I suspected that I had been excused from the rest of my classes that day, as I spent the rest of the day in my common room without any repercussions. It's not like it really mattered anyways. The only classes I had left that day were Potions with Potter and his sodding Gryffindors, and a History of Magic with Professor Binns who nearly bored everyone to death. As Blaise and Pansy and the other Slytherins began filing in the common room, I slipped upstairs.
Being a Malfoy had its perks, with large amounts of money and many important connections being two of them. The room had originally been designed for Salazar Slytherin himself, for when the four founders had actually lived at the school. They were supposed to be reserved for the heads of each respective house, but Snape being my godfather, along with his dislike of close proximity to students, meant that the room was mine and mine alone.
I sat down at my desk, reaching into the top left drawer to trigger a switch that would pop open a secret chamber. With a click, a panel popped out. Inside laid three things that I treasured dearly: a dragon pendant necklace that was charmed to protect its wearer from hexes, curses, and jinxes, a small album with pictures from my childhood, and the glasses of one Harry Potter. I was never sure why I kept the glasses- the other two were obvious, both gifts from my mother and extremely valuable- but the glasses…I had won them from a fight in our second year. I don't remember how it started, but it ended with him on the floor, his glasses lying askew inches from his hand. I triumphantly smashed them under my foot before picking them up and swinging them in front of his face. I taunted him- snatching them out of his reach and pocketing them before walking away. Later, in the safety of my room, I had repaired them and stared at them for ages. It was my trophy, I told myself, it deserved to be looked at. Trophies were meant to be cherished. I wondered if he'd done the same with the tie he'd taken from me in fifth year, after a particularly rough game of Quidditch led to a sore ego and even sorer arms and stomach.
My thoughts drifted away from the events of today and began to dwell on Potter. It always seemed like he was the one thing in my way. If he wasn't so bloody famous, I would be the most sought after person at Hogwarts, and he would just be some passing Hufflepuff. His friend Granger always got the highest marks, which often got me into trouble with my father. And if he wasn't so arrogant, then maybe I could actually stand him. He always smiled. Smiled! Not smirked or sneered like any normal person would, but smiled. And he was already bloody annoying without flashing his pearly whites or glancing at you with those piercing green eyes of his. It was enough to make me want to punch something. I do believe I did once. Only the closest thing to me was a wall, and instead of revenge I ended up with a long scolding from Madame Pompfrey. Stupid Potter with his stupid face and his stupid smile and his stupid eyes behind those stupid glasses. I turned the glasses over in my hand. Tap tap tap. I looked over to see an owl waiting patiently at my window. She was gorgeous, a snowy white color with a sweet but piercing gaze. "Hello," I crooned, "and who are you?" She seemed kind enough, and although she looked familiar, I had no idea whose owl she was. I picked up the note she had dropped on the window sill. The parchment held a large blot, as if someone had tried to cross something out, but had failed miserably. I could see that they had started to write Malfoy, but then changed their mind and put Draco. Suddenly I remembered where I'd seen the owl before. Potter. I unfurled the note carefully and read through his handwriting. Merlin. It was as messy as his hair.
"Draco- I hope it's alright to call you that-
Listen, I'm sorry about your father. I know what it's like. I looked for you in Potions, but then I figured you were probably excused. Hope you're doing alright.
– Harry."
I laughed to myself a little bit. Harry-er-Potter, was every bit as awkward in letters as he was in real life. I wrote back (in flawless penmanship no doubt) despite every voice in my head telling me now to. Potter, it read, No you may not call me Draco. Refer to me as Your Excellency, or I shall be forced to ignore your presence completely. Don't make me do so. –DM. ps. Thank you. I sent the note off along with a treat or two for Potter's owl, and then turned to one of my personal Potions books for some light reading before bed. I had been delving into the use of beetle eyes when used in junction with lacewing flies and fluxweed when the tapping noise returned. I smiled in spite of myself at Potter's eager reply. Another note in subpar script had been delivered. Dear Draco, it began. I could almost hear him emphasizing my name, purposely not using the title I had asked. It wasn't that I had actually wanted Potter to call me Your Excellency, more so than it was an excuse to ignore him. I sent his owl back without a note, smirking to myself as I snuggled under the covers.