Warning: Masturbation ahead, though I am sure you are by now aware that my style does not lend itself to give to much physical detail if this makes you uncomfortable please Stop reading after the card scene. *bloody prudes*
Authors Note: Thanks to Arbitrary for this update, without your mention of my fic in your last chapter I doubt I would have ever gotten round to editing all this. And of course thanks to all you who have reviewed. I am so proud that you have actually had more to write than "this is great, write more." You people are great!
***
Despite all his efforts Draco found that he could not rid himself of thoughts of Granger. He knew he was obsessing and that thought did nothing to improve his current comfort level. He found that his eyes had developed a disturbing habit of seeking her out during lunch and class. He had even gone to study in the library lately. It was humiliating, but it was far worse fore he now took to haunting the staircases in the hopes of seeing again, if just for a moment, that tantalizing ankle. He did not have much success and was beginning to question his own sanity. She was of course still a Mudblood with no other distinction, but Draco still felt bound to admire her. Why?
This feeling of duty towards the emotions he held for another were odd to say the least, but did little that helped him when he confronted his growing paranoia. Though he watched her it was furtively, as one that knows he is doing wrong. He had taken on the habit of sweating and tugging at his collar when she was about. It was ridiculous, this exaggerated over reaction yet he could not help it! He felt like some devil sick with dilution stalking a heavenly body of a forbidden angle, it disgusted him, but he couldn't stop, pushed on by an obligation to love this forbidden creature. This is killing me. He thought in the overly dramatic manner that characterized him.
Pansy and he had just left charms and he had spied Her coming towards Pansy and himself from down the hall. Watching her as she walked Draco could not help but notice the cut of her robes, the elegance of her walk, her high manners and cool head and the air of contentment that she always exuded when arm in arm with Weasley. She was always happy and with Weasley. Looking at the red head a thought crossed his mind, yet one more of many to plague him. Why am I not jealous of him? This was not the first time he had asked himself this question. More than once he had challenged Weasley and even Potter or both merely to assuage his guilt on this matter on more than one occasion. Now however he wanted no more than to slink away before Pansy noticed renascent demeanour.
"Hay pansy you were telling me about that sugar quill you traded Jenkins for." she had mentioned it to him this morning on the way to class. He hoped she would grasp the opportunity and start some long ramble as was often her case.
"No I wasn't" she said looking puzzled. Damn it. Couldn't the retched girl catch a clue?
"You mentioned it to me this morning, said it tasted like strawberry ice or something like that" Potter and friends had stopped so that weasel could tie his shoe. Unconsciously Draco gave the bent boy a once over.
"Yes that was all, what more did you want me to say" Pansy looked more confused than ever.
"I don't know I wasn't the one to bring it up" Draco snapped distracted.
"It's only a quill how much can there be to say about some silly pen, and you were the one to bring it up right now." They weren't moving at this rate he would have to walk right into them. He needed some reason to stop, let them move on before he could continue.
"Damn it Pansy you make so much out of every little thing I thought you would want to talk about the bloody pen. I was only trying to be nice." He was lying through his teeth but Pansy had stopped. She was somewhere between, tears at being yelled at and grateful puppy at having been the object of his good intentions. It appeared she could not think and walk at the same time. Merlin, thank those who have not the brain power to walk and think simultaneously. Weasley had finished playing with his shoe and they were moving on, he wondered that they had not acknowledged his presence. Pansy and himself couldn't be more than 20 feet away. He was however thankful that they chose to ignore him. He was in no mood to play word games.
"Come on" he growled at Pansy. She walked meekly to his side and made a reach for his hand. A mixed blessing, some days she would yell back when he mistreated her, others she would go all meek, I was endearing in the way that a faulty spell was endearing. This his thoughts towards Pansy, they were a feeling, but at least it was one that if he could not control he could deal with. He let her take his hand, she might be stupid and spiteful but she had saved him from a confrontation he had wanted to avoid and he was grateful even if he wouldn't say so. Pansy sniffed as he slid his hand into her own sweaty palm and she gave a small hiccup before they made their way to the dungeons.
***
Classes were over for the day and Draco felt drained. All this sneaking and sliding and slithering was making him feel exhausted. Flopping down on his bed he looked idly about him for some distraction, something, anything that had no connection to Potter, Granger, Weasley or Pansy Parkinson. He settled on Solitar. The deck of cards was not his, it was Goyle's. He would not mind. Well more likely he would have no choice. Crabbe and Goyle; those two were such wet blankets it made him feel sick.
They would do his bidding even if he told them to tell Voldemort that he was ugly. The morons, he might need them, but respect them? Never! Yes they were good for a laugh, and truthfully he could not have stood them if they even showed the slightest signs of intelligence, but still there was no way that he could ever regard them as more than… perhaps dogs, big gormless brainless dogs. Neither of them were in the room, probably stuffing their faces somewhere. Zabini however looked across at him languidly as Draco reached out for the cards.
"You taking those" he asked from his bed.
"Yes did you want them?" Draco asked proffering them, sucks to him even if he did. Draco wasn't about to give them up.
"No." The other boy replied lazily. Draco fancied that Zabini had caught his meaning when he had offered, Draco never offered something, his gesture was a language known by Slytherin for Slytherins, it placed one in a social rank, and although he might appear polite Draco knew that Zabini was well aware of the fact there he wasn't offering anything at all.
Zabini was too perceptive, and he was of a better family than either of his goons. Draco couldn't remember, foreign; Spanish or was it Italian, maybe neither. He would have made a decent companion, if they had been in another house, but here he was not to be trusted. The slippery, shifty, Git watched too carefully and saw too much. He looked to good and he was not the type to blindly obey so Draco had never had a use for him. Any friendship would have had to be on equal terms, both respecting one another, but although Draco could bring himself to grudgingly respect the other boy. Zabini could therefore never be more than an acquaintance. More would have been dangerous, even now Draco felt mildly worried; of all people, Zabini was likeliest to notice his current state. This thing with that Mudblood. Draco began to sweat; this was wreaking havoc on his personal life. Draco resolved that it would be best to just keep a straight face for now, no one had to know. He would stop all those petty little glances, he would. If anyone were to guess he would be done fore.
Coldly he took the deck back to his bed and began to shuffle. Yes indeed any misadventure involving the Mudblood would be disastrous for his character. His house had its hierarchy, and kept to it strictly, everyone had a clique and each kept to his own and knew his place. There were those who were more highly regarded, and they of course had more to loose, Quidditch players for example were house heroes but their position was not necessarily to be envied. Don't ever dream of playing badly. Those at the top were only there because they stood precariously the shoulders of those beneath. At the slightest provocation the highest man might be toppled, Draco had seen it done last year Quidditch captain had been permanently shunned until graduation after he missed a play in a game against Gryffindor. Slytherin was not a forgiving place for such fumbles.
Draco had often reflected that even if Potter had joined him on the fateful day on that first train he doubted very much that they would have ever survived as friends. Slytherins were notorious backstabbers, and Draco was far from loyal he would have no qualms about stepping on anyone as along as it advanced his sense of greater good. Potter made a better enemy anyway. He kept Draco on his toes, and he would have hated to loose all those glorious dreams in which he lived the thrill of his rival's demise. It was sick Slytherin justice.
Draco sorted the cards, lying on his stomach laying them out in rows. Hogwarts was enjoyable up to a point, but now all he wanted was to leave and get out into big bad world, the stakes were high here, but nothing to out there, however the world at large was less cramped. Here it was the same old recycled fights and conflicts year after year and Draco was growing sick and tired of it. Draco flipped a black jack laying it on a red queen, flipping the card under it he found another red queen. He didn't need a queen, he wanted a king.
"Eurg!" Draco growled. He had lost. Zabini raised an eyebrow.
He re-dealt. After five minuets he gave up in frustration. Nothing but bloody queens. He sighed and pushed the cards aside. He looked around the dorm, Crabbe and Goyle had yet to return and had most likely fallen asleep at their gorging, Zabini had apparently snuck off while he had been last playing. The other two, a mousy boy with constant spots and a sandy red head who's lack of speech refinement had led him to be teased mercilessly the first years of his attendance, after which he scarcely spoke a word, were also elsewhere. Draco glanced sidelong at his bedside clock. "One hour and eleven minutes to supper… you have time."
Indeed. Well it is an option. He thought wryly. Getting up he put the cards on his bedside table and flopd back onto the bed. He needed more than anything to relax, he contemplated taking a shower, but he had just had one this morning and if he took another one now he ran the risk of damaging his hair, plus that took to much energy. Cards were out, and he had no desire to read. Idly a hand strayed down into his robes. Picking up his wand he undid the curtains facing the door with a flick of his wrist before his hand retuned to its former position. Gently it moved.
I his mind he reached for a box, his favourite moments. He hoped fervently that the clock was right. Just for fifteen minutes, he promised himself. That was all. His hands fumbled with fastenings as his mind searched for the desired instances. There was Potter in pain. Having crashed in a Quidditch match, laying on the ground those disgusting glasses smashed. That had been last year. He gripped himself at the thought and reached lower, dredging up more, coxing both his body and his mind to respond. Shots of Zabini fresh from the shower, flashes of memory. For all Draco couldn't stand the boys air of equality, Zabini was at least gratifying in some respect. He had the same translucently pale skin as Potter when there had been no sun. Something however tweaked at his conscious. With a sigh he brought forth an image of Pansy, cute but it made his interest wane in the activity. He banished it feeing he had done his duty. A thought of Granger's ankle. At this he moaned. On the stairs, then in the tower that night, her ankle and Weasley's freckled back resplendent in the pale light. It moved franticly dangling in the air, conducting some crazed orchestra of carnal acts.
He stopped his mind the thoughts were no longer necessary. His head lolled to the side and his hips thrust into a clenched fist that moved in time to some natural rhythm. Anxiously he stopped and looked about himself before shifting again.
The ankle had moved on and given way to thighs. Tanned, spread apart. A hand reached down to his own sides, and he let out a long breath. Idly he wondered what she looked like not covered with Weasley's body. Trying coloured the image up with mental difficulty. His hand stopped its movement, the effort to maintain the image was not worth the trouble. He focused again on her ankle. He imagined her wrist. he ran his own over the inside of his thigh. Sweat was beading on his arched back and he figured he had better finish himself before it became necessary to take another shower. Bringing back the images of Zabini he increased his pace. His cheeks flushing he prayed no one would find him. Then found himself praying that they would. Find him and ravish him, this illusionary person's hands were as skilled as his own and he found himself crying out softly, his muscles spasmed clenching compulsively and wetness covered the inside of his robes.
Nothing. He lay for a minute, his hand still gently moving, his sleeve making a slight swishing sound against his Jumper. He breathed long. And he shut his eyes.
***
Random Minion's Reviewing Made Easy™
( ) You lazy ass, it took you for ever to update and all I get is a measly 2,500 words!
( ) I thought you went a little overboard with the descriptions of the Slytherin hierarchy. Was it really necessary.
( ) I really like Zabini, he is like Draco's black haired double.
( ) God! Zabini is such a Gary Stew! With all the lounging and the smirking, Ewww!
( ) Come on we want real sex here.
( ) But that would be against the rules?
( ) So, brake them, they don't apply here anyway, this is Slytherin we are talking about.
( ) Draco is getting really OCC…
( ) I need a clock like that!
( ) Loved that part were (enter part here).
( ) Was that card game supposed to be symbolic or something? All those queens?
( ) You are really trying to hard with this fic. Stop it before it goes down hill.
( ) You have forever ruined that Fanon SexGod!Draco.
( ) Oh well I was sick of him anyway.
( ) I will now have to hurt you for writing things that are trying to be original.
( ) You know what, you are wasting space here so just ask the basic questions and get on with it.
( ) Get on with it, eh? You sick Slytherin!
( ) Update soon, and contact me when you do.
( ) Roger that! Over and out!