Draco Malfoy and his Unknown Fate:
Author's Notes: Here's the next chapter! Draco discusses some points that will come up later.
Warnings for this chapter: Mentions of masturbation. *feels like a pervert* And er. Neville's in this scene. I don't know, should that be a warning?
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm merely borrowing them for the time being. This will be slash (eventually). Don't like it? Don't read it. Otherwise, enjoy.
That night at dinner, seated between Longbottom and Morag MacDougal with Potter across from him, Draco found himself blushing. It was ridiculous of course, but he couldn't help it. The vivid memory of what he'd done, thinking of Potter as he'd got himself off like that, was deliciously naughty and he flushed with both embarrassment and arousal despite his best efforts. Snape gave him an odd look at the color rising on his normally pale cheeks, but thankfully no one mentioned anything.
He glanced up at Potter discreetly from beneath his eyelashes, studying the boy's firm jaw and smiling lips as Potter had a discussion with Lupin about werewolf rights or some such nonsense. Draco cut his eyes away and towards the Hall's ceiling, having no desire to be caught staring, and smoothed back his wet hair. He had been forced to take a shower earlier and had lingered in the bath for a long while to soak muscles still knotted from the intensity of his orgasm. His bum wasn't too sore, merely sensitive, so he was able to sit easily. Every time he shifted in his chair the blush grew a bit darker, so he forced himself to stillness like his mother had schooled him to and concentrated on eating instead of the handsome boy across from him. It was a good thing his friends weren't around or they would have sniffed out his odd behavior immediately and pestered him about it until Draco cracked under the pressure and roared at them to leave him the hell alone. He knew this from experience.
In a bid to distract himself from mooning over Potty like some lame third year Hufflepouf, he started up a conversation with MacDougal and spent the rest of the meal debating about the Four Founders. It was interesting, comparing his opinions with someone from a different house. The discussion was relatively mild until the Ravenclaw started spouting off lies like they were gospel.
The other boy was expounding on some point, but Draco completely lost the thread of conversation when MacDougal offhandedly rambled on. "…incredibly long life spans back then. I mean, we all know that Slytherin was killed by Gryffindor fifty years after he left Hogwarts, but Rowena on the other hand-"
"What? Slytherin wasn't killed by Gryffindor! Are you off your nut?" MacDougal, a Ravenclaw to the core, was deeply offended at the suggestion that he was wrong. The insufferable know-it-all.
"Not at all. Or haven't you read Hogwarts, A History?" He said snottily, obviously still feeling the sting of Draco's scornful comments.
Draco curled his lip arrogantly at the other boy. "Of course, but that's been censored. Everybody with half a clue knows that's the watered down version of Hogwarts' history. After all, according to it, the Chamber of Secrets doesn't exist and Potter proved that wrong, didn't he? That book's mostly misinformation and rumors. The truth, on the other hand, is much more interesting."
MacDougal snorted. "Oh, like you know what really happened. Come off it, Malfoy." Draco sneered at the other boy, sitting back in his chair.
"I've managed to read a number of old books, original copies mind you, that are extremely rare on a large variety of subjects. The Malfoy library is quite extensive and its Dark Arts section is much larger than Hogwarts' Restricted Section. "
"No doubt about that." MacDougal murmured. "So what exactly do you think happened?" Draco smirked, sipping at his pumpkin juice for a moment. He noticed that Potter was listening to them attentively, almost hanging on his every word. A thrill ran through him and he continued on more smoothly, in a much calmer voice.
"Slytherin left Hogwarts and retired to his home, Slytherin's Citadel, in the fens. No one really knew where it was of course, because it was hidden, except for Salazar himself and the other founders. He started meddling in the Dark Arts, the really rank stuff, like You Know Who. The really addictive spells, the kind off thing you loose your soul to. Anyway, he had this theory. You know how wands work?"
MacDougal nodded, his indignation completely forgotten. He was caught up in the tale. "Yes. I know the wand chooses the wizard and that often times the wood and the core of the wand speak a lot about the wizard it chooses."
"You're right about that. The Malfoys are distantly related to the Ollivanders you know, so our library is full of books on it. A wand is a focus for your magic, a lens if you would. Without a wand, the magic's wild and unpredictable and wandless magic only occurs in young children who are destined to become powerful wizards once they receive their wand and start their schooling. I myself was able to accio things when I was little." He gloated a bit, ignoring MacDougal's rolled eyes.
"Greedy little thing, weren't you? Bet your first word was 'mine'."
"Second, the first was Mummy." He glowered at the snickers the revelation caused. "Shut up, MacDougal. Do you want to hear the rest or not?"
"Yes, please." Potter was still listening intently, his green eyes focused on Draco. The Slytherin cleared his throat and continued on.
"Alright then. As I'm sure you know, true mastery of wandless magic is almost unheard of and Merlin himself was the last wizard to have that ability. Salazar Slytherin wanted it too, but he didn't have the control for wandless magic. He spent years trying to work it out, to no avail. So finally, he tried to turn his own body into a focus; He was trying to make himself into a wand. It would have given him incredible power and theoretically he would have been able to channel magic directly from ley lines. Of course, it didn't work. He ended up burning himself out and it killed him. Gryffindor had been sent to stop him, like your beloved Hogwarts, A History says, but Slytherin had already managed to defeat himself and raze his home to the ground. All that was left was a few scorched bones and those were buried in the Tor. Ironic really, that his own ambition was his undoing."
"Wow. How fascinating."
"That's the problem with Ravenclaws, you tend to take everything you read at face value."
"And the problem with Slytherins is you never take anything at face value." MacDougal retorted quickly and they laughed together.
Draco snickered to himself. "Better than Hufflepuffs, who can barely figure out how to open books in the first place or Gryffindors who use them for doorstops."
"Hey!" Potter cut into the conversation sharply. "We do not! Well, no one but Seamus at least. Look at Hermione."
"That one should have been a Ravenclaw." MacDougal said dismissively and Draco nodded his agreement.
"He's right. The Sorting Hat is a piece of trash. It only comes in handy when a first year has no clue where they belong. More often than not, the students sorts themselves. She probably wanted to be in Gryffindor. Look at Longbottom, he's a Hufflepuff if I ever saw one."
"I'm sitting right here, you know Malfoy. I can hear you."
"And you think that's going to stop me?" Draco said, sending him a scathing glance that made Longbottom examine his fork like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Satisfied that the other boy had been properly cowed, he turned back to Potter. "Anyway, look at you. With the way you break rules you could have made quite the Slytherin. Just don't tell Snape I said that or he'd skin me alive."
Longbottom looked shocked. "You think Harry would make a good Slytherin? What have you been drinking, Malfoy?"
"Not alcohol, that's for sure. Though I wouldn't mind some." His tone was wistful for a moment, which made MacDougal laugh, before he continued speaking. "I'm right though and you know it. Potter can be a bit of a bastard when he puts his mind to it. I think I would know, considering the past five years."
Harry looked abashed. "You of all people probably would and, well." The Gryffindor hesitated, before continuing on tentatively. "The Sorting Hat did say I would do well in Slytherin."
"Ha! Told you!"
MacDougal shrugged. "Not surprising. Everyone has a bit of another house in them, sometimes more than one and I can't see you being a Hufflepuff. And your studies are abysmal, really. Ravenclaw would kick you out."
"Hey, I do fine in my studies." Potter said, sticking up for himself.
Draco laughed. "You take Divination, Potter. It's not the most academically challenging course, you know. Trelawny's an old bat if there ever was one."
"At least she doesn't look like a bat. Like some professors." Longbottom said quietly, shooting a look towards Snape who was glowering at the Headmaster. The old nutter was offering the Potions professor sweets and beaming at him in jovial manner that made Draco feel sorry for Snape.
Draco, staunch defender of all things Slytherin, spoke up. "He's not as bad as you think. He just can't stand incompetents. Which basically means you, Longbottom."
"Watch it, Malfoy." Potter warned, his eyes sparking with anger. Draco almost went off on a ranting diatribe, but was distracted by the Gryffindor's hotness. Oh, but he detested hormones.
Instead of ranting or jumping the Boy Who Lived he settled for a shrug, which made Longbottom gawk at him. "Fine. It is still Christmas Day so I suppose I could tone it down for once. Season to be jolly and all that." His dry voice made MacDougal snicker.
"The day you're jolly is the day I brew a perfect potion." Longbottom muttered and he was shocked when Draco actually laughed, a real warm laugh that seemed to draw in all who heard it. Draco let the laughter die down and smiled, shaking his head at the thought. He didn't notice Potter was looking at him with delighted astonishment in his eyes.
To be Continued
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