Author's Note: This is a one-shot, but if anyone likes it, I could continue... It would most likely be D/Hr, but I guess I could manage D/H or D/G. Please review, I know it isn't great and I tried to keep it short, but tell me what I need to fix. Love and Bagels, and without further ado:
Draco's Secret
By: Sheriff Ev.
"I made deer hump."
Draco Malfoy was irritated to no end. This much was obvious to his fellow Slytherins. They were, however, befuddled as to why. Lights were strewn among the building; carollers were Silencio-d; that oaf, Hagrid had broken his wrist Christmas tree hunting and Madame Puddifoot's had their Gingerbread Pancake special, in other words, 'tis the season to be jolly. Well, as jolly as the Slytherin variety come. Which isn't very much, but there was still much fun to be had. They were intrigued.
Pansy ventured a guess, "Maybe, his father is angry because he lost to Potter at Quidditch--"
Theodore Nott made the mistake of interrupting. "Again! Merlin's Beard! You'd think Potter was Viktor bloody Krum! Although to be honest, His broom-handling techniques are brilliant! I mean, really…! It isn't that…" Pansy silenced him her famed, "HOMG! It's a werewolf, it's a dementor… No! It's PANSY PARKINSON!" look.
"As I was saying, maybe his father's angry at him and won't buy him a Firebolt V2.0."
"Maybe… or his parents are breaking up?" suggested Millicent Bulstrode.
"Really, Milly, they're the Malfoys. They don't 'break up.'" Pansy sighed, as condescendingly as sighs could be. "Maybe, they're having a child."
"No, I heard Narcissa Malfoy had to get her baby weight magicked off last time!" said Daphne Greengrass, the Slytherin resident "Rita Skeeter".
"Maybe, they're sending him to Durmstrang!" They shuddered at the thought.
"Maybe his dad found out about his Hufflepuff fetish." snickered Blaise Zabini.
"Blaise, that's your Hufflepuff fetish. Draco is in a loving and committed relationship. With me." Pansy couldn't let Draco's reputation get ruined like that. Or her own, for that matter.
"Hufflepuffs?!" scoffed Theodore, "Why?"
"Hey man, I'm not the one talking about Harry Potter's 'broom-handling techniques'"
Theodore turned a deep shade of scarlet. "I didn't mean it like that."
The conversation continued in that vein, until Crabbe suggested that maybe, it was because Flitwick was short. That always made Crabbe mad.
Bloody turncoats, he thought. The walls of the dungeon were thin enough for Draco to hear exactly what they were saying. Theodore's talks of Potter's "broom-handling techniques" were particularly starting to bother him. It was when he found himself agreeing with Crabbe's statement about Flitwick's height that he decided he should probably go out for a walk. Clear his mind and such.
He strolled around the school grounds. He didn't know why he was so glum. He knew the reason he was upset, but he didn't know why. I mean, inside, he knew he was going to get a Dark Mark eventually. It was only a matter of time, since Voldemort had returned. He felt foolish for getting complacent with his plans. He shouldn't have allowed himself to hope for anything different. Maybe, he could still be normal Draco, just a Death Eater. That was bloody likely.
Who was normal Draco, though? Would he ever have a chance to know? How could he? It wasn't in his nature to be so subservient, but hell, he hadn't had a proper chance to try teenage rebellion. Except for Muggle music under the floorboards, he hadn't been anything but the perfect Slytherin his parents had hoped for. He couldn't see himself up against the Dark Lord. He didn't even know if he agreed with the cause. How the hell was supposed to survive the fucking war?
Personally, he hated the war. It was useless. It wasn't that thousands of people would die that bothered him so much, it was that this war was robbing Draco's future. All his hopes and dreams were for naught. Death Eater was not his future ambition. Something along the lines of rock star or Quidditch Player filled that quota. It was selfish, but it was how Draco felt. He would never be selfish again, if he didn't have to be a Death Eater. That would be selfish to wish, though. Oh bugger it, he hadn't signed up for the role of hero or villain or martyr. He was Draco Malfoy, just Draco Malfoy, and while he didn't mind Sex God to be a part of his title, he was Draco, not Malfoy, not the Dark Lord's right-hand man, and not the Slytherin Prince; and he didn't want this just as much as Potter didn't want to be the "Chosen One", but it wasn't as if anybody on their side would care.
He threw a rock at the lake out of frustration. Unfortunately, the Giant Squid had intercepted it and flung it right back at him. Damn squid. He ducked, so it hit a light-up deer.
He was muttering obscenities at the Giant Squid as he noticed the sparkling, beckoning Christmas reindeers that the rock had hit. There were two of them. His eyes glinted with mischief. He positioned them so that one was standing upright behind one that was still on all fours. He laughed. He laughed and cried, and laughed until he cried. He laughed because he was so damned confused, and so damned scared, and yes, his life had gone to utter crap, but the deer were humping!
"I made deer hump."
