It's not supposed to be like this.
I'm the smartest bloke in my year, dammit, I should be able to think of a way out of this. I can't even look at the bastard without getting this gooey smile on my face and giggling like a ruddy schoolgirl. It's disgusting. For the love of Merlin, I'm a Slytherin! I'm clever, nefarious even! I shouldn't have to deal with this.
I wonder if it might seem odd to punch him in the face without provocation? I should. He deserves it, the bloody tosser. He has to go and be all handsome and kind and so very Potter-like. I can't stand it.
Perhaps that's why he was sorted into Slytherin? It's not so much him that has a dastardly side, but his effect on others? I would buy that. Well, he does rather have a talent for getting himself detentions, and perhaps an even greater one for getting away with things for which the rest of us would get detention. Lucky bastard.
No. You shall not walk over here. You shan't. Stay over there! Listen to me! Fine, you're getting up, but just turn and go see your family of gingers and talk about sunblock or whatever you- No! Stop walking towards me! I am sitting in the Great Hall with a great number of utensils around which I could use to stab you. I'll do it! I will! No! Don't sit down!
"Hello, Scorpius," he says, his damn Potter charm on full blast.
"Albus," I hiss through my teeth, trying very hard not to think that he smells good... so good... I wonder if his bed smells like him? Like cinnamon and springtime... It's so- GODDAMMIT I AM A MALFOY! I don't moon over how boys ruddy smell.
"I feel bad about what happened in Potions," he says, keeping his voice low so only we can hear. Ruddy gentleman. "I didn't mean to show you up or anything."
Of course you did. I slave over that potion for an hour, but can't quite get it. Then, bloody Potter comes along and adds a damn BEZOAR (to a CLONING potion, no less) and I think he's mental! Then the potion bubbles and fizzes and turns blue. BLUE LIKE IT WAS SUPPOSED TO! He added one thing to it and FINISHED it. The Professor clapped for Potter like he'd just discovered a continent or something and meanwhile it was my potion. I'm so mad.
"It's nothing," I hiss, hoping he catches every bit of strain in my voice. Passive-agressive, I know, but I like him far too much to be able to yell at him.
"Score, you're obviously upset," he says. "How can I help?"
So. Damn. Polite.
"Keep your hands on your own blasted potion," I say quietly. I can tell by the guilt in his eyes that he hears me.
"But it was just that one thing!" Albus defends himself. "You just wouldn't figure it out! I was willing you to, but it would have taken you another hour to finish. The potion would have soured by then, and you worked so hard on it! I wanted Professor Dibbins to think it was you, but he caught me. I'm sorry."
"Why did you even notice?" I ask.
"I always notice you," he says without thinking. I can tell he didn't think because regret immediately creeps into his eyes and his look says he wants to take the words back.
"You could've just told me about it," I grumbled down, examining my pumpkin juice cup as though it were gold. "No need to fuss about it."
"Score, you wouldn't have listened," he laughs. "You would have tried everything but a bezoar from the second I suggested it. You're too proud for your own good."
"I'm a Malfoy," I say. "Pride is all we have anymore."
He winces. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it." His face falls into a sad regret that could be sculpted from stone it's so beautiful. Damn him.
I sigh. "Well, you were just trying to help..."
Immediately, his face springs back into a beaming smile. He doesn't regret a thing, the wanker...
Oh, he's good.
"Oh, sod off," I smile and shove him lightly.
"I love you too, Score," he teases. If only he really meant it.
"Yeah..." I say.