I am new to writing, no, posting fanfiction. I hope you enjoy! *crosses fingers*
In Which Draco confesses his concerns to Miss Parkinson
In a rather large leather chair behind the rather large mahogany desk of his rather large window-walled office, Draco Malfoy sat listening to the near-hysteric ramblings of one very inflamed, pug-faced Pansy Parkinson. iWell, that's not fair,i/ his conscience reasoned. She doesn't resemble the whole pug any longer. It's just the nose now.
"Can you believe it? The bastard thought to cheat on me! Me! He waltzed into the room with a silly smile on his face like he'd won tickets to the Werewolf Brigade and just said 'Pansy I've cheated on you with Astoria Greengrass.' Filthy slag that she is I suppose it was a good shag," Draco didn't bother confirming her suspicions, "but it couldn't have been half as good as it was with me because otherwise he wouldn't have left her bed, would he now? After the first time we had a roll in the sheets the bastard wouldn't leave me for more than an hour for weeks! Anyway, I didn't bother hexing him, I just listed off the wizards I'd spent the night with since the conception of our 'relationship' if you could even call it that, and the bastard grew red in the face – almost as red as Weasley's hair – and called me all sorts of names," Draco bristled, "so I flipendo -ed his arse and removed him from my flat."
Draco plotted, his protectiveness getting the better of him. What was it about ill-equipped men? Almost all of them grew bitter and angry, petty and rude! The ones with the smallest wands were the ones the shout the loudest, his grandfather used to say, and Abraxas Malfoy was a sharp man, if not also funny and terribly mean. He was proud of Pansy for jinxing the dolt, and he would do much worse when he paid old Geoffrey a visit. "-And Draco, I know this sounds odd coming from me, but I think, after all this mess with Willard, that I'm finally ready! I'm tired of messing around, jumping from one bed to the next. It's high time I found myself a wizard!" she exclaimed, delightedly, eager to outgrow her juvenile ways. "I'm ready to shed my binty skin and trade it in for ten carats, which means I need your help."
"How exactly may I assist you with that?" Draco asked with thinly veiled amusement. No matter how determined he was to mind his own business, he knew the Slytherin witch would not let him slide by unnoticed. This meant he would have to comply or at least attempt to, lest he desired a few dozen curses aimed his way.
"Set me up with one of your mates! I promise it won't end like last time, though I am glad you don't associate with Smith anymore. Crying over my detailed explanation of why he was not my best shag ever was a bit much. He should've just taken the compliment I offered him first. Bit of a ninny if you ask me," she remarked. Draco's eyes widened in disbelief. It seemed Pansy was under the impression that he even knew who the man was, when really he'd just run into the young medi-wizard while he was at St. Mungo's.
"What mates have I got that you aren't already..." he paused, searching carefully for the appropriate word, "been acquainted with?" he finished, arching a pale eyebrow almost patronizingly.
"Is it supposed to be someone I haven't shagged yet?" Pansy asked, a bit thrown off by the idea. Now, she wasn't a slag, but she also wasn't a saint. It might be a bit of a challenge trying to find someone worthy that she hadn't pursued by now.
"Pans, I'm not trying to be rude, but how can I set you up with someone we both know and you've already slept with? Our friends already know you very well and would've expressed romantic interest had they felt it," he rationalized gently. It wasn't his aim to offend her, but he'd rather she be pained by his remarks than have her pride broken by some prat who misinterpreted her intentions.
"You're right," she muttered, sinking into the comfortable chair. She rolled her eyes at the predicament she had created for herself. "It is so incredibly unfair that witches can't get away with shagging the way wizards do! Our friends are all horny dolts, excluding you, of course, and they'll find love the moment they choose to look for it! I suppose I'll have to find someone new. Maybe a Hufflepuff?" she mused. "Draco almost gagged at the suggestion but resisted commenting, not wanting to offend his equal opportunity minded friend. He could comfortably maintain polite conversation with the badger-loving puffs, but he simply didn't trust them. There could not be such a large fraction of the wizarding community that was nice just to be nice. There had to be some lying scumbags mixed in the lot… "No, they're a bit too soft for what I have in mind for a life partner," she chuckled. "How about a Gryffindor? Oh, yes! That would certainly be a delightful chase!"
"A Gryffindor?" he started, a gleefully wicked smile breaking out across his face. "You've turned soft Parkinson."
"I've done no such thing," she retorted, holding tight to her house pride. "Is it wrong to want someone to come home to? Someone who cares whether or not I've had dinner? Someone that'll indulge all of my darkest fantasies?"
"It's not too much to ask," he admitted, solemnly. How could he not? After all, the only reason he was sitting in his office was because he had to distract his mind from thoughts of her. Of course there was also plenty of work to be done, but most of it could be done from home or by an assistant. He'd hired too well, leaving him with little to do aside from handling the big wigs. It was something that most business wizards aspired to, something that he had once aspired to, but now he wished he'd had more reason to be around, more busywork to distract him from the perils of his decreasing social life and non-existent romantic life. Sometimes he wondered how he'd transformed into the sluggish and stale shell of a man he was now. He used to think that during his younger years he was happy, but really he was just misguided. By sixth year his confidence had been subdued by the fear and darkness constantly in his midst. And after the war he was just tired; tired of being alone, tired of being scared, tired of being wrong, and tired of being tired.
The straight-haired woman immediately noticed her friend's discouraged disposition and could not resist inquiring about the subject that she knew was bringing him aggro and sorrow.
"When are you going to tell me, Draco?" she inquired softly, hoping her expression correctly conveyed the compassion she felt for her Slytherin brother. He had not indulged in the single life the way Witch Weekly portrayed him to have. Instead, it was quite the opposite. Draco Malfoy was more often alone than not, choosing the company of his garden gnomes and house elves to friends and lovers. He'd done quite a job of isolating himself, but with his twenty-third birthday approaching, Pansy had decided it was time to cut the codswallop and get to the point.
"Tell you what, Pansy?" he gritted through clenched teeth. His face hardened at the change of subject, lips thinning into a grim line, knuckles clenching and teeth grinding in concert.
"When are you going to tell me who she is," she clarified, jutting her chin out indignantly, unwilling to lose this fight. Losing this fight could mean that he would spend even more of his life miserable and eventually completely alone, possibly dead.
"There hasn't been a woman in my life for quite some time, now," he replied acerbically. "Unless you're counting my mother."
"Oh, come off it Draco! You act as if you never told me you're-"
"That's quite enough," he cut her off, coldly. Draco Malfoy had spent much of his life at the whims of other people. Now that he was a grown man, free of blood prejudice and dangerous dark wizards, he never wanted to live that way again. "You'll have to excuse me, I've got a meeting-"
"Stop fucking about, Malfoy!" Pansy demanded, raising her voice. "Now you've been moping around for years and I insist on knowing who you've chosen as-"
"You dare order me around in my own office, Parkinson?" he sneered hatefully, roughly pushing his chair away from the desk and stalking over to his scotch cantor. He knocked the glass together harshly as he poured himself a good six inches. Only after finishing at least four did he speak again.
He sighed, slumping his wide shoulders in a shameful heap. "I'm sorry, Pans, but I just can't deal with any of that right now, alright?" he requested passively. Pansy couldn't stand the sight of him. There he stood, one of the richest, most sought-after wizards of the magical world, and he had not even a bit of true happiness within himself. He was looking out at the world with drooped shoulders and a bowed head, two things a Malfoy should never be caught doing, even in death. Though she understood that other witches had ceased to exist to him after his condition had set in, she hated seeing him so forlorn. Since he had shared his secret, she had wished that he would have the courage to confront and accept who and what he was.
"Draco, you've got to accept what you are," she urged lightly. "There's no shame in it. You will be very well liked, cherished even! Didn't the war help us all in understanding-"
"I've already accepted what I am, Pansy!" he defended, riled at his friend's incorrect assumption. "That's not what I'm struggling with."
Pansy wavered for a moment, before questions began tumbling out a mile a minute: "Then what is it that holds you back? Is she hideous? No, I suppose love blinds and all that nonsense. Do your parents hate her? Does it interfere with your job? Has she got a boyfriend? Oh, she must be married! Is that it? No? Then what is the bloody problem, Malfoy? What is holding you back-"
"SHE'LL NEVER HAVE ME!" he shouted, partly because he was frazzled by her rambling and wasn't sure how else to get her attention, but mostly due to the frustration he felt at the truth of his words. "She'll never fucking have me, Pans. Now leave me alone!"
She would normally react equally as volatile, but the palpable anguish the statement had brought him stopped her words. Had she been younger she would've gone for her wand, but at the ripe age of twenty-two an evil plan began to form itself in her head.
If this stupid blond man isn't going to help himself out, then I'll have to do it for him, she decided. Besides, there wasn't a witch out there that wouldn't hand in her Glamaurus for an hour alone with him. Even before his traits kicked in he was devastating. He has to be barking mad to think anyone would turn him down!
"Have it your way, Draco," she deferred, standing from her seat and righting her plum dress. "I'll see you soon enough," she promised, apparating out of his office with a sly smirk on her pretty face.
Draco fell back on an armchair, tiredly dropping his head in his hand. He knew Pansy meant well, along with the rest of the people that knew, but he dreaded thinking of his mate. Which person would? In fact, Draco would give one million Galleons to the witch, wizard, or Muggle who could find a single veela that would enjoy discussing the subject of his or her mate when it was obvious that the bond would never be forged. It was a painful topic and not one he wished to dwell on. Blaise had once made the mistake of thinking the problem was with who his Veela had chosen, which had ended in a bloody nose and a broken jaw.
No, his mate was perfect, beyond it really, which was what made this mating impossible. She was one of a kind, feisty but sweet, humorous but stern, smart but oblivious. And it wasn't that she hated him. Oh no, Hermione Granger didn't hate just anyone. She was polite as ever, even helpful and warm when their paths crossed. But he didn't want her warmth. He wanted her fire, the heated lioness she hid from the world.
Since the war she'd been more timid around him, as though she expected some sort of attack or a nefarious plan to come to light. It enraged his Vey, consequently enraging him. It made Vey want to grip her by the hair, fuck some sense into her, and withhold her orgasm for at least an hour afterwards as a form of punishment. Punishment for even thinking he could cause her any harm. Of course, Veela would rather pull her in for a soft kiss and a slow love-making to show her that he was a changed man.
Either way, whether it was Veela or Vey that won out in the end, his mate would be frightened by his uncharacteristic behavior and disappear before his very eyes. He'd rather be an acquaintance, no matter how distant, than a rejected lover. But now that Parkinson was on the warpath he was sure he'd end up the latter.
"What have I gotten myself into?" he muttered under his breath, before finishing off his firewhiskey in a huge gulp.
He had a feeling he would need it.
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