the raving Founder, and smirks.

"Don't be ridiculous. I've got all of them." Harry sticks out his tongue childishly, and pockets the relieved Founder.

"Aren't you gonna eat yours?" He points to the still wrapped chocolate. The blonde shakes his head.

"I'm gonna save it. These things don't go bad easily." Draco looks up, and something white lands on his nose.

"It's snowing." He states simply, as if the snowflakes held no wonder or delight to him. Potter next to him laughs as they start coming down more heavily. He stands up, an outstretched hand catching the white magic.

"Don't be so cold, Malfoy. Everyone loves snow." The pink-cheeked boy behind him just shrugs, and shivers slightly in the freezing air.

Potter's nose is bright red, and so are his ears and cheeks. He looks totally ridiculous, smiling up at the sky as if it was giving him the best present of his life.

Suddenly, Malfoy feels rather lonely. Not depressed or anything, just a sudden and deep feeling of being alone.

He doesn't see anything wonderful at all about snowflakes, those crystalline orbs of pure magic. But by the look on Potter's face, he feels that he should.

Potter turns back to the bench, a smile spread across his face. It fades quickly when he realizes the blonde isn't sitting there anymore. He turns to his left, and sees the boy heading back in the direction of Hogwarts.

He shrugs, and quickly follows after him.

"Hey! Malfoy! Wait up!"

---

"Oh, well done, Potter." Malfoy smirks, and Potter pouts next to him. The Chocolate Frog jumped off the table, and hopped down the Great Hall.

"Great. I got Dumbledore." Potter sighed, and twirled the card in his hand. Dumbledore suddenly looked rather green, and disappeared. "I've got at least twenty of him by now."

"Ah. Fuck it."

"What?" Potter looks at the boy curiously, strangely used to his harsh language. Sure, Ron swore a lot, but never as vulgar or even as often as the blonde boy in front of him.

Harry bet Hermione swore a lot - just in her head. Sometimes, if you looked at her when she was really mad, it was like she was trying to resist from screaming "EFF YOU!"

"Tomorrow we have to go back to school.."

"We've been here the whole time, you ass."

"No, Pothead! As in everyone's coming back tomorrow."

"Oh."

"Now, I can't be seen with you, Potter. Nothing happened, alright? I'm Draco Malfoy, and you're Harry Potter. Nothing. Alright?"

It sounds rather like forbidden love, which causes Harry to burst into hysterical laughter. When is subdues to a few random hiccups, his eyes are closed, his sides hurt, and he's leaning forward, his body shaking from laughing so hard.

"I don't want to know what goes on in your mind, Potter." Harry could only grin at him, before he couldn't take it any more and started laughing again.

"Oh, God, Malfoy! You sound like a good schoolgirl with perfect grades whose secretly going out with the worst bad boy in town." This only prompted more giggles and laughs from the emerald-eyed boy. Malfoy raised both eyebrows, and then rolled his eyes.

"Keep dreaming, Potter. You know I'm too bad-ass for you."

"Whatever you say Malfoy. Whatever you say."

---

The first day of the Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts was much the same as it had always been. Except that it was his last year in this place. No more endless days of just hanging around with Ron and Hermione, or fighting with Malfoy, or having to listen to lectures all day.

Ron and Hermione were on either side of him, both talking to him at the same time.

Hermione was already worrying about the end-of-year exams, while Ron was talking about Fred and George.

Even though mail wasn't supposed to come until tomorrow, a large black owl swooped down and dropped an envelope onto Harry's empty plate. A note was carelessly taped on.

Pothead,

By yourself a fucking Firebolt Nova, you prat. I'm still too bad-ass for you, so don't you dare come over here and thank me for it. If you try to give it back or tell anyone, I will curse you until Kingdom Come.

See you in Hell,

(The Real Dark Lord) Draco Malfoy

Harry grinned, and took the envelope into his hands.

Both of his friends didn't even notice it until Harry opened it up and a large amount of money (in pure coins) spilled out, chiming and ringing as they did so.

Ron gaped, a gurgling sound being the only wise thing he had to say. Hermione ruffled her feathers, and then asked;

"Harry, what is that?"

Harry stared down at the money, and tried not to laugh..

"Dirty money."

---

Draco Malfoy, at the other side of the Hall, dug into the pockets of his trousers to see if anything was there.

There was.

It was that stupid Chocolate Frog from July. He opened it, grabbed the frog, and quickly bit off its head. He chewed rather thoughtfully on it, before noticing he hadn't checked to see what card he got.

He grabbed the wrapper, and took out the card, quickly read it, and scowled.

The photo on the card starts laughing hysterically, taking off his glasses to wipe away tears.

Draco pouted, and turned the card around to read the back.

Harold "Harry" James Potter

(1980 - )

#100

Perhaps best known as Harry Potter, or The Boy Who Lived, this young man defeated the Dark Lord by deflecting the Killing Curse back at him in 1981, when he was just over a year old - almost inconceivable. He currently attends Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and is in his Seventh Year. He also plays for the Quidditch team as the Gryffindor Seeker, and has won the Triwizard Cup.

CONGRATULATIONS! You have received a limited edition Harry Potter trading card. Only 50 have been distributed worldwide since July 25th 1995.

Card Production Number: 1/50

Ahaha. Hahaha. Shit. Well, he might as well dye his hair orange, put it in pigtails and become a Potter fangirl.

When Draco turned the card over again, the Harry on the front looked as though he had been trying to compose himself. When he saw Draco's face, he burst into silent laughter all over again.

Finite Incantatem