Interlude I:

Sanctimonia Vincet Semper

"Malfoy, give that to me."

Draco sneered at the first year who was seated across the table. "Get it yourself. I'm not a house elf."

The boy had the nerve to smirk at him. "It's not like you're wanted here. At least make yourself useful."

"You're lucky we are in the Great Hall, you brat," Draco snapped, before stabbing his fork into his salad.

Merlin, how utterly humiliating.

Sometimes he wondered why he'd even bothered to return to school. It wasn't like anyone would hire a Malfoy even if he got all Outstandings on his N.E.W.T.s. It certainly wasn't worth the humiliation he was put through on a daily basis.

"Oh, look: Potter," the little girl to his left said to another little girl. Draco never bothered to learn their names, despite eating with them every day. No matter what, he was a Malfoy and it was beneath him to associate with first years. He still had some pride left.

In fact, pride might well be the only thing he still had.

For the lack of having anything better to do, Draco looked towards the door. Potter was walking into the Great Hall, holding the Weaslette's hand.

Draco cringed. He didn't know what was up with Potter lately, but he was way more touchy-feely with his girlfriend than he used to be: always touching her, embracing her, and kissing her(ugh) in public. In Draco's opinion, their lovesick behaviour was completely revolting and inappropriate, but most of the school seemed to think the opposite. Even the Daily Prophet changed its tune from "Dark Lord Potter" to "Potter: Dark Lord or Boy-Who-Loved?"

If Draco didn't know better, he would think it was a devious plan on Potter's part to make people forget about him dabbling in the Dark Arts. But of course, Potter wasn't capable of devising such a clever plan.

"That's just pathetic, Malfoy," a much hated voice said cheerfully from behind him. "Still mooning over Potter I see."

Taking a deep breath, Draco turned around. "Bugger off, Rosier," he said coldly, stabbing his salad with his fork again and imagining it was Rosier's stupid face. He refused to blush. Yes, it might be true that he used to have a thing for Potter when he was twelve (and thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen), but his crush was over around the time the Dark Lord gave him the task to kill Dumbledore. After that, Potter was the last thing on his mind. Really.

Draco didn't even know how Rosier knew of his crush on Potter; he was positive he hadn't been obvious. A Malfoy was never obvious.

"Don't you dare to ignore me, you little shit," Rosier said, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look up at him. Rosier's ever-present smile was gone, his eyes reflecting nothing but pure hatred.

Draco had no idea why Rosier hated him so much, really. He'd never done anything to him! Well, he might have made fun of him for his hand-me-down clothes and wizarding supplies when they were kids, but it wasn't like Rosier was the only target of his famous Malfoy wit.

"What do you want?" Draco said haughtily. "And shouldn't you be busy kissing Vergne's arse?" He smirked viciously, enjoying the way Rosier's cobalt eyes darkened with anger. "By the way, I knew you didn't have it in you to be Slytherin's leader. You were overthrown within two weeks by a newbie. That's just pathetic—"

"Detention with me. Immediately." Grabbing his arm, Rosier jerked him to his feet and practically dragged him out of the Great Hall.

"You can't give me detention for telling the truth! Let go of me, you prat!" Draco demanded furiously, trying to free himself. But it was useless: Rosier was much taller and stronger than him; the brute. He always hated it about Rosier, but now he didn't have Crabbe and Goyle to stop Rosier from attacking him like a filthy muggle. "Let go of me this instant!"

"You never shut up, do you?" Rosier dragged him down the hall, round a corner and shoved him into a broom closet, slamming the door shut behind them. "You still act like you own the school, but you are nothing."

Rosier shoved him against the wall so hard that Draco cried out in pain.

"You brute!"

Rosier had the nerve to laugh. "What, Princess?" He petted Draco's hair mockingly. "Did I ruin your pretty hair?"

Draco glared up at him, trying to free himself from his grasp. "What do you want from me? Make it quick."

Rosier's grip on Draco's hair tightened. "From you? Nothing. I just wanted to save you from embarrassing yourself and our house. Your crush on Potter is as pathetic and obvious as ever."

Draco felt himself flush—with anger, of course. He scoffed. "Please. I don't believe you. And I don't have a crush on Potter, but even if I did, it would be none of your business. Now release me at once. Vergne might need you to lick his arse clean."

"I'm not so easily insulted, so stop bringing Vergne into the conversation." Rosier's blue eyes stayed deadly serious even though his lips formed a smile. "Besides, I have plans for Tom."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "My, my. Aren't you afraid I'd tell him that you are planning to stab him in the back?"

"Vergne is no fool, so he's likely perfectly aware of that." The expression on Rosier's face sent a shiver down Draco's spine. "His mistake is, he thinks too highly of himself and too little of others. Speaking of Vergne, if I were you, I'd forget about Potter. Tom is ruthless when it comes to his possessions and he seems rather fixated on Potter." Rosier's eyes were gleaming. "And it might be something to exploit."

Draco smiled at him sweetly. "I really, really hope you will be stupid enough to go against Vergne and he'll crush you like a bug you are—"

Rosier's lips smashed down on his own.

It took Draco a few moments to process what was going on. Rosier was kissing him. Rosier was kissing him.

"Wanted to shut you up for ages," Rosier said hoarsely before forcefully shoving his tongue down Draco's throat.

That was, hands down, the worst kiss in Draco's life. Feeling Rosier's hands groping his body was even more disgusting. Ugh, how he hated him.

But Draco wasn't Slytherin for nothing. That was why he didn't immediately push Rosier away and hex his balls off. Because if the bastard had a thing for him—and if his hard-on was any indication, he did—Draco could use it. He would use Rosier to climb back to the top. And when he did... he would get revenge on the prick. He would crush him, throw him away like a used tissue —after telling him that he'd used him.

Yes, this was perfect.

Mentally patting himself on the back, Draco sucked on Rosier's tongue, making the idiot groan and grind his dick against his stomach.

It wasn't whoring; no. He was just a Malfoy through and through.

Everyone knew their family motto was Sanctimonia Vincet SemperPurity Will Always Conquer—but very few knew it wasn't the full motto. The point wasn't purity.

The full Malfoy motto had the words Quocumque Modo.

By any means necessary.