For the Worst
Author's Note: Draco's always very amusing in my head, more so than Harry usually. This story was written as a prequel to 'For the Best' but honestly it can stand alone. One doesn't need to read both to understand either, but it paints a more complete picture if you read them together. It will be three parts in total.
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I'd never intended to fall in love with Harry Potter.
In fact, Salazar Slytherin himself would probably roll in his grave at the news of a Malfoy even befriending a Potter, much less loving one, and that's nothing to say of what my father would think, rest his soul.
No, I fully blamed Potter for my fluffy condition. He'd tricked me, revealing a secret charm I hadn't suspected he possessed until it was too late and I was already caught in his crafty grasp. He'd been such a scraggly boy at Hogwarts, messy and bumbling with no care for the rules. I'm not perfect citizen either, but at least if I'm going to circumvent the system I do it in a cunning way, not the brash and thoughtless way Potter always managed.
And those clothes.
To his credit, his school uniforms and robes always fit fine, but the other things he sometimes wore beneath them were atrociously huge on his frail-seeming frame. I heard a rumor that he'd been given the items from an obese relative, but had he forgotten he was a wizard? Could he not manage a simple Transfiguration spell to adjust their fit? Could he not persuade his friend Granger to do it for him if he felt inept at the spellwork?
Even though I sought out reasons to loathe him, I really never needed to. He provided me with plenty of material without my willingness to dig too deeply. I sometimes laughed at myself when I thought of my original delusions that I could befriend the famous boy; use him to gain advantage for myself. Harry was a Gryffindor through and through, and nothing would ever change that. Furthermore, nothing would ever alter my own Slytherin outlook and persona.
Or so I had thought.
Then came the war and all the horrid things that came with it. I'd spent the later part of my teenage years in constant fear, wondering when the Dark Lord would fancy to murder me for buttering my toast incorrectly or combing my hair the wrong way, because that was all it might take. He was mad; I saw that from the start, regardless of how much my father had built him up in my mind all those years before. Perhaps he had been different before his corporeal departure from our world, more cunning and less crazy, but I never knew that man. I only knew a monster who threatened my mother to get what he wanted out of me and who forced me to witness events that no child should ever be subjected to.
The war brought death and funerals and trials, I watched friends and family buried in the earth beside our enemies, entombed beneath the ground forever. I would only hear my insane aunt's cackle in my dreams; I would no longer need to wonder if death lurked in my dining room. Much of it was a relief, and I almost felt myself detach from reality for a time, especially during my father's trial.
Hearing about all the things my father had done in Voldemort's name had a sobering, almost humbling effect on me. No longer was I under the delusion that he could do no wrong, that my father, the great and powerful Lucius Malfoy, was immune to the consequences of his actions. He was just as fallible as I was, just as mortal, just as frail.
Watching them administer the Dementor's Kiss on my strong, proud father made me reevaluate all that I knew of the world around me.
The Malfoy name was now soil under wizarding society's dragon hide boot and I was the last remaining in my line. My first thought was just to let us die out altogether. Perhaps it would be best if the Malfoy name passed away with me, ridding the world of our deceit, but my innate Slytherin pride stripped all such thoughts from my mind. Instead, I decided to change the name into something it had never been before. The Malfoys would be respected for more than Dark Magic and treachery, they would be known for their power and mercy and perceptiveness.
That was the day I decided to join the division of Aurors at the Ministry for Magic. Had I known now what I knew then when I stared down at the training brochure – that this path would lead me inexplicably into Potter's arms and bed, leaving my heart shattered in the meanwhile – would I have selected a different method of raising the Malfoy name from the muck? I don't know. For better or for worse, I love Harry Potter, and I don't know if I could sacrifice the happy moments I've spent with him just to eliminate my pain.
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"Auror training is not a game. I'm not here to entertain you or cater to your whining and complaining. This will be a challenge to all of you and impossible to some of you. You'll be put through rigorous physical battles and plenty of trials that will test your decision-making skills in combat and in high-pressure situations. If you end up with a place in the Auror department by the end of this training regimen, you will have earned it."
I got the feeling that the instructor was directing his speech at me, but I kept my chin high. I was going to finish with top marks and earn my place in the division if it was the last thing I did. Another failure added to the long list already racked up by my family was not an option.
It was surprising to see the turnout for the training program. There must have been forty people there, most straight out of Hogwarts or another wizarding school, though some were older, most likely people who had fought in the war and found dueling to be a calling for them. Like me, everyone there had his or her own reasons for joining, I'm sure. Both Weasley and Granger were amongst the group, which was something that didn't surprise me. They'd both looked at me as if I had a Gryffindor crest tattooed on my forehead when I walked in and took my place in the front row of desks.
The entire classroom was made up of stark white walls with nothing in the way of decoration. There was a large blackboard in the very front of the room with the instructor's name scribbled upon it. Clarence Cockburn was his name, but I doubted anyone in this room was suicidal or idiot enough to tease him about it. The man had the countenance of a large jungle cat, just waiting to pounce at the first sign of weakened prey.
Everyone was broken into pairs at their double desks, wands out and set in front of them at the ready. We'd be getting training uniforms and holsters by the end of the day, but the orientation had only begun. I shared my table with no one, and I suspected that was because there was no one in the room who wanted to be subjected to partner with me. I couldn't blame them, but I did wonder how that was going to effect my own assignments if I had no one to work with. Would he boot me out of the program on principal alone?
When the door opened at the back of the room most everyone turned to look. I remained facing forward, not wanting to give the instructor any reason to dislodge me from the training room, until I heard the instructor's greeting and watched his face soften ever so slightly.
"Well, Mr. Potter. So glad you could fit it into your busy schedule to join us today. I saw your name on the roster and began wondering if someone had played a prank on me," he boomed, not sounding nearly as angry as his words should have suggested. Had I waltzed into the room half an hour late he would have given me the sack.
"Sorry, Sir," he placated as he stood in the entranceway, giving a brief nod to the other two thirds of his trio and scanning the area for a place to sit. My heart sunk when I realized he'd be paired with me simply because I had an empty spot at my desk. "I got detained by Minister Shacklebolt, Sir."
"Well, that's as good an excuse as any, I suppose," he murmured, beaming at the golden hero as he pointed to the desk where I sat. "There is a place up front here with Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps you'll be a good influence on him and some of those innate defense skills might rub off on him."
My eyes narrowed imperceptibly at the comment but I kept my cool by digging sharp fingernails into my palm. I didn't need anything of Potter's rubbing off on anything of mine and I resented the implication that he was better than me. Still, the look of sheer horror in his eyes as he absorbed the instructor's words and paired them with my sneering face was nearly priceless.
I turned back to the front of the class, trying my best to ignore him as he fumbled his way up to the front and pulled out the chair just next to me. He couldn't possibly move it further away than he did and still be at the same table, in fact part of his chair jutted out into the aisle he was so far away. It made me want to shift closer, just to see what he would do, but I refrained. I couldn't use up all my fun tricks within the first hour after all.
I could hear mutters and snickering from somewhere behind us and I wondered which of us they were laughing at, but a stern look from Cockburn got them all to hush with haste. He progressed with his introduction into the program, passing out textbooks and pamphlets on the various tasks we'd be required to complete with high marks in order to pass into the department. Everyone there had to master advanced flying techniques and maneuvers as well as silent and wandless magic. I suddenly saw what the instructor meant when he said some of us would find the training impossible. I only knew a handful of wizards and witches that could perform wandless incantations with any decent precision.
As I read on, there was finally one thing that heartened me. Legilimency and Occlumency would also need to be mastered and I'd already done so by age ten, spending the following years honing my skill at it. It was probably the only thing that kept me alive the day that Fenrir and his cohorts captured Potter and his ignorant groupies. Had my aunt Bella, or any other Death Eater, been able to read my mind that day they would have known I was lying when I claimed I didn't know whom it was they had brought to the manor.
Potter seemed worried when he got to that section of the introduction and I took a quite pride in knowing that I would easily best him in at least one of these challenges.
My smirk quickly faded when the instructor moved on though, describing our schedule and living arrangements. For the next two and a half years, I was sharing miniscule quarters with Harry fucking Potter. At least he looked just as chagrined at the fact as I felt. Part of me hoped he put up a fight and managed to get transferred and paired elsewhere. If anyone could manage to win that battle with Cockburn, it was Potter.
The day dragged by as the instructor went over the intricacies of being an Auror, but thankfully his speeches soon gave way to a break for lunch and as I expected, Potter lagged behind, no doubt trying to figure a way to partner with Weasley, or just about anyone else for that matter.
As I trudged my way to the Ministry cafeteria, I tried not to think about the horrid food they served there that had no nutritional value whatsoever, or the fact that I would spend every meal for the next two and a half years eating very much alone. At least I had been used to that at the manor. When mother did come down to join me in the dining room it was only briefly. She was still grief ridden over my father's death and spent most days locked up in her private rooms. I wondered if she even noticed I'd taken leave of the manor to start my training. I had told her all about it of course, but I never knew what tidbits she actually absorbed these days. I feared for her health and I worried that I would be burying her as well soon, something I tried very hard not to dwell on as I stared down at the herb roasted – and I use the words 'herb roasted' very lightly - chicken that looked very much like death in meaty form.
When Potter emerged in the cafeteria with a sullen scowl I took it to mean even his influence had failed in winning him his freedom from me. I sighed heavily, knowing I couldn't possibly sway Cockburn if the victorious war hero had produced no effective results. I was doomed and that was all there was to it.
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The room was even tinier than I thought possible when magically expanded spaces were the norm. I supposed it was to prepare us for…something…but for what I had no idea. There was a long desk against one wall, barren and beige just like all the other furniture, two chairs and the worst thing I'd ever seen in my life.
Bunk beds.
What were we, nine? I could already hear the argument rolling through my head for who got which bed and I didn't really care since I was relegated to sleeping in the same room as Potter regardless how close to the ceiling I was permitted to sleep. I bet he snores. I bet all Gryffindors snore.
My chance to find out barreled through the door behind me and narrowly missed slamming into my back. It looked as though a not-so-clever insult was ready to be hurled in my direction, but he stopped, his mouth gaping as he took in our surroundings.
"Bunk beds?" he muttered, running a hand over his face. I almost laughed that we had managed identical reactions to the room and its contents but that would have been admitting Potter and I had something in common – even a little thing as that - and I wasn't willing to do that, not to mention the brazen Gryffindor would likely misconstrue my laughter somehow and find a reason to get me sacked from the program.
His shoulder's sagged slightly as he glanced from me to the beds, his lips pursing as if holding back a snide remark. "I suppose you'll want the top bunk," he muttered at last when all intelligent banter seemed to elude him.
"As much pleasure as it would give me to top you, Potter, I honestly don't care. Staying in this room with you is punishment enough, why not heap it on thick, hm?" I was bitter over the entire arrangement and I didn't hide that fact. He'd shown up late and made a program that was already going to tax me in every way, just that much more difficult.
He swallowed thickly at my innuendo and eventually rolled his eyes, breezing right over it, but the initial reaction was enough that I knew I could file it away as something else to make Potter uncomfortable. "So, you don't care if I sleep up top then?" he reaffirmed with a glower and I merely turned away and began casting cleansing Charms on the bottom bed.
When it was clear to him that I wasn't deigning to repeat myself, he stalked over and climbed up the wobbly ladder beside me, flopping roughly to the mattress and shutting his eyes. I gave a brief moment to worry that I would end up waking up with Potter and his mattress smothering me to death if he kept abusing the obviously rickety furniture in such a way, but I let it go. I'd be lucky not to wake up to find him murdering me on purpose and just using the faulty bunk beds as a scapegoat.
Grateful for the silence, I unpacked my things and stored them in my half of the closet and made my way into the tiny bathroom adjoining our space. One could practically wash their face in the sink while taking a piss, the room was so compact, but I tried not to complain too much or curse aloud when I banged my shin against the edge of the tub. It was going to be hell trying to share this space with Potter in the mornings.
To my contentment, Potter didn't snore, but he did talk in his sleep, muttering to people who weren't even alive anymore. If that wasn't disconcerting enough, at about three in the morning he screamed bloody murder, rousing me from bed with a start as I grabbed my wand and scanned the room for the threat. It took me a moment to realize he'd just been having a nightmare, and even longer to get my heart rate to settle and my mind to quiet as I slumped back into bed and cursed my terrible luck.
I'd only just fallen back to sleep when my alarm went off and I was forced to drag out of bed and get ready. I knew exactly how long it took me to complete my morning routine down to the minute, and I made sure to allot myself enough time to get breakfast as well.
The shower groaned from disuse when I turned the knob, the water chugging through the pipes with effort before finally streaming – if one could call it a stream, sputtering was more like it – out of the rusty metal showerhead. I had to wait for it to turn clear, and I wondered briefly if I wasn't just making myself dirtier by standing under its spray than I would have been foregoing a shower altogether. I desperately missed the seven-jet shower system I had back at the manor and thought that perhaps if I got up earlier I could start Flooing back to the manor to get ready in the mornings instead.
As soon as I soaped up my hair, I heard a noise and realized I hadn't locked the bathroom door behind me. Was there even a lock? I couldn't recall. Either way, Potter came trudging in and I tensed, not wanting him to pull aside the curtain and see me there nude and sudsy.
"Potter, if you'd just wait a moment I'll be through," I griped but he just grunted at me like a Neanderthal.
"I have to piss, just stay in there and no peeking," he warned. I rolled my eyes, but I knew he couldn't see me.
"I have no wish to see your tiny Gryffindor prick, Potter," I huffed instead.
"That doesn't even make any sense," he muttered.
"What? That I wouldn't like to spy on you taking a piss?" His reasoning baffled me. Did he think I fancied him? He probably assumed everyone did the great, bloody prat.
"No," he replied, voice tinged with laughter. "It doesn't make sense that my cock would be small just because I was in Gryffindor."
"Well, for whatever reason, my condolences," I replied and he just chuckled again. I didn't know what was so funny until I heard him zip up and flush the toilet.
"You might want to hurry, I suspect the water will go cold in about three, two-"
I let out a yelp before I could stop myself as the water indeed went icy and turned my entire body into gooseflesh. He just laughed at my string of curses and damnations and shut the door behind him when he left. I finished my shower as fast as humanly possible and hopped out, quickly drying my shivering body. "Fucking Gryffindor git," I muttered as I slipped back into the room with a towel wrapped firmly around my waist.
My hair was still wet, dripping cold rivulets of water down my back and making my nipples stand at attention as I rooted through the closet for my training uniform. Harry was sitting at the desk when I walked out of the bathroom and his eyes never left me as I trailed across the room. His face was flushed and as I studied him out of the corner of my eye, I noticed he was practically drooling. I had to admit, I was rather spectacular to look at - many had fought over the prize of showering along side of me in the Quidditch locker room – but I had thought Potter was as straight as they came.
Perhaps I was wrong about him.
I myself knew long before now that I preferred men. I don't even know how I knew for sure, I just did. I enjoy the way they walk, the way their clothes fit, the way their skin smelled. I liked that they were more angular and far gruffer than females. They didn't slather their faces with make up, or their flesh with flowery perfumes. I'd always known I was going to have to marry and sleep with a woman, as a Malfoy I was nothing without an heir, but I had always known I wouldn't enjoy it – that point was proven when I briefly tried to have a relationship with Pansy, though to my credit, she was an incredibly high maintenance woman.
Apparently Potter was of the gay persuasion as well, and I wondered if he even knew it. I made it my mission to point it out to him, starting right that moment.
My hair was long enough that I could wring it out. I rarely did so, because it was so damaging to the ends and I wanted to grow it out, but I made an exception just this once. The look of open hunger on Potter's face as I squeezed the last bit of water remaining in my hair, letting it slip down my back and chest, was worth whatever splitting it might have done to my hair.
His green eyes were alight with need as I removed the towel, careful to keep any important bits covered as I surreptitiously watched him stare, leaning ever so slightly in his chair as if to see what I was hiding from him. His eyes never drifted up to my face or else he would have caught me watching his reaction, but as soon as I dropped the towel altogether he cleared his throat sharply and rushed into the bathroom.
I chuckled darkly, feeling as though I had gotten suitable revenge for the shower incident, and quickly dressed in my uniform. I'd lingered too long already to be able to grab breakfast, so as soon as I was fully clothed, I took off for the training room.
Potter was late again, probably from having to wank before he showed up. I smirked to myself at the thought and made sure I slid my chair as far over toward the center as I could so that he couldn't move too far away from me. When he took his seat, I leaned over and grabbed a quill I'd left on his side of the desk, nearly brushing against his chest as I did. "Pardon me," I whispered as I pulled back, quill in hand, and waited for him to start breathing again.
"Maybe you should keep your stuff on your side of the desk, Malfoy," he lectured when he had recovered.
I smiled at him pleasantly and ran the feather of the quill in a long, leisurely motion along the side of my face and down my neck. "I'll try to remember that," I placated, chuckling silently as he wrenched his gaze from me and planted it firmly on the empty desk in front of him, scowling at the surface as if it had personally affronted him in some way.
It was time for our first lesson, flying as it happened, and we were all led out to field. It wasn't really a field of course; just a large atrium that was spelled to look like an open pitch, but it was nice to be out of those stark rooms for a bit. I never realized how soul sucking a neutral colored room could be. I would have almost preferred to sit amongst Gryffindor red and gold than the plethora of dull beige that had been accosting me for the last twenty-four hours. Almost.
Granger and Weasley rushed to their friend's side with their brooms, pulling him out of my reach for a moment, but I was forced to follow their lead since Potter was my partner after all. I stood nearby, ready to mount my broom when the Instructor came over and stared down at me.
"Where's your partner, Malfoy?" I nodded my head in the direction of the chattering threesome but he didn't look. "And why aren't you with him?" he pressed.
"He doesn't seem keen on partnering with me, Sir," I replied, loud enough for Potter to hear me.
"And why is that?" Cockburn asked, looking as though he assumed it was my fault.
"I don't know, Sir. I've tried being civil. I think he still holds a schoolboy grudge against me," I replied easily and Potter bristled, marching over to stand beside me.
"I do not have a schoolboy crush on you," he hissed, his index finger inches away from my chest.
I casually batted the finger away and smirked at him. "Grudge. I said grudge, Potter, not crush."
His face turned three shades of red before his glare at me ended abruptly and he stood rigid at my side, broom in hand. Apparently he'd only just realized Cockburn was watching our exchange.
"Am I going to have a problem with you two?" the instructor asked and we told him 'no, Sir' in unison, shaking our heads until he nodded curtly and moved on to assess Weasley and Granger.
"I don't know what you're playing at, Malfoy, but you're not ruining this for me," he hissed when Cockburn was out of sight.
"I'm not playing at anything, Potter. It's not as if you have anything to worry about anyway. Cockburn wouldn't throw you out of the program if you burned the building down," I scoffed.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" His face was still turned away from me, but I could tell he wanted to glare at me directly, perhaps he was afraid of what he'd see reflected in my eyes if he did.
"It means, you're his special pet and I'm the son of an executed Death Eater. Who do you think he's going to sack between us?" I spat. I was serious about this, and Harry was off trying to gallivant with his friends like the good old days at Hogwarts, but I was the one reprimanded.
Potter didn't say another word as he stewed there at my side, straddling his broom and trying not to watch me climb onto mine. The instructor came around with a small box, showing us the contents inside. I watched a triumphant grin cross Potter's features when I spied the golden Snitch inside the box, realizing what the day's challenge would be. It was nearly impossible to beat Harry Potter to the Snitch, something I knew first hand, and clearly he did too.
I glanced over and saw him staring at me, a manic gleam of victory in his eyes as Cockburn explained that we would be fighting for the Snitch two at a time with the partners beside us. Meanwhile, he would be judging us based on technique and maneuvering abilities as we fought to catch the fluttering golden ball.
Lavender Brown and Romilda Vane were the first to fly, the latter easily outmatched by the former. Apparently Brown had been paying attention while following her Won-Won to the pitch for practice. She wasn't spectacular but she was far better than Vane who was wobbly at best and nearly fell out of the sky twice.
Finch-Fletchley and Corner were better matched, and the fight for the Snitch wore on a lot longer than it had with the girls before them. Both showed reasonable skill, but it was Corner who managed the catch. Weasley and Granger stepped up next, and I'd never seen Granger look so terrified as she stared down at her broom. She was shaking like a leaf, all the while Weasley looked determined, not even noticing his girlfriend's plight.
"What's Granger's problem?" I asked Potter, and he leaned into me, whispering against my ear before pulling sharply away.
"She's afraid to fly," he'd said, but I only registered his scent, clean and warm and sweet.
I shook it off, reminding myself that it was Potter who fancied me, not the other way around. "She's going to have a tough time of it then," I muttered and Harry nodded, wincing as if he'd just realized he'd agreed with me about something.
We waited in tense silence as Cockburn tossed the Snitch into the air and Ron took off after it, diving and spinning and generally showing off. Granger, however, couldn't even get her broom to leave the ground. I felt a momentary tug of pity for her as she shouted for her broom to rise to her hand, all the while shaking with fear.
"Off the field, Granger!" Cockburn boomed, sending the fuzzy haired girl running toward the classroom doors, trying to fight her tears as she went. Weasley came down a moment later and started after her, but Cockburn warned him off, ordering him to stay in place as he sent up the next team. I could feel Potter shift beside me, obviously wanting to give chase to his friend and I put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.
"You'll be able to catch her afterward. She probably wants to be alone right now anyhow," I told him. He just stared at my hand for a long moment before brushing it off and looking at me with angry emerald eyes.
"And how would you know? You know nothing about her, she's beneath you, remember?" he hissed at me and I backed down.
"No one is beneath me anymore, Potter," I informed him truthfully. You couldn't get more unwelcome than me.
"No one ever was," he growled and I bowed my head slightly in agreement, watching as all the huff and puff seeped out of him like a popped balloon. It seemed he'd rather hate me than admit he felt any tug of attraction toward me, which didn't suit my needs for making him miserable, so I tried my best to discourage his hatred.
"If you'd just give me a chance, Potter, I think you'd find me a different person now than I was in school," I told him honestly.
"I don't believe that for an instant," he seethed. "You're up to something and I'll find out what it is. You have no business here, Malfoy."
My hands formed into fists at my side, fingernails slicing through the tender flesh of my palms as I glared at him menacingly. "Just because you're the Chosen One doesn't give you the right to dictate my life and my choices. Who the hell are you to tell me where I belong?"
Potter's jaw worked, his eyes narrowed and his mouth tensed into a tight line but he didn't respond. He didn't have time to.
"Potter, Malfoy, your turn," Cockburn shouted and launched the Snitch into the air without any other warning.
I flew after it without missing a heartbeat, shoving off the ground with so much force that I nearly pulled a muscle. I was determined to beat him to it this time, prove that I belonged in this program just as surely as he did. The self-righteous bastard could think whatever he liked, but I would snatch that Snitch right out from under his nose.
He was right behind me and closing in fast, but the Snitch dove and his reflexes where a hair sharper than mine and by the time I fell into the same dive, Potter had the advantage. He reached out, fingers barely grazing its surface but then the Snitch zigged and he zagged and I was ahead again. I did a spiraling loop, trying to cut off its progress and block Potter in the same move and it worked, my hand closed around the Snitch and I barely registered Potter's snarl of defeat as he sank to the ground.
"Nice job, Malfoy, you too, Potter," Cockburn complimented before sending up the next pair.
Out of breath I went over and stood by Potter. I wasn't openly gloating but my eyes were no doubt reflecting how pleased I was with my ability to outmaneuver the brunet at last. He was seething beside me, deftly ignoring both myself and his Weasel friend, who was trying desperately to get his attention.
We left the field in silence when the tests were all completed and I didn't see Potter again until later that night. I was reading through the textbook, propped up in bed with my shirt off – for Potter's benefit, of course – and he came strolling through the door looking as if he'd just seen a kitten murdered.
"Who died?" I asked blandly, hardly looking up from my book.
"Mione is quitting the program," he replied glumly.
"What? Just because of the flying? She'll get used to it with practice." I couldn't understand why she would take the trouble of joining just to quit the first week in.
"That's what I told her too, but she insists this was never for her. She's going to take an internship in the legal department and see where that leads," he sighed, pulling out the desk chair and slumping into it.
"She's too clever for this job anyhow," I placated. "That might suit her better."
Potter shrugged and nodded. "I know. It's just sort of weird, you know? The three of us have always been together."
It was odd having Potter talk to me like I was more than just a thorn in his side. I didn't know why he was doing it at all, maybe he was lonely, maybe he was as tired of fighting as I was, maybe it was something else altogether, but I found myself not minding as much as I thought I would.
"You still have Weasley," I pointed out.
"I know, and it's not as though I'll never see Mione again, but it's a bit odd for me. I feel like I'm back at the Dursleys again," he sighed, running his hand through his hair.
"Your aunt and uncle?" I asked, wanting to confirm my suspicion. I'd only heard bits and pieces about Potter's time before Hogwarts. I knew he didn't like his family, because he always looked so sullen when he boarded the train for the summer, but aside from that I didn't know much about them.
He nodded. "Yeah. They're not the best people to be related to. What about you?" he asked, changing the subject quickly. "How's your mum?" The question caught me off guard and I just blinked at him for a moment and his face turned beet red. "I'm sorry," he added hastily, "I didn't mean to pry."
"No," I shouted, startling myself with my insistence before taking a deep breath. "I just…I hadn't expected you to ask about her."
"Oh," he muttered, dragging his trainer across the carpet and watching its progress intently.
"She's not well," I admitted at last. "She's been inconsolable since father's death, and I'm afraid she's deteriorating rather quickly. I'm worried about her." I hadn't talked about my mother's condition with anyone and I was surprised at what a relief it was just to say those simple words aloud, even if it was directed at Potter of all people.
"Malfoy, I'm sorry," he told me, and it didn't seem to matter how long I searched his gaze or tone for condescension, he seemed genuine in his sentiment.
"Thanks," I replied, suddenly feeling quite awkward. "Well, I suppose I should start getting ready for bed," I muttered, pulling myself up and stretching widely. It wasn't until I caught sight of Potter's glazed eyes that I remembered my game and I slipped carefully out of bed and swaggered over to him. "Shower?" I asked and watched him blink up at me, as if swimming up to the surface of some deep pool.
"Pardon?" he squeaked, and I could only possibly call it a squeak because it was so high and adorably fragile sounding.
"Are you planning to take a shower? Or do you mind if I hop in?" I clarified.
"Oh, er, you can first if you like," he replied quickly, stumbling over his words in his haste to get them out of his mouth.
"And I'd appreciate it if you don't freeze me out this time," I mentioned lightly. "I swear, I think my cock tried to recede back inside of me the water was so cold."
He laughed, a shaky broken sound, his eyes darting from my face and down to my thin pajama bottoms. "Right. Sorry about that."
"I deserved it," I assured him, whether I believed it or not, and shut the door firmly behind me as I left Potter in the bedroom thinking about my cock.
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Author's Note: Oh, how I love a teasing Malfoy and an oblivious Potter. Stay tuned for part 2.