Acid Reflux

by Kutis Champorado

Synopsis:

When a prissy Slytherin prince falls in love with the Gryffindor jester, he stalks his prey in a relentless pursuit, stuck in denial. What failed to occur to him was that these jesters were pranksters, and they'd do anything to win a good joke. And what better joke there is than the humiliation of Draco Malfoy.

Author's note:

I've been scouring the digital threshold for amazing Draco and the Weasley Twins fictions, only to come up with but a few, there's a list at the end, kindly browse through them if you want, or suggest ones I haven't read yet. Hence, my thirst for it has not yet abated! And as all writers say, write the story you want to read!

Warnings: Rated M. There will be sex, written particularly graphic (I'm trying to hone my ero skills). But due to cases of fics being disposed because of malcontent, those scenes will be deleted, and can be acquired by emailing me through here legendaryjoeyb . This fic will also be angsty, a lot of swearing and denial and hypocrisy here. A bit of romantic comedy here and there. Draco will cry a lot, in secret of course. Weasleys would be kind of jerks, as one would expect from Gryffindor chauvinism (nothing too OC or sadistic). Expect character bashing, depends on who I want to suffer the most. I would like Draco, Harry, Ron, Herms, etc. to be as non-OC as possible. But, I doubt it.

Please enjoy!

Chapter One

Stalking is an art. It requires cunning, espionage, a foresight towards the daily movement of one's target. It needs threadbare resilience, precision, an instinct, and the capacity to think algorithms. Believing in spontaneity will only cause chaos and aggravation. To become a stalker, you need to be able to decipher the subtle patterns of your target. You should be able to link the bobbing of his Adam's apple to his habit of cajoling his weasel lump of a brother. The length of his strides indicates his intention, his temperance, or his basal need for pumpkin juice. The supination and pronation of his feet are tantamount to how much he has slept the night before. The stretch of his mouth differs from an impassive smile to a full-blown grin. His happiness could be measured by the furling of his fingers; his anxiety by the moue of his lips; his anger concealed in the crinkling of his eyes; his fear juxtaposed by the parting of his mouth and the raising of his heel.

Taking a bite of his wurst, Draco Malfoy watched the movement of one hollering Fred Weasley through his lashes. This he managed to do while exchanging pleasantries with his housemates and keeping Crabbe and Goyle from vomiting with glare filled with promises. They had taken the Dark Mark just three nights before. Screamed themselves to pissing, the disgusting lot. But every pawn, was needed, his father had said to him, for future sacrifice. How he ended up with the dumbest sycophants unnerved him, but Blaise was more than a welcome addition to his posse. He needed someone with at least more than a brainstem.

From beneath the table, Pansy slips him a piece of paper containing information about the movements of the Inner Circle she had learnt from her father's drunken stupor. Jennifer is planning to ask Victor to the Prom. He gives her a covert nod. He predicted that the Dark Lord will be making his grand debut soon. And he, the son of His right hand, and the Circle's hidden triumph card, was given the ultimate mission. The murder of one Albus Dumbledore. Taking a bite of his bagel, Draco glanced at the insignificant countenance of the old scrooge. He was indeed a master of diversion. Concealing any trace of his magic aura and lowering his defences. He appeared like a helpless, muggle-born old man. Looking at him only makes him sick. As if he were plotting to kill a lackadaisical flower. But he wasn't the only one who knew the vagrant skill of conning. To Draco, the old man was a fool, a biased attention-hoarding, Potter-suck up, and it is in his lack of finesse that put him in the league of the dilettantes and amateurs.

From the side he heard the shrill voice of the Mudblood and the inane laughing of the Boy-Who-Lived. Squeezing his utensils, he smirked at their ignorance. He could imagine them shackled before him, Potter made to lick his boot. If what his Father promises him comes true, Potter would soon be scrubbing his mansion's bowels. Oh he'd make sure they'd be as grotesque as a troll's belly button. Scoffing at Crabbe's green face, he wipes the corners of his lips daintily.

Quietly his sight flickers to the rambunctious mane of the fiery twin. No he scolds himself. The rambunctious fiery mane, he corrects. He wondered if he ought to re-study basic English. He's been correcting himself far too many times in recent weeks. It's beginning to irritate him. He couldn't quite understand his sudden interest towards one boisterous Fred Weasley. He only knew precisely when it started. Two weeks ago, he had taunted Potter and his godforsaken goons, calling him the 'pathetic stray' as per usual. At first he exalted in causing the boy pain and anguish. He would never be able to forgive Potter's attack on his pride. When he had read about the mysterious Boy-Who-Lived back when he was but a cheeky young master, he had sworn he'd found a friend. Someone he could empathize with. To be born in the midst of tragedy, to be raised with a burden, and pressured with an enormous responsibility. For the first time, Draco Malfoy wanted to seek refuge, away from his father's talons. If asked what Draco Malfoy's greatest secret was, it is that he wanted Harry Potter's camaraderie. Wanted so badly, yet it was deprived of him. Rejected, smugly, his outstretched hand slapped away. Immediately, it was like he started falling deeper and deeper back into the trench. Then he cajoled Potter simply out of habit. Now, he just wanted to see how far Potter was in his training. Was he as level-headed as a hero should be? Was he still brash and incapable of thought? He'd concluded that Potter was born stupid. After repeating the same insult more than a thousand times, he continues to fail in making a smart retort. Reasonably, he should grow out of acting all wounded. That was how his Father taught him to endure pain. Constancy and repetition. In the end, he did learn. Potter didn't.

His little insult provoked the slimy Weasel, the greatest Gryffindor dolt, to actually call his parents a bunch of Deatheaters. It was partly true. But what grated his nerves was the way the Weasel spectacularly singled out his mother, an innocent, a 'frigid old hag'. It affected him more than he'd want to show, so he retaliated by calling the Weasel's mom a slut. Which was simply a frank way in phrasing the truth. The woman had seven kids. Who gives birth to seven kids without having the means of raising them adequately? He had always noticed their robes, which was subpar to a beggar at best. He may just be an only child but at least his parents provided him the basic necessities. The Twins were immediately on set, one of them, the Gryffindor beater, Fred Weasley, actually shoved him and pinned him to the wall.

"You fucking ferret, if you ever, ever, call our mum that ever again, I swear I'll jab whiz-bangs up yer arse, yeah?" Their faces were just a few inches apart, his breath warming, moistening Draco's lips. His eyes like a loch of honey and ginger, fierce and menacing. It never occurred to him how much they actually deplored him. But there, he could see, nothing less than pure hatred. He wasn't supposed to notice that, but he did. And what's more, he actually felt a thrill shoot up his spine. As if being dominated actually excited him. That would be a disgusting way of putting it of course. He simply became intrigued by one Fred Weasley. There was something dark about him. Something tense, and bottled. Like a wildfire trapped in a pressurized phial waiting to burst.

After that encounter, his eyes would unconsciously veer towards the lad. He started noticing the little bits. From the way he flew his broom to every hair that fell. His instincts somehow saw Fred Weasley as one to be weary of. No he wasn't curious about him. Simply, introspective. Gathering knowledge was after all one of his tasks. He's simply fulfilling it beyond its necessary terms.

He notices the Golden Boy and his clique about to move back to their common room. Draco immediately stands up, casting Harry a mischievous smirk. He saw him roll his eyes, as if he was getting tired of all their quarrels. But Draco knew enough that his taunts will never grow awry to the conceited Boy Savior. The pompous prick was worse than the Dark Lord, muttering up niceties, spouting justice yet completely showcases bias against the Dark Arts. It was gullible creatures such as Potter, who wallows in self-pity that would cause the destruction of the Wizarding World. Their undeserved care for the Muggleborns had caused many wizards and witches in the past to be massacred in cold blood. And now it was they, they who were logically more superior, who are made to hide beneath glamours and scurry at their wake. Potter's virtues were irredeemable, and ones he finds deplorable. How the Gryffindors could prance around calling themselves loyal and chivalrous, when they easily cower at the tiny breaths of darkness, when they easily leave a subordinate trodden by despair and insanity, when they easily flinch at the sight of death and catastrophe. They were the House of hypocrites.

Draco Malfoy suavely leans on a pillar, making sure to fix his hair. Not that it needed fixing, he always left his chambers with his appearance pristine and perfect. When Potter and his goons saw him, they immediately went forward to block Potter from him. Like an itty bitty princess. Draco thought, sniggering.

"What the hell is your problem Malfoy?!" The Mudblood shrieks, looking like an electric post, as usual. "Does your life surmount to just being a pain in everybody's ass?" Draco floundered at that. It would seem the Mudblood's been practicing her subtleties. Of course as one would expect with someone who never knew and did not care to know of the traditional practices. The woman lacked demureness, or any attractive feminine quality for that matter. She could learn a thing or two from Pansy.

"I think you should ask that to the lil' Boy Savior over there," He replies scathingly, "After all, he's going to die soon."

Immediately, six wands were pointed towards him. Draco covertly drank up the stiffness of Fred's body, and the blaze, Merlin, the heat in his eyes, like magma. There was something invigorating about him. Draco caught the exasperated look he was giving him and felt a part of him collapse. Intuitively he wondered why the twins were overprotective of Harry Potter. Was it simply out of 'charity'? Was this what they call friendship? Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Guys wait," Potter, the peace-loving pouf that he is, tries to lower his friends' wands. "Let's not stoop to his level, it would be tiring to go back up again." He placated humorously, but with sharpness in his tone meant only for Draco.

"We'd have to ride an elevator up actually." The Weasel's whiny younger sister sneers, her face morphing to look like a banshee. Indeed, Gryffindor will probably never pride itself for its delicate, charming women. Unless they'd rather have their women look like australopithecines, and to that Draco could only say, kudos.

"Hardi har har, been working in your wit eh? Bitch Weasel?" As he said this, the blubbering twit, Longbottom, miscasts a stinging hex and instead causes a blinding spell on him.

At once Draco's vision turns black. He tried rubbing his eyes thinking it might just be sludge covering his face.

"Longbottom! You are not allowed to cast spells against another student!" It was undoubtedly the voice of a furious McGonagall, and Draco couldn't help but grin despite his situation.

"But Professor! Malfoy started it, and it wasn't successful anyway. Malfoy's just pretending like the git that he is!" someone whined. He couldn't make out whether it was the red-headed bint, or the Mudblood. He could hear the others agreeing with her. Following his hearing he faced Prof. McGonagall, "Professor, I was just having a civil conversation with Harry when Longbottom suddenly—" Draco wanted to say he was blind, but stopped his tongue at the last moment, "Started waving around his wand, muttering babbles like an overgrown infant." It would be too embarrassing. If his father learned that he was actually caught unaware by a frivolous spell by one Longbottom, it meant punishment. And his father's methods usually left him worse for wear.

"You liar!" someone protests, but Draco was too busy thinking of counter-spells to distinguish who it was. "Professor, would you seriously take its word over ours? Even after knowing his alle—"

"Mister Ronald Weasley, may you desist." Her harsh reprimand silences his indignation into a squeaky slur, "All of you, to your rooms! Else I will have to report this encounter to Professor Snape."

"Oh but our lovely—"

"—professor, shouldn't we—"

"—be accompanying poor—"

"—Malfoy junior to the—"

"—hospital wing?" The twins say in perfect unison, conniving to corner him and perhaps inflict a threat or two. Draco tried to identify which one was Fred, but hadn't had the opportunity to listen to his voice all that much. He guessed it was the first one who spoke. He deduced Fred to be the type to engage, and the other follow. Through his blindness his echoic memory managed to completely tuck his deep husky tone in the recesses of his mind, for later uses.

"I assure you, no foul was committed Professor," Draco evades, taking a customary bow, "I shall head to my quarters. If you excuse me," Thinking it was the hallway, Draco made to turn only to smack right into a hard chest.

"Tipsy are ya, ferret?" Draco tried to stop his cheeks from reddening. He tried not to. Merlin, he tried. But the humiliation and his scent, just made blood rush to his cheeks and someplace else. Why does a man like him have to smell like the spice he so adored? Why must his breath smell like cinnamon? Thank Merlin he couldn't see. For two reasons, he didn't want to expound on.

Draco brushed away the strong hand on his shoulder, "Get off me! Disgusting Weasel! You might give me lice!" He whined, forgetting his self-preservation skills for the moment. Even Harry was shocked that Malfoy would actually insult another student in front of a professor. Worse, insulting the name of a bloodline who is a distinguished member of the Order of the Phoenix. Draco realizing his slip up, paled. How was he supposed to remind himself when he couldn't see a goddamn thing?

"Mister Malfoy, frankly, I'm appalled." Draco could hear the Gryffindorks trying to control their laughter. This wasn't funny however. His father wouldn't reprimand him for insulting the Weasley's but his lack of discipline would be dealt with, Malfoy style.

"Please professor, don't contact my parents." He pleaded, turning towards her voice. He tried to look as martyr-like as he could.

"Um, Malfoy, Professor McGonagall's right behind you…" Longbottom comments meekly. "Can't you…see her?"

The phrase struck a chord inside him and he lashes out again, "Shut up Longbottom! Copy your parent's silence a bit yeah?!" It was low, even for him. But apparently, none of them took his comment to heart.

"Malfoy, that's Hermione." Says another. Draco starts to panic. He starts backing up, his breathing turning ragged. You do not need pity, Draconius. You do not need concern. You do not need to rely on anyone, only your magic and rationale. You must never show weakness. You are my heir, you will be strong. I will make you strong.

"I-I know! I was ju-just messing with you lot." He moved a step back, but felt something brush behind him.

Immediately he turned around and cried, "Don't touch me!"

The sniggers had already died out at the sight of him arguing with a post, their doubts solidifying to a reality. Neville Longbottom especially looked sick to his stomach. Oh Bugger. He knew then his grandmother and, he gulps, Lucius Malfoy would be castrating him soon.

Harry feeling strangely sympathetic for the bloke grabs Draco Malfoy by the shoulders and tries to appease him. "Malfoy, you're blind aren't you?"

"Wha-what in blazes are you going on about Potter, or should I say the abused orphan?!" Draco no longer caring about Professors or proper conduct elbows Harry in the abdomen. He heard many gasp at this. Harry's being the loudest.

Suddenly he felt airborne, his head banging on concrete. He knew, even without seeing, even without smelling, it was him again. "Malfoy! You twat!"

"THERE WILL BE NO VIOLENCE IN THIS CAMPUS!" As if casting an amplification spell, Professor McGonagall's voice boomed, causing the hand clasped around his throat to flinch, but it didn't let go.

"Draco Malfoy and Fred Weasley, BOTH of you will be attending detention for a MONTH!" Draco heard loud protests, some even trying to haggle by extending his hours and reducing Fred's. Go democracy. He remained silent however, feeling light-headed at the impact. The tension around his throat had lost its grip, and he slid down in a slump to the floor.

"I expect the both of you in my office tomorrow at 7. If you do not show up, I will gladly reduce three hundred house points, this I say with certainty." Prof. McGonagall gave them a stern look. She walks towards Draco and carefully pulls him up by the elbow. "You, Mister Malfoy, will come to see Madam Pomfrey. Perhaps she would be able to fix your eyes."

"All you Gryffindors, return to your rooms immediately." As Draco heard their groans and stirs, he tried to imagine the look Fred would've given him. With that proximity, emboldened by a fanatic desire to destroy him. Draco Malfoy knew enough of hate to realize it was the strongest emotion. Yet he also knew enough of love, to realize that Fred Weasley may just be harbouring a little crush on the Boy-Who-Lived. And that didn't make him feel better. Not at all.

End of Chapter One

List:

5 times Draco accidentally kissed Fred and 1 time Fred kissed Draco by b3yondimaginations

The Black Bunny by Windseeker 2305

I'm so sorry but I can't recall any others that I found satisfactory. So much for a list, eh? Also, I need a Beta! A lovable, patient Beta! I have a very high tendency of reverting from present to past tense and vice versa. It's a disease, really. So please!

Please review! I will cater to your advice, suggestions (be it of sexual matters regarding them) or questions. And please write more Draco and the Twins fictions. This would make up for an eternity of lost days scrambling for my mathematics classes! Draco GeoFre revolution!

Also, I understand that some of you may notice that the fic centers more on Fred, but I assure you, Draco will be falling in love with both Weasley twins, and vice versa. Expect this to be long. Kinda. Draco will remain remarkably pompous, whiny and narcissistic, however I boosted up his practical intelligence a bit. Made him appropriately darker, smarter and cynical. Fred and George would be fun and awesome, but more moody. In a realistic sense of course. I tend to believe someone who's into the penchant of mayhem has a certain flair for having one of those tense, broody moments. Future side-pairings may occur. Surprise surprise.

Have a pleasant day. Please review.