Forget About Love
Draco Malfoy was having a long day. He was having a long week, actually. As of yet, no one was bored of his little crush on Potter. The seventh and sixth years teased him something terrible. The fifth through third years smirked and chuckled whenever he entered a room, and the second and first years chuckled when he left.
To add to his social dilemma, his father had written to clarify what had happened, and in his response, Draco told him the complete truth and stated his intentions to divorce the family and fight on the side of the light, should it come to war. His father, naturally, disowned and disinherited him.
Luckily for Draco, he had been of mind to transfer his funds to a separate account that his Head of House signed for. So he had enough money so that he wouldn't have to work immediately after he graduated from Hogwarts. He had also discussed the situation with Dumbledore, and the old coot had the balls to twinkle at him and answer his questions while completely avoiding giving him any answers at all.
And now he knew how it felt to dread Potions. The Gryffindors mocked him whenever Snape's back was turned, which was pointless since Draco had stopped being the Potions Master's favorite student. He had been demoted nearly to Longbottom's level.
Stupid, sexy Potter, not content to ruin his life by hogging all the attention and beating him in quidditch. Of course, the person he was most mad with was himself. For liking the Boy-Who-Lived. For being so transparent that his friends could tell he like the Boy-Who-Lived. For being so incredibly easy to peer pressure into doing things that he wanted to do but didn't want to want to do. For kissing Harry Potter.
Ever since that day a week ago, Draco had done his best to avoid attracting attention to himself. Granted, he still made snide remarks to the Golden Trio. After all, no matter how much you liked a weasel's best friend, the weasel would still and always be a weasel.
Luckily for Malfoy, it was Sunday. Few people were around on Sundays, and since it was the first Sunday of the school year, he decided to go to the library. After all, who goes to the library the first Sunday of the school year?
He learned who once he entered the library. There was a small collection of Ravenclaws, especially the younger ones. The older ones were practicing Quidditch or at Hogsmeade. There were also a few other first and second years. He had just relaxed when he spotted the three in the far corner of the Library. Of all the people in all the school, they had to be the ones to study on this Sunday.
Already several paces into the Library by the time he decided that he most definitely did not want to be there, he knew that it would be a sure sign of cowardice to turn tail and leave. Oh, it wasn't like Slytherins or even Malfoys were known to be particularly brave, but to run like a scared puppy at the mere sight of his long-time archrival (and nouveau crush) would put a rather large dent in his already mangled ego. Especially since said archrival had no malicious intent toward him. He could deal with this.
He chose the table farthest away from anybody, especially the Golden bloody Trio. He opened up his History of Magic textbook and started to read and take notes. After what seemed like forever – but was only about two pages worth of study time – he heard a tenor voice singing across the normally silent Library.
Outwardly, he did his best to look annoyed and amused. Inwardly, he was embarrassed as all hell yet terribly excited.
Thought
I hated that guy
Don't
understand the way I fell into his eyes
I
should forget about his charms
Not
about the way his goons held me by my arms
That
Slytherin's obnoxious
The
jeers
The
sneers
Should
make me nauseous
But I
can't get enough
I
can't forget about love
Draco found the first verse amusing, even though it sort of insulted him and his friends. But it was not like anything he sang was false. He bristled, though, when he noticed that the Boy-Who-Lived's song was actually a duet with his irksome friend, the Weasel.
Malfoy's
such a prat
What
about him makes your heart begins to dance?
I can
taste the spite
When
he's spouting out some aggravating shite
He
really is revolting
It's
even worse since you're not bolting
He's
not such hot stuff
Just
forget about love
Then started the back and forth duet. Draco, flattered as he was, became rather annoyed at the mushy tone and words.
I had
almost forgotten the way it felt
When
he held out his hand for mine (When, five years ago?)
My
heart all a-flutter (But you didn't take it!)
The
first time we kissed…
Wasn't
your choice
Wait,
was there a second?
(I
love the way he does his hair)
This
isn't fair,
Give
me an answer, please
(His
kind is so rare)
There's
a reason for that
I
don't want to see my best
friend
stuck with that prat
Hmm-mm-mm-mm
To its
will love bends us
(And
don't you hate how he offends us?)
But of
course I do
(As
you should)
Giant
kangaroo
Clearly this wasn't originally part of the song, because the Weasel became really confused and stumbled over his words.
"That's – what! But Harry –"
Potter stood up from his seat in mock singing-aggravation. Draco hoped quite fervently that the object of his lust was not about to bring him into this.
Look,
you're calling my bluff, I can't (But - )
Forget
about love!
Draco knew the song that they were singing. Potter approached him and obviously mentally prepared himself for the next part of the song, that traditionally introduces another singer in more lovey-dovey goo.
"I can't forget about my heart…"
The blonde Slytherin stood up and opened his mouth – Potter seemed to think he was going to sing with him – and said, "Potter, if you think I am going to sing this nauseating song with you, you're completely bonkers." The moment he said it, Draco knew he probably should have said it so that it was less likely to make Potter think that he hated him. "Gah, you're such a Gryffindor. Could you possibly have chosen something gooier than that drivel?" Potter was still upset. Draco had to say something to let him know that he was just teasing him without making himself look like a sap. "Besides," he added quirking a brow, "as lovely as you voice is, your lovelier lips could be put to better use."
The thick-headed git finally got it and blushed. Draco smiled evilly.
"You know, you can be awfully dense when the Muh – er, Granger isn't here to figure everything out for you. Clearly she's the brains of the Golden Trio. And we all know you're the power." Draco glanced in the weasel's general direction, smirking. "But what's your – oh what did you call them - goon? The bait? The scapegoat? Because he doesn't really have any talents that I've noticed."
Weasley, who could hear everything from across the otherwise silent room, turned red in aggravation. But before he could explode, Potter responded. "He's not my goon. A goon implies great strength and little brain. Ron's strong, but not massive. And even though he may not exactly be of Hermione's caliber – which, neither are you, I might add – he's not stupid. So if anything, he's my… captain."
The weasel smiled, evidently surprised to be given such an honorable title in front of a bunch of people. Potter, however, looked slightly regretful that he couldn't say it without sounding so mushy.
Draco packed what few things he had out and declared, "Adieu, Potter." Then he nodded to Weasley and said with a smirk, "Captain Weasel."
He left for the Slytherin dungeons with every intent to get the Golden Boy back for the song by writing his own that would be decidedly less mushy. He'd show those insufferable Gryffindors how to really write a song.
