Draco Malfoy and his Unknown Fate:
Author's Notes: Nothing much to say.
Warnings for this chapter: Draco complains about how Gryffindors are favored and is a bit sexist, but in a funny way. I'm female, so I can poke fun at my own sex. Brief, brief mentions of orgies and drug use for the sake of humor.
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.
Draco had spent his time after class that day in his room, working his way through the piles of homework he needed to make up from all the classes he had missed. McGonagall, the utter bitch, had set the due date for his Transfiguration work the next day which was simply ludicrous. He'd been unable to even concentrate long enough that week to read, never mind memorize the laws regarding transfiguring people into inanimate objects. He was certain her precious Granger would have had a week to turn in her work at the very least, seeing as it was equal in proportion to the missed days, if she'd been in Draco's situation. And McGongall had the balls to accuse Snape of being biased. Well, he was, but it was beyond hypocritical to do it.
And it was a damn good thing someone was partial to Slytherins or they'd all waste away in the dungeons, failing all of their classes, and being scapegoats for everything from You Know Who's attacks to hangnails. Sometimes Draco wished he'd been born several hundred years or so ago when things were better for Purebloods and the political climate was much more favorable towards someone like him.
He knew, from books and the family portraits, that during that time homosexuality had been relatively common among members of the Malfoy family and not condemned as long as the family member in question reproduced offspring to carry on the line. The intense homophobia had robbed Draco of the prestige, fortune, and power he deserved as the eldest Malfoy child was one of his father's personal (and less appealing) foibles, he was sure. Most pureblooded aristocratic families were surprised if one of their children wasn't gay. Not to mention back then the Dark Arts had been respected, though used cautiously, instead of being regarded with superstitious fear and bigoted suspicion. Slytherins had been seen as ambitious and a necessary part of Hogwarts' life instead of as mini-murderers.
Yes, the founders had fashioned four houses; the brave house, the loyal house, the intelligent house - and oh yes. The house of EVIL and immoral wickedness. Not bloody likely.
Draco was staring into thin air, his mouth twisted sourly as he wished his transfiguration teacher and father painful deaths by hippogriff rampages when a low pounding sounded on the entrance to his room. This was an odd occurrence, as all his friends knew his password and didn't have the manners to knock, and none of his housemates were stupid enough to try and dump their problems on him, even if he was a prefect. He checked to make sure he was decent (he was wearing a white un-tucked oxford shirt with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, gray slacks, no shoes, and had messy hair) and found that he was adequately attired for whomever would dare to brave his wrath.
He approached cautiously, wary of dung bombs or an impatient Snape demanding his help with some new potion, but it was only Pansy with a red headed girl in her grasp. Which was almost worse, in his opinion. Draco observed them as he with guarded curiosity, arching one eyebrow in a sardonic manner at the way Pansy was man handling the Weaselette. "And all this time I thought you simply didn't grasp the concept of knocking, but I see that you just thought I wasn't worthy of common courtesy. Pray tell, what you're doing banging at my door with her in tow, Pansy?"
"I found her lurking near the Slytherin common room. She says she's looking for you. And I didn't knock, because I don't want to give away your password, though I don't know why I bothered since you haven't changed it once and even the Hufflepuffs must know it by now."
"I like my password." Draco said mildly, gesturing for her to enter his room and stepping back to let her do so. "And it lets you barge in at all times of the day to harass me, so I don't know why you're complaining." Not to mention, changing it wouldn't do any good. His friends would only learn the new one and just keep barging in and at least Draco could remember the word Parseltongue. And the fact it reminded him of a certain Gryffindor was entirely irrelevant. No, really.
The other Slytherin rolled her eyes, shoving the Weasley wench onto Draco's couch. "Oh shush." Then she turned to Ginger Weasley or whatever her name was, her voice turning harsh. "Well, I've dragged you here. So spit it out already."
Gryffindor to the core, the girl clenched her jaw. "Do you mind?" She said, giving Pansy a pointed look. Draco took his seat at his desk again, fairly entertained at the scorching glares the two girls were exchanging.
He interrupted their stare down. "Anything you have to say can be said in front of Pansy. I'll just tell her later anyway. Now what do you want? I don't have time to listen to blathering Gryffindors." He just wanted her to say her part and get out already. He really didn't want his furniture to get covered in Weasley cooties. Girl Weasley cooties to boot.
Looking unhappy, she complied. "I wanted to apologize for my brother's bad behavior. And well, um. Mum sent you fudge and told me to tell you that she's ashamed of the way Ron acted and that she raised him better than that and she's going to discipline him properly for it. And then she said sorry a lot too. So, uh. Here." She set a battered looking package on the couch and clasped her hands together tightly in her lap before inexplicably turning a bright shade of red that clashed with her copped colored hair.
"Accio." Draco set his wand down and turned the package over in his hands, shooting the Weaselette a suspicious look. "It's not poisoned, is it? Because I've had my share of poison, I'm telling you now."
"No, no." She said hurriedly. "It's perfectly fine. Mum's fudge is good, really."
"I do hope purchasing the ingredients for it didn't hurt your family's budget." Pansy said in a sickeningly sweet voice laced with venom.
"Careful with those claws." Draco murmured in a drawling voice, amused at her display of cattiness, but pleased to receive a present even if it was from an overweight Weasley housewife. His mum never sent him anything anymore and he missed it. "Uh, tell your mother I said thank you." He broke off a tiny piece of chocolatey gooiness while she assured him that she would. He chewed for a moment, thoughtful and surprised at the fact it was delicious, before licking his sticky fingers. Pansy snickered when the Weasley wench turned crimson. Draco quickly stopped when he noticed just how the impoverished red head was looking at him and coughed uncomfortably. "Tell her I said it was delicious. Why don't you escort the Weasley wench," He ignored her hurt look easily before continuing. "Out of the dungeons. I doubt McGonagall would be happy if she stumbled into an orgy." Draco smirked, not startled in the least when the gullible Gryffindor bought it hook, line, and sinker.
"Orgy?" The red head questioned, her eyes bulging out in a manner reminiscent of her brother. Pansy laughed outright, escorting her quickly out of the room before the Weaselette found a reason to linger.
Pansy played along, her eyes dancing with repressed mirth. "Oh, didn't you know about those? Of course, it's nothing compared to what the Hufflepuffs get up to when they raid Madam Sprout's stash…" Pansy's voice faded into the distance as both girls walked down the hall and away from Draco's room and he sighed with relief once they were out of both eyesight and earshot.
Girls were so bloody strange.
They were almost like lycanthropes, turning into cruel, vicious, flesh-rending beasts one week out of every month. And their logic was so bizarre as to be completely incomprehensible. They were scheming little bitches for the most part, and he didn't understand the attraction of the female body at all, which was, he had deduced from careful observation, their saving grace for most of mankind. And he wasn't going to admit it out loud, (or ever really) but that Weasley girl with her violently red hair and moony looks terrified him.
In a very manly, Slytherin way of course
To be Continued
Comments and constructive criticism are more than welcome.