This is dedicated to SnapesFavorite for all the support and love.
Alsothis chapter contains chapter contains lines copied directly from OOTP.
Disclaimer: Everything that has already been created isn't mine and I'm just having fun with it. The rest was made up and is very much mine.
Summarise: Fifth year brings revelations and surprises for both sides. It's when very important experiences take place and life-altering decisions are made.
Chapter One
"I have immortal longings in me"
-- William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra
The pale morning was slow to come, but nonetheless it dictated the pace for that first day of September. Outside everything seemed somewhat on hiatus, waiting for something vibrant to happen and infuse more colour and movement to life itself. The weather was blissfully bearable, a drastic contrast to the warmth and stuffiness that had plagued everyone for two whole months.
It was that same dull clarity that bathed everything.
The white and unflattering light covered every inch of stone, wood and concrete. Every single object and furniture inside that room seemed to be covered by a thin but insisting grey veil. The dark green velvet armchair at the corner, next to the window, had lost its lustrous. His nightstand didn't have its usual impeccable surface and his study, that covered most of his wall – and was the first thing a visitor encountered as soon as they entered his bedroom – had always caught attention for its size and organised surface but under that light, it looked only out of place.
The books had always looked luminous and impressive, great works from incredible authors, but his shelf now seemed to be filled with old and deprecatingly ordinary volumes. The bed was still huge and impressive but that day it simply seemed a tad too much.
Clearly such impressions were far from true but none was more misleading than the vision that rested gracefully on the absurdly comfortable and expensive mattress, surrounded by equally inviting pillows and under deliciously soft sheets and blanket.
He hadn't moved at all, and that meant that he was still on his back, his legs slightly parted and his head neatly placed over one pillow. At that position he looked enchanted and therefore enchanting. His face was sharp everywhere but still held delicateness, making almost impossible to be sure of his gender. What gave him away was the light stubble that insisted on gracing his chin every morning.
His torso could be inspected too, for it was bare, and his dark pyjama pants were under his dark green blanket. He was clearly lithe but well built; concealed by clothes and robes his body gave people the wrong idea of an unhealthy thinness and a weakling figure.
His skin was pale, unnaturally so, but it bode well with his white blonde hair and unpredictable grey eyes. Lied there, looking ever so like the marble statue of a Greek god, Draco Malfoy was naïve, innocent and harmless.
He was without a doubt the only beautiful thing the sunlight touched in that morning and couldn't spoil.
Draco stood straight and proud, taking care of the buttons of his black dress shirt as if his very sanity and destiny depended on all of them being quietly and successfully encased. It was a job that most people overlooked but it made part of his personality to simply ignore everyone else and their doing.
It wasn't that he took an awful long time to get dressed – especially if you take in consideration that his mother spent a minimal of 2 hours getting ready and his father usually wasted 1 with his toilette every morning. Draco was proud to say that his 45 minutes of pure vanity made him the fastest and most capable Malfoy in that manor, at least it did when it came to getting dressed.
That also meant he didn't have much to work on or enhance because he was simply dashing on his own. He could follow a humble note but that wasn't a trade ever found in his bloodline. It was just absurd to expect anything but superiority and criticism from a Malfoy, and growing up under such a severe code made Draco an exception for a 15 years old lad.
He had everything a boy that age wasn't supposed to have – or allowed to, depending of the specimen in question – and that meant; style, poise, confidence and an imperturbable self-esteem.
He was tall, not impressively so, but still he was considerably tall. His shoulders were already broad, his legs long, his arms too and even his hands and fingers were bony and had a length that was as unnatural as it was common on young men who were still going through periodical growth spurts.
And yet, any possible uncomfortable-ness or klutziness that came with this moment of life had no part in his cool gait and firm stance. Draco was elegant, that was for sure. He knew how to dress, knew what flattered him and was acutely aware of the couple of features that weren't as impeccable as the others. And until that moment he was doing a pretty good job – bettering/hiding them – because no one did even suspect their existence.
Once he was done with the shirt he hooked his thumbs inside his trousers waistline, right under his black leather belt, and pulled it ever so lightly. His grey eyes, that had adopted a slight greenish light as they always did whenever he was doing something important and that required his full attention, ran over his reflection. He wanted to make sure that the wizard that had tailored his clothes hadn't messed up and the hem of his pants were indeed long enough to almost touch the floor and that they were successfully enchanted to never get dirty.
One thing is to fault for being sloppy (completely unforgivable in his book and deserving of the Crucio) but being absolutely perfect and then allow external factors ruin it all was so muggle-like that deserved some considerable time at Azkaban.
When that inspection was done he turned to his hair, running his fingers through it and shaking his head lightly before combing his hair slowly and carefully. That summer his hair was slightly longer than it had been the year before, he was seriously thinking about letting it grow back and further than the hairdo he had as a child.
As it was, his hair was fashionably without a proper style – what meant that it had received a strategically studied cut for exact 4 hours, and he was glad to say that he had threatened the witch's life (if she even dared to ruin his magnificent hair) only every 5 minutes.
'You are absolutely fabulous!' he was suddenly awaken by the mirrors' gushy sigh. Draco stilled the movement of his hands and let his arms fall to his side.
He raised a solo and daring eyebrow. The mirror cleared its magic throat loudly.
'I mean... Absolutely sublime!'
Draco now crossed his arms and his eyebrow reached his hairline, his eyes narrowing ever so lightly.
'Without a doubt... Delicious?' the mirror tried again.
That shocked him to the core. He had been called many things by that and other mirrors – not to mention wizards, witches, house-elves, dwarfs and so on – but delicious was most certainly a first. Not that it wasn't very close to the truth, but still it was impossibly beneath him.
He shook his head lightly and rolled his eyes, finally moving from the reflective surface's range. Slowly, as if nothing in the world could make him move any faster, Draco walked to his bed and got hold of the tiny necklace that lay there.
It had a silver band, long and thin, holding a pendant so small that many wouldn't be able to discern it. He simply let the band slide over his head and rest peacefully on his neck, one second later, the silver glow wasn't noticeable against his skin and the pendant had disappeared under his throat.
The next object he got in his hand had been magically shrunk and was attached to a chain. Draco pierced the fangs of a tiny locket made of silver in the shape of a wolf, with a ruby as its eye, into his belt. Then, he let the magically shrunk object dive quietly into the confines of his pocket.
At last, Draco hooked his forefinger on the collar of the black blazer his mother had gotten him that year. The rest of his new clothes and belongings were already inside his trunks, all of those waiting for him in his carriage.
Without another look, and sure that he couldn't have possible forgotten anything, he waltzed out of his bedroom.
It was a ritual.
He wasn't one to follow routine, anything that bored him wasn't bound to last for long, but he did have a few habits about certain things.
One of them concerned the King's Cross Station and his impatient waiting at Platform 9 and ¾ for the Hogwarts Express. Since his first year, when he had arrived appallingly earlier than everyone else because his parents had early appointments to attend, Draco was – if the not the first – at least one of the first to arrive at the platform.
It hadn't taken him long to realise that what had felt like an unnaturally waste of his time and sleep, turned out to be very helpful. Draco wasn't very fond of being among a large number of people, at least not when these people weren't well selected. The arrival and amount of general bodies at the platform was historically impressive. All those mothers and fathers, and sometimes even other more distant relatives, brothers, sisters and not to mention the very student body didn't take long to crowd such an incredibly small place. It was loud, messy and all together a very uncomfortable experience.
Something that Draco couldn't understand was that dry need of reassurance that held everyone out of the express until the very last moment. He had been born with a very distinct talent: the one to recognise luxury. Clearly Hogwarts Express didn't offer much, all those carriages and compartments ridiculously close, those tiny corridors and the very movement of it didn't really give one the opportunity to actually have a good journey. Still, Draco was very much aware of the fact that even in such a precarious environment there were degrees of shabbiness.
For instance, the closer to the back of the Express the worst were the compartments. It was easy to see why really, those were the most used carriages, where children dropped themselves at as they rushed to get a place. What meant terribly bumpy seats.
On the other hand, the first two carriages that were allowed to students were the best – there were two others but one was reserved for teachers (even though no one had ever seen anyone from Hogwarts' staff there) and the other was obviously for the prefects. The seats were better – at least he thought so – and for being so far off the back and so close to the front, they also felt as unoccupied as the other two.
Besides being there meant that logistically he left and arrived first, which was his rightful place in the world anyway, specially compared to everyone else.
Usually too his parents left as soon as he was inside his compartment. Draco was silently grateful for that. Malfoys were not made for sentimental foolishness. In fact, he couldn't understand how all the other students could endure those endless rounds of pathetic affection circus.
Granted his mother wasn't as cold as she could actually be and she did indulge into a very incomprehensible need to abuse his personal space whenever he was about to leave to Hogwarts or when he came back home but nothing close to what most of the other mothers did. He knew that because he watched all of them, one of the privileges he had for getting there so early.
It was shocking what some of them were actually able to do, especially a certain plain red-head mother who apparently – Draco suspected – had came up with a mad plot to populate the world with an equally plain and ginger kettle.
He had grimaced at those disgusting wet kisses when he was 11, he had wrinkled his nose at those suffocating hugs when he was 12, scowled at those pathetic nicknames and loud reassurances at 13, mocked the cheek-pinching at 14 and now he couldn't wait to enjoy Weasel's public embarrassment.
And people said he was hard to please.
That year wasn't really different in that regard. He arrived and immediately went to the first compartments, only this time he didn't stop at his usual one; he kept going to the prefect's carriage.
Draco opened the door slowly, trying to memorise the way the sun crept inside the fifth-year's compartment. The way the seats looked remarkably and blessedly without use and he had no option but breathe in that delicious scent that closed interiors have when they haven't been used before or at least hadn't been used for long.
He walked quietly in; trying to savour that moment before all those loud hellions arrived. Soon Vincent and Gregory would be there too, and then there'd be Pansy and Blaise.
Pansy was also a prefect; he had received her overreacted letter, not that he was really surprised with that. Apparently neither was Blaise, even though he had sounded seriously bitter at the fact that Draco had been chosen, not him. Draco grinned when he remembered that "complete rubbish", "obviously undeserving" and "bloody suck-up" made part of Zabini's letter.
It wasn't Draco's fault that he was so much better than Zabini and if Blaise hadn't followed his advice on travestying, the other Slytherin's only chance at getting a badge. His grin broadened when he remembered that that had been his exact response to Blaise's dubious congratulations.
Draco could understand, though, Pansy's response to her nomination. She was the most good-looking Slytherin girl in his year, Parkinson was also one of the most unbelievably obnoxious and actively bitchy fifth-years, but she wasn't certainly the brightest bulb in the tree.
Even Millicent had better grades than she did and that was saying something. But Draco reckoned that if she kept her grades higher than Crabbe and Goyle's he could still be seen in public with her. She did talk an awful a lot but since it was mostly deprecating comments about everyone else and endless praises for him, he could tolerate her fairly.
Zabini was the second best when it came to grades in his house, obviously Draco was the first. He figured that not getting the prefect badge was just one more thing in Blaise's endless list of second best. He wasn't after all in the Quidditch team, something he had wanted to the point of being murderous and hadn't Draco just gotten in the team but he also was the Seeker.
Poor Blaise, he almost had an aneurysm that day.
But he had been there, every game rooting for his house, even though he was seething to see Draco flying like he owned the team. Which he obviously did.
It was one of the several things all those scumbags would never understand.
And they said Gryffindors are loyal.
Still smirking, he settled his things in a secluded area, making sure no one would be able to kick or touch anything whatsoever. Again he hadn't bothered to bring Erebus's cage. His owl never appreciated confinement of any kind, which meant that he had had extra work to train it properly but that was good because now his Eagle Owl wasn't as dependent of him as most birds were of their owner.
Draco had never liked the idea of having someone completely dependent of him, and even the slight evidence of need irked him deeply. He was careful enough not to attach himself to anyone and he was no way close to appreciating the stupidity of anyone who attached themselves to him.
Once he was done, he took off his blazer and casually rested it on the space he had chosen for himself. Odds were that he wouldn't even spend the entire trip in that carriage but that didn't mean he didn't want his spot untouched in case he decided to stay there.
Draco liked options, especially when all of them suited him fine.
For one minute he allowed himself to stare out of the window. Fifth-year was a defining year. It was the beginning, the first chapter of the rest of his life. Not so much because it was his OWL year – even though that was indeed highly important – but mostly because of everything that was happening.
That summer had been a very busy summer for Lucius Malfoy and all that meant was that Draco had been incredibly busy trying to find out all that was truly going on and that his father was so fiercely trying to hide.
It was a game really, one that Draco had failed at many times before but that recently seemed to have finally gotten the hand of it. One can't delude Lucius Malfoy, he smelled lies and betrayals like a dog smells fear but he also was as patient and morbidly curious as a cat.
Growing up with that man as a role model had been tiring and demanding. Draco had yet to prove his capacity to match his father's challenges head on, but he had learned to work for what he wanted.
That was why he spent most of those 8 weeks sneaking inside his father's office, trying to read everything he could get his eyes on without being caught. Or at least without being so blatant obvious that his father would see fit to humiliate him for his lack of tact.
Draco was proud to say that it had only happened twice and for the past 3 weeks he knew he had been successful enough to earn his father's unreeling and scrutinising stare during meals. As if Lucius was trying to figure out if his son had simply quit his attempts all together, or if he was simply getting better enough at it to even fool another Malfoy.
Neither said a word; but then again little was actually discussed aloud inside the manor. The same way that rushed whispers about the Weasley girl, a diary, the Chamber of Secrets and his father were never mentioned. As neither were the true facts about Cedric Diggory's death, Fudge's growing paranoia about Dumbledore, Harry Potter's near expulsion from Hogwarts and his father's certain but untraceable connections with all these events.
Lucius Malfoy was a master in keeping things under wraps. He knew every possible method that could help him to get what he wanted, the way he wanted, and being a perfectionist made him an impressive allay or perhaps – supporter.
But that was only another one of the many things that weren't discussed inside the manor.
On the other hand, Draco's incapacity to win a match against Gryffindor, his incompetence when it came to beating a Mudblood at being the first of his year and his sheer failure at causing real damage to a boy who couldn't be more pathetic if he tried, were constantly commented.
He had gotten the prefect badge, surely, but the Head Boy badge would have to be seen. He was Slytherin's youngest Seeker in centuries but the greatest title had been taken, as had been every House Cup for the past four years.
He had much to accomplish and little time to waste but Draco had to have patience and he had none. He was impulsive, intense, reckless, ruthless and ambitious but he lacked the cunning and self-control.
Draco was aware of that default. It was the reason why he never beat Potter at Quidditch, it was why he always lost it when Granger's grade were higher than his no matter how hard he studied and it was why Weasel's mere presence made him stomp over him.
But it wasn't enough.
Potter was still the Boy Who Lived, despite several people's effort – and his best wishes -, Granger was still McGonagall's favourite – even bloody Snape had bleakly complimented the Mudblood once, trying to spur his best Slytherin out for blood (and higher grades) – and Weasley was still the boy he had been rejected over.
Oh yes, that never got old.
Draco Malfoy being rejected was one thing. Draco Malfoy being rejected over a Weasley, that was unforgettable and unforgivable. Not even every little degrading moment he had been direct or indirectly responsible for in Weasley's life in the past four years would be enough to erase that slap on his face. The redhead freak had even had the guts to mock his name, as if a plebeian name such as Ronald would ever match the righteousness and power of a true Dragon.
The muggle-lover, blood traitor scum.
He frowned fiercely, his hands closing tightly at his sides. He could still remember the loathe he felt when he woke up at the Platform only a couple of months before. It had taken him over one mouth to be fully recovered of all the hexes Potter and his friends had used on him, Crabbe and Goyle.
Apparently the Boy Who Lived wasn't very fond of the truth.
His upper lip curled instinctively as it always did at the mere thought of the boy. If asked, and he had been, Draco wouldn't be able to define – exactly – how much he actually despised Harry Potter.
He got to hate him even more than he had ever hated Weasel and that was saying something. The redhead freak inspired a disgust and dislike that had been harboured for years, generations and generations. But Potter, Potter was the first person Draco had willingly abhorred.
No history, no past or legacy, it was his doing and his doing alone. The fact that he had done so even against his father's will was impressive in its own accord. Lucius would never ask his son to beg someone's friendship or attention once he had been rejected but he had advised Draco about his decision of making Potter's life a living hell.
But that had been before and before Draco might not have an option.
He blinked once, feeling his eyes sting as he realised he hadn't done it in a while. He forcefully loosened his fists and unclenched his jaw.
It didn't take him a very long time to hear loud steps and soft grunts and he knew just who he'd see pushing their way inside the compartment. He didn't bother to turn around right away, enjoying the familiarity that the assurance of Crabbe and Goyle's bulky bodies at his back gave him. They made part of what Draco Malfoy represented at Hogwarts. And there he could not be king but he was closer than ever to the throne.
Vincent and Gregory kept him company all the time before the others arrived. He had gone with them to their usual compartment, launched over the seat as the others tossed their things about and talked to him in hushed hoarse tones.
Draco knew the idea everyone else had about the other two. They thought the two boys were his thugs or bodyguards, idiotic young men who followed his orders blindly and couldn't be more stupid if they tried.
Granted that they were far from being genial but they weren't retarded. They didn't ask many questions but solemnly because they knew that Draco always had a plan and that meant they wouldn't be caught, or at least, that there wouldn't be a very serious punishment.
He did use them but it was a silent agreement between them since they were kids. And if Vincent and Gregory were capable of setting a silent agreement at the age of 4 with Draco Malfoy, then they most certainly weren't as imbecilic as people thought. They weren't academically brilliant but then again that was why they weren't at Ravenclaw, which essentially was a very good thing.
Draco couldn't help but smirk when Goyle pushed Crabbe by the shoulder in an attempt to get the other boy to scoop a bit to the side. He had never seen those two fighting, of course they weren't perfect angels to each other, but they had never quarrelled. They did take pleasure in physical activities such as punching, shoving and other "manly" nonsense but they had never truly fought.
They didn't talk much also, which had always suited him fine, and listened without interrupting – one of their best trades in his opinion. But that didn't mean they didn't know how to talk or that they didn'tthink on a regular basis. It only so happened that they didn't bother to do it in public or acknowledge it to an audience.
That was another thing Draco really liked in those two.
'Look at what we've got here... The albino and his gargoyles...'
And that was one of the many things he didn't like in Blaise Zabini.
The young black man was flaunted and with his arms crossed, his shoulder supporting his weight as he put one of his ankles over the other. Draco noticed the boy's grin and the way his honeyed eyes shone with mirth and mischief. It was a giving thing; Blaise adored getting under his skin. Of course their rivalry had nothing to do with the animosity he shared with Potter but their friendship – if it could be called that – wasn't fluid at all.
Not that either of them was bothered by it. Draco needed someone to compete with, knowing that he could win, a fair competition even if they played dirty. Something different of the unfairness of his competition with Potter where everything was unbalanced and the scores were set before he even started to play.
Zabini was well aware of that and rubbed it in constantly, all the while offering Draco enough challenge to keep his wounded ego slightly in check.
It had been that way since they were kids. If Draco got a new broomstick, Blaise had to have it too. If Malfoy got and "O" at Potions, Zabini had to get one too. If the blonde boy got snogged silly by a seventh-year at the mere age of 12, it was his duty to do the same.
Draco appreciated Blaise's efforts – especially because he tried so hard and never succeeded – but it did get on his nerves at times. That was why he kept his distance when it came to Zabini and therefore so did Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise was a Slytherin, one of his but he was still Blaise and he was still a Slytherin.
'What a completely unpleasant surprise...'
Blaise showed every single one of his perfect white teeth, the contrast against his ebony skin and eyes was unsettling – breathtaking but unsettling.
'Why, Draco...' he pushed himself from his position 'One might actually think you didn't miss me...'
Crabbe and Goyle kept their position, forming a muscled physical barrier between both boys. Zabini was none the wiser and got in the compartment slowly and nonchalantly, not quite gracefully but not at all awkwardly.
'And one would be actually right...'
The black boy chuckled in acknowledgement as he put his things out of the way. Vincent and Gregory were absorbed in their Chocolate Frog Cards, not bothering to give Zabini any kind of attention. That always was left up to Draco anyway.
'I missed you too, Malfoy...' Blaise replied coolly.
'I bet you did, Zabini...'
'Tell me, Draco...' the boy continued ignoring Draco's sarcasm 'How was your summer?'
Draco was still staring out the window, his feet crossed and their heels over the seat in front of him. His hands were deep inside his pockets, his fingers flicking over the chain in his left pocket and the prefect badge in his right.
He hadn't moved since he sat there and was waiting until he felt motivated to finally move. Until that moment that motivation hadn't arrived, and it would most certainly not be Zabini or the high-pitched complaints he was hearing coming from the end of corridor.
'My summer was none of your business, Blaise...' he answered lightly and finally looked at the other boy, with a very annoying smirk on his face 'As usual...'
Zabini didn't have the opportunity to respond because in that moment Pansy Parkinson arrived. Now, Pansy was really one of a kind. Not exactly loud but most certainly not quiet, she did have a lot of grace when she set herself to but could be absurdly crude when she desired.
Draco wouldn't really know how he ever came to getting closer to her. Closer than a snog session and the pleasure of bullying others could bring them, that is. She most certainly wouldn't be his confidant at any rate but she was a decent company whenever he had the patience to spare with her.
'Can you believe that Ernie Macmillan is a prefect too?'
'I'm fabulous, Pansy darling... You?'
'Not to mention Hannah Abbot, who couldn't find her chin if she really looked for it. Did you see who's Ravenclaw's chosen? Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil! Goldstein is a complete idiot and Patil's ears are taking one compartment each.'
Draco grinned as the pale girl ignored Zabini's interruption. It was hard to get Parkinson to stop whenever she was driven. Her hair was pitch-black, a severe contrast to her marble skin and foggy blue eyes. She still had the short cut she had used the year before and Draco knew that was so because he had complimented her hair-do once, during a late night at the dungeons while he could have told anyone anything thanks to the firewhiskey Maddock had stolen from one of his uncle's stash.
'Does anyone really expect me to interact with them? And I'm not even talking about the Golden Couple! There is no style anymore to the badge of prefects if a Mudblood is likely to get it too! It's disrespectful and absolutely unacceptable that we are forced to– '
'Pansy!'
She stopped abruptly and looked around herself, as if noticing for the first time exactly whom she was talking to. Her eyes danced, not really focusing on anyone before they were locked to a pair of swirling and warning grey eyes. She knew perfectly well what that tinge of black meant when it leaked from Draco's pupils.
She tossed her head back and opened one beautiful big smile, her eyes darkening and a slight flush finding its way up the collar of her dress. She was dressed in black, like all of them were the cut of her cloth showing exactly what had changed on her body over the summer.
Draco could see Blaise's eyes adopt a golden shade as they traveled over Pansy's figure. The girl would never be luxuriously curvy but then again no one expected that of her. Although that obviously never stopped the boys from tilting their head to the side to check her out.
Malfoy didn't allow himself to bluntly inspect his wannabe girlfriend, just because he knew that that had been the purpose behind her cleavage. He wasn't one to give people what they wanted, and he most certainly didn't go for anything expected of him.
Besides that'd be more attention than Parkinson was used to from his part and the girl would probably find it absolutely odd and unnatural.
Pansy found her way idly and slowly to Draco, Crabbe and Goyle leaning back on their seats to give her a way they hadn't given Zabini. Neither boy really bothered to look up from the cards they had in their hands as she placed both hands at each side of Draco's head, just above his shoulders and leaned down to him.
'Draco...' she said dreamily 'How are you?'
The blonde boy knew very acutely her intentions and just for the sake of being obnoxious kept his face nonchalantly thrown back and his eyes firmly fixed on hers and nothing else.
'Very good indeed, Pansy...' he drawled back 'I see you bought a new dress...'
She grinned and nodded, pulling back and placing her hands over her hips as she showed herself to him. Draco could hear Crabbe sniggering at his side and saw Zabini's exaggerated roll of eyes from the corner of his.
'Did you like it, Draco, darling? I wasn't so sure of it but mother insisted and you know how I can't say no to her...'
Pansy was too busy caressing her hips and looking down at herself coyly to even notice her pretense boyfriend's movement. But even though she knew that it wouldn't have changed a thing, Draco was drastically and appallingly swift when he wanted to. Incredibly snakelike she had labeled it once; he had merely grinned at her and cheered with a glass of butterbeer at the time.
Without full comprehension of the situation she found long cold fingers wrapping themselves around her right wrist and then, with a blink, she was securely sat on Draco's lap. His left hand already buried in her hair and the other was still holding her wrist at her lap.
She looked at him, wide-eyed and knew by the greenish flavor in that grey ocean that he was very pleased with himself. That made her relax against him because it was better to indulge in Draco's good mood than stir his foul ones – which were far more constant to him.
The boy pulled her face closer to his once again, raising his chin so their lips were lined perfectly and just one little movement of his fingers at the nape of her neck would bring them together. But that wasn't the type of boy Draco Malfoy was, so when Pansy closed her eyes and began to close the distance between them she suddenly flinched at the handful those long fingers had of her hair.
He wasn't tugging it but was holding it strongly enough to cause the slight pain that was a gentle contrast to the way his fingerprints were being molded on the soft flesh of her wrist. It was only then that the brunette realized her slip.
'Pansy, Pansy...' Draco whispered coolly against her lips 'What have I told you on how I feel about endearments?'
She shivered and clenched her jaw, more at the chuckling noises coming from Zabini's throat and Crabbe and Goyle's open and curious stare than at the numbness of her hand as Draco's tight grip stalled any blood from going down the path to her fingertips.
'That you don't find them endearing...'
Draco had to give it to Pansy, her voice was even and still carried a tinge of the gushiness that she had used before. She also didn't flinch and other than a slight frown, and the darkening of her eyes, she didn't let on any discomfort at the way he was roughly treating her.
He smirked, a smirk that always brought his entire Veela heritage surface, a mist of alluring beauty and cold detachment that made him all the more entrancing. Pansy always found hard to look away when he smirked that way but in her defense it wasn't just her. Young Mr. Malfoy was finally learning his way to master his family's cruelty, even if he didn't quite know it yet.
'Exactly...' he brushed his lips against her cheek 'I'm glad you didn't forget...'
And just as he had caught her, Draco released her, pulling his feet to the floor and maneuvering the Slytherin girl to sit across from him. Both his hands were holding her right hand now, touching her tingling flesh back to life. That was what made Pansy overlook the way Draco sometimes acted.
There it was, the Malfoy heir petting – in his own Slytherin way – the same hand and fist he had clasped tightly and rudely in his hand. It was the closer to a caress that he could deliver her but in no way an apology. Even in that slow stroking was the undeniable hint of warning, the same she could see clearly in his eyes and smile.
'It is a very flattering dress, Pansy...' he commented as if there had never been an interruption to their conversation 'Your mother always had an unquestionable taste for clothes...'
'Which is the reason why she never trusts you to buy them, Pansy, my dear...'
Draco pulled away seconds before Pansy's fingers flexed as the blood brought the reflex back to her hand. He crossed his legs and casually raised his right hand, dropping it on the back of the seat, just behind Crabbe's head.
Standing at the door was the only girl who could trade barbs with Parkinson like an equal, even though she got nowhere near Pansy's charisma or physique. Millicent Bulstrode was tall, bulky and large. She looked much like the incredibly – and disgustingly – fat cat she was constantly holding. Her hair was a light auburn mass that only made sense when she tied it at the back of her head. Her voice was low and quite enjoyable; she never quite managed to reach one of those ridiculously high notes Pansy got to whenever she was in a temper.
Actually Draco knew that if there was something Pansy envied in Millicent, the only thing she could possibly envy, was the seductive voice. Parkinson had never been quite able to drawl without sounding pathetic but Bulstrode managed it with perfection.
'Oh...' Pansy feigned surprised, her voice dripping with sarcasm 'Millicent, honey... You're still breathing... How nice...'
Malfoy had always loved to watch the girls' interaction. His father had told him once that if he really wanted to learn how to insult someone, he had to pay attention at girls and women. At the age of 8, that idea had sounded absolutely absurd but with time Draco noticed that his father was right – as usual.
No one can be as crude and mean as women got to be when they put themselves to it. And he was lucky enough to grow up with the best in the game.
'And so are you, I see...' Millicent said softly with a tiny condescending smile 'How unfortunate...'
Blaise was grinning like a loon, while Crabbe and Goyle pretended to be completely focused on their game although Draco knew they had gone tense and ready to come in between the two girls, lest a catfight took place.
'Get in, Millicent...' Blaise mocked a reverence 'Join me and these incredibly entertaining gentlemen here... For those two will soon leave... To our utmost chagrin, obviously...'
Draco quietly watched as Zabini first gestured dismayingly at Vincent and Gregory before he pointed at him and Pansy. He simply raised an amused eyebrow but didn't say anything.
'Thank you, Blaise, but no can do...' Millicent shrugged 'I already got a compartment with Maddoc and Pucey... I just came here to talk to you Draco...'
At that his eyebrow rose even higher. He rarely ever exchanged words with Millicent. They did spend time together at school but since at least other four persons joined them when they hung out at the common room, and they didn't have that much in common anyway, they never were the chitchat types.
Pansy narrowed her eyes; to what Millicent only grinned as Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini looked at Malfoy in expectantly.
'And what would that be about, Blustrode?' he asked smoothly, almost imperceptibly impatient.
'Your father...' the girl supplied easily enough. Millicent might have the voice but she most certainly lacked the tact.
'My father?'
Draco felt Vincent and Gregory tense again. They were always ready to follow his orders and to protect him even if there was nothing really threatening him. He wondered at times if they could feel his distress as he could predict and sense their reactions to it.
The other girl nodded and Draco realized that her eyes were slightly wide, as if she was trying to send him a message of some kind. He forced himself to push his aggression to the back of his mind; there was no need to be violently defensive with Millicent.
Almost immediately he noticed the stiffness on Crabbe and Goyle's back disappear.
'He's at the Platform and asked me to call you...' she paused for a bit and locked her eyes with his 'He said it's urgent...'
It was an absolutely overlookable sound but Draco heard it and that collective gasp annoyed him all the same. He nodded slowly, sending a warning glance to everyone else before he addressed his answer.
'Yes, thank you, Millicent...'
Without further ado the other girl left them alone. The silence was deafening and Draco was back to staring out the window. He could feel Pansy's anxious stare, Zabini's suspicious frown and Vincent and Gregory's subtle glances from the corner of their eyes.
He felt like telling them all to bloody piss off but that would be useless. That was one of the things he was trying to change. Malfoy pushed his hands inside his pockets again, his index finger curling around his silver chain twice before he stood up slowly.
Pansy watched as Draco shook his shoulders lightly; getting rid of any wrinkles on his shirt and trousers without taking his hands from his pockets. His eyes were strained at the window but somehow she had a feeling that he wasn't seeing anything outside.
And just like that, without a word, he strode out of the compartment.
Hogwarts Express wasn't empty anymore when Draco made his way to the Platform 9 and ¾. He frowned and sneered at everyone who crossed his past, which at that moment was a number far too considerable than he'd have liked it.
There were young wizards and witches all around, running in and out of compartments, becoming louder and louder by the second. He simply shoved the younger – or merely shorter - out of his way and curled his lip contemptuously at all the others.
He could hear the murmur that came from what were obviously unaware first-years, midgets who had clearly been lectured by their mothers about being good or they would turn out like that "dreadful Malfoy boy". Those would never become Slytherins and he knew it by their round and wide eyes.
Although all those pale little things, that looked at him with awe and the respect only a first-year can give a fifth-year, those were the ones who grew up hearing about "the Malfoy heir". The sons and daughters of former Slytherins and who knew exactly what it was to be Draco Malfoy, the son of Lucius Malfoy. To those he even had the mind to flash a grin or a wink, chuckling to himself at the way their adoration became almost tangible just because of this tiny display of attention.
It was always nice to have new blood at school. That meant new pupils and new preys and honestly Draco was never sure which one he liked best.
He took pleasure in scaring the kids and even more in irritating and hitting the older ones where it hurt the most. Of course his favourite baits were the Gryffindors, surprisingly enough Longbottom, who was so ridiculously easy to humiliate that Draco didn't know why he had so much fun with it.
But the thing was that he did, since their first year; he simply loved to taunt Neville. He sometimes thought about letting Potter know that when it came to a list, he only came second on Draco Malfoy's Bully List.
That out to knock down the Golden Boy's esteem a notch or two.
The thing was that Longbottom's obvious terror of him was incredibly amusing. Draco doubted that at the age of 11 he was terrifying but even then Neville, stupid, slow, fat and pathetic Neville couldn't stand upright next to him. At least not without trembling violently.
What had always gotten to Malfoy was that he was the one who did that to the other boy. He was aware that most of the guys who hated him back at school didn't act upon their dislike because of Crabbe and Goyle.
Everyone knew that if someone tried to pull anything funny on Draco Malfoy, there would be retribution. Not only from his father – and his unbelievable connections – but also from two giants, composed of muscle and an evil trade that had violence as an outlet.
But Longbottom, even though he stuttered whenever Vince and Greg were near, and flinched at the mere mention of Lucius Malfoy, he trembled whenever he saw Draco.
It was too good for him to give it up so easily or grow tired of it anytime soon.
That was why he started to keep an eye out for the Gryffindor stooge as he walked. It was after all better than try to guess why his father would actually show up after he was already settled in his compartment, let alone why the senior Malfoy would demand his company at the Platform.
This sort of behaviour from Lucius Malfoy never did bode well with his karma.
Shaking his head lightly, Draco got back to detachedly observe the other students – all the while boiling his repressed annoyance and anxiety, saving them to Longbottom.
As he finally stepped out of the Express it was obvious that the Gryffindor hadn't arrived yet, something that could be define as nothing else but a very unfortunate occurrence. It was almost as if Draco actually missed all those hostile faces and name-calling.
He grinned and the motion made a couple of girls gasp and flinch away. Someone bumped into him as he looked over a mass of heads and smiling faces after a serenely cold expression and a white gold curtain of white hair. Without glancing over to the offender, he simply pushed them back, barking a "watch it".
'Sod off, Malfoy! You bloody git!'
Spectacular.
'Piss off, Leprechaun.'
He heard then a new round of very colourful curses and knew without a doubt that with that thick accent and creativity – and vivacity – he could only be bickering at Seamus Finnigan.
It was one of the things he enjoyed about the other boy's Irish heritage. He was so damn irritable naturally that took really little to set him off. Besides he was a well of interesting swear words, a very good resource Draco had found.
'Yes, yes, Finnigan...' he said absently 'Drop dead...'
Still without looking at the boy he reassumed walking, his hands still in his pockets, as he glimpsed his father out of the corner of his eyes.
Naturally there weren't many people around Lucius Malfoy. In fact, it looked like his father had cast a protecting spell, forming an invisible wall around himself to keep everyone away, when the reality was that people were willingly keeping their distance.
It clearly was more than fine to his father who seemed none the wiser, as he tilted his head back. For a second Draco thought his father had seen him, he had the distinct impression that Lucius was looking at him and talking to him, for his lips moved too. But once those empty ice-blue eyes swam to his right, he was sure that his father hadn't noticed his approach yet.
Then Draco's attention was again stirred as he realised that Lucius' mouth was still moving, his head slightly tilted to the side. Once he pushed a couple to the side, he was absently aware that it was two Ravenclaws sixth years he and Pansy had caught snogging behind the Quidditch benches one night after hours.
They had taunted those two, and the Ravenclaw general lack of talent on carnal physical interactions, so much that they had even forgot to snog themselves.
Once those two were out of the way, and blushing crimson red as they clearly – and quietly – were remembering the incident, Draco was without doubt sure that his father was talking to someone. Actually he could see this someone standing at his father's side but since they had their back on him, he could see no recognisable feature.
Immediately he started to scan his mind at possibilities. The person was tall, almost his height if them standing at his father's side was any indication, and it was probably a female, taking in consideration the black robes' cut. But he didn't know the black curls that cascaded on their back.
The only girl he knew who had curls similarly like that and that dark was Daphne Greengrass but even she never had such an impressive length of hair. It went lower the waist, almost as long as his mother's straight blonde hair.
Draco knew it was unlikely that his father was just chatting with a student but that was clearly a school robe he was seeing. And it was equally unlikely that one of his father's – connections decided to grace the crowded Platform 9 and ¾ dressed as a Hogwarts' student.
He took his time to walk to his father this time, trying not to draw attention to him and get himself time to discover what was actually going on. If he actually got near enough without his father acknowledgement, he'd be able to catch at least part of that conversation before Lucius was aware of his presence.
'... not telling him anything. I wouldn't underestimate him if I were you.'
'I do surely expect you not to tell me what he is capable of or not...'
' – ly not. But I do know a bit more about him than you, sir.'
Draco gasped and that was what caused his father to stall the furious answer he was about to deliver and whip his eyes in focus to find him.
'Well, well, well, Draco...' Lucius drawled 'It took you long enough. Miss Bulstrode didn't tell you I wanted to see you urgently?'
Draco lowered his eyes and looked at his shoelaces but didn't lower his head. He nodded and just then looked up – warily – at his father.
'I am sorry, Father.' He said evenly 'The Express is a pandemonium... I came as fast as I could...'
Lucius narrowed his eyes lightly but overlooked his son's slight challenge. But clearly that wasn't enough to keep him from answering it.
'What clearly wasn't enough' he continued before Draco had time to apologise once more 'I've got other things to do so I will be direct, Draco.'
The boy nodded and listened with great attention as his father leaned ever so lightly forward and he did the same.
'I am sure you have found a successful Intel to provide you useful information about some – developments for this year at Hogwarts...'
Draco didn't nod but also made sure that his eyes told his father that he knew exactly what was being discussed. He knew, obviously from his visits to his father office, about Fudge's slight alterations on a few laws in a desperate way to keep eyes – and perhaps a leash – on Dumbledore.
He didn't know how exactly had the First Minister managed to achieve that but he knew that Fudge had succeeded.
'Also, I trust you to know other things about Hogwarts' staff... More over their irresponsible absence in this beginning of term...'
Yes, he was aware of that too. He had no details, as usual, but he knew the basics and that meant he knew more than he should know. More importantly, he knew more than anyone else knew.
'That being, I gave the Minister my word that you will assist him on any possible way to make Hogwarts the school it's supposed to be. Without it's unsatisfying current administration.'
There it was. Draco smirked at his father's innuendo and imperceptible grin. People actually thought that he was used to receive any kind of order from his father. Surely Lucius was sure that he had absolute influence in his son's doings and decisions but when push come to shove he rarely ever put Draco in his – political strategies.
Of course there were several reasons for that but the most obvious was that Lucius didn't trust Draco in the least when it come to important and serious things. He was absolute confidant in his son's ability to make Potter and his pack miserable but that was it.
His son was too passionate and too eager and that caused a lot of mistakes.
Draco knew it by heart, the many reasons why he wasn't included in most of his father's business, even – especially – when they involve Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore and their followers.
This recruitment was new and it meant a lot. It wasn't just an opportunity; it was the opportunity Draco had been waiting for years. His one chance to prove himself capable of being everything his father challenged him to be.
'I will assist the Ministry in anything I can, Father...'
Lucius nodded, taking in the way his son's eyes shone and his pale skin flushed ever so lightly with excitement and pride. It was his fist important test, and they both knew it.
'Very good...' he said absently 'And be very discreet...'
Draco became serious suddenly. He still doesn't trust me, he thought in chagrin, he came all the way here but still thinks I can't do it.
'But of course, Father...'
Lucius Malfoy was about to reply when his eyes narrowed to slits. Draco frowned at his father's abrupt silence and followed those blue eyes, now dark and sparkling with suspicion and annoyance.
He looked over his shoulder and couldn't help but narrow his eyes instinctively. The first thing he saw was too many red manes and freckled faces, changing occasionally only in age and gender. After that he saw muggle, despicable, clothes, brown plain curls and infuriatingly wise eyes. At last, round glasses, green eyes, raven unruly black hair and a lightening bolt shaped scar; a combination he had grown to loathe deeply.
But even though the sight of Harry Potter and his minions always did unnerve him and his father deeply, he didn't take long to realise what exactly had cause his father to interrupt himself.
It wasn't the Weasleys, the Mudblood or the Boy Who Wouldn't Just Die. It was a black, clearly wild, tall, slim and bear-like dog that was happily running around them. Draco heard when a boy, a Gryffindor no doubt, complimented Potter for his "pet".
Draco's hands were still inside his pockets and without really noticing he was clutching at his chain and badge so tightly that he was feeling their shapes moulding against his soft palms. The dog stood on its back pawns, resting it's front ones on each of Potter's shoulders as if trying to hug him.
Right after the Weasley woman hissed something at it, pushing it off Potter who was only laughing and petting the animal affectionately. Draco was watching carefully enough to catch the way the dog bared his fangs at the Weasley woman when she was not watching, licking his sharp and intimidating teeth at her, in an act that looked more like a childish act of rebellion – like a sticking of tongue – than a true threat.
But not even its abnormal size, or human uncanny, captured his attention more as it did the blood red colour of that beast's eyes.
'Well, well, well...'
It wasn't until his father put his hand on his shoulder that forced himself to look away from the animal.
'Go back to the Express...' he ordered.
The boy simply nodded and was about to leave when his father's hand tightened its hold against him, making him turn back around.
'You know what do to, Draco.' He said evenly 'I expect you will do it right.'
Draco only nodded, not trusting himself to respond. It wasn't the vote of confidence he would have liked but it wasn't full-fledged sign of distrust either.
And with his mind swirling with the vision of Potter's dog, and what the sight of it made him remember, Draco absolutely forgot about the mysterious student talking to his father.
Malfoy didn't really have the chance to indulge in everything that was crossing his mind, every piece of some big puzzle that he was finally putting together on his own. He couldn't help but feel as if he had just found a very important piece, something that he could no doubt use to his advantage.
But Pansy had other ideas and worries.
'Where the bloody hell have you been?' she all but shrieked when he went back to the compartment where she and the others were still waiting for him.
'I believe you were here when I was told to go outside, Pansy.' He snapped, glaring at her 'If you've got a hearing problem, I don't, so stop screaming.'
The girl flinched lightly at his response but didn't back down. She simply shrugged his nasty behaviour off, with the easiness of one who had done it several times over the years.
'I am sorry if I thought that the reason why you won't take your hands from your pockets is because you can't wait to put your prefect badge on' she snarled in kind.
Draco frowned and stilled his hands, taking them off his pockets only then realising that his fingers had been moving relentlessly inside them. He damned himself for acting so abruptly and earning Pansy's ready smirk.
'Unless of course...' her smirk only widened 'You're toying with something else in your pocket...'
Malfoy rolled his eyes and shook his head, ignoring Pansy's giggles. Blaise was nowhere to be found, Crabbe and Goyle were silent as usual and that explained Parkinson explosion when he arrived. She had always told him that if there was something that drove her insane was spending time solo with Vincent and Gregory.
"I feel like screaming bloody murder until my head explodes whenever you leave me alone with them!", she had told him several times. And that never stopped him from doing just that whenever it was necessary, or when he felt like it.
'Do you have a point, Pansy?'
'Yes" she said becoming serious suddenly 'We have to go to the prefect's carriage to meet with the rest of that lot...'
'Right...' he frowned, shoving his hands inside his pockets again 'My things are there already, yours?'
Pansy nodded as she hooked her arm uninvited around Draco's and steered him to their destination. Malfoy's mind was already in gear, he couldn't help but think about that black dog and suddenly he was aware again of that student who had been talking to his father.
It had been a she, he knew it by the robes and the voice – he hadn't heard it clearly but he was sure it wasn't a male voice. But in that moment what ate at him was the fact he hadn't even seen that person's face, worse yet he hadn't even realised that she had left until she had been long gone.
He knew his father enough to be sure that he had to find out who that person was, what they had been talking about and why.
Again it was Pansy who took his mind off its current path.
'Draco...' she said lowly and hesitantly 'I just want you to know that-'
'Not now' he interrupted her.
'Listen, all right?' she snapped 'If you just let me finish, you'll know that all I want is to-'
'I said, not now, Pansy' he cut in sharply again.
At that the Slytherin girl huffed but kept silent, aware that there was no talking to him when he used that tone. It wasn't something Parkinson took much offence from; she was used to this sort of lashing out from almost everyone she knew. She was quite prone to do it also.
At the same time she knew that she'd be the one to deal with his annoyance later but for the time being she simply shrugged it off. It was his fault if he wouldn't listen to her. He always did that when she had something important to say.
They got in the compartment silently, Pansy sneering at everyone else and Draco with a blank expression. He was miles and miles away; Parkinson knew it so she didn't even try to bring him back.
Draco had been out of sorts for most of the summer. He never was the type to write back regularly but he eventually did. That summer he simply didn't bother to write anything that required more than a couple of words, which was frustrating to say the least.
For the first year too, he didn't gloat about his vacations, where he had gone, what he had seen and what he had done. As far as she knew, he hadn't left the house and that was strange in itself. Draco was never one to indulge in cosy home life.
He was keeping secrets she realised. Not that he had never had secrets before but this time it was different. He was keeping everything a secret, as if something very important had happened and he couldn't share it with anyone.
She sometimes thought she could guess what it was, but then again it was the obvious course of thought, what everyone thought and was marginally sure of. But she knew Draco, and he wasn't one to follow the obvious.
He had been born to be a rebel, granted a rebel who pissed his pants if he did his father wrong but still a rebel. That had been the reason why he had set out to haunt Harry Potter, when his father had told him to befriend the prat no matter what.
That was why his role model in that damn school was Severus Snape, the worst political, social, physical, and emotional model anyone could ever ask for. Pansy knew that Draco urged to prove himself to Snape, almost as much as he did to his father.
He never had hidden his thoughts about Dumbledore but something about that had always rung odd to Pansy. As it did almost every opinion Draco had about almost everything.
It sounded as if he was simply insistently playing the same record again and again; as if he only was fiercely reproducing something he had heard over and over. She had learned how to pick on when Draco spoke his mind or when he merely repeated his father's words to perfection. It was a difficult thing to do because most of the time Draco didn't know the difference himself.
But lately something was different. Lately Draco didn't talk much, he didn't gloat much and he thought a lot. What he thought about, as he sat at the prefect compartment, ignoring everyone else and staring out the window was unfathomable. He had only picked up his blazer and put it on, not exchanging any words or offences with anyone.
Well, only when he barked at Ernie Macmillan for sitting on his place but that had been quite fast for the other boy quickly moved away.
Pansy now stared at Draco, his profile more so. He had changed during the summer too. His nose, chin and cheekbones looked sharper, he had lost any round cheek he had ever possessed and his lips now looked fleshier than ever.
More over he looked pointy and pale, almost too pointy and pale but all the same beautiful. Draco had never been anything but beautiful, a beautiful baby, a beautiful child and was becoming a beautiful – and therefore dangerous – young man. A young man she didn't quite recognise since she saw him again.
Pansy inadvertedly placed her hand over his thigh, all the while looking at him so she would have the time to pull away if he wanted her to, he didn't so she stared to move her hand under his. It was weird, as it had always been, to touch Draco.
He was cold where everyone else was warm. For instance, his palms, even though they were both rested over his knees, they weren't warm and slightly sweaty as hers were, they were cold and dry. The same happened with the back of his knee, his neck and lips.
Draco was still looking out of the window. He felt Pansy's shy touch on his thigh and then frowned lightly when she made to slide her hand under his at his knee. He could simply pull away, or send her a look that would make her stay put. But on the long run that wouldn't matter anyway. The more he gave her, the more space she gave him.
That was something he had learned from his parents.
So he let her entwine their fingers, even though the act made his upper lip curl instinctively. One of the things he liked about being with Pansy was that she didn't need him. It wasn't as if she was gagging for him and he was taking advantage of it, and obviously it wasn't the other way around.
Pansy was there. Pansy was a pureblood. Pansy was a Parkinson and a Slytherin. Pansy was a good company. And Pansy cared about him, just as much as he cared about her.
They were not even close to the relationship people thought they had but it was safe. It was good and amusing, for both sides. So he let her because he knew she was nervous about being a prefect, because she was not used to be given any kind of responsibility.
Silly, shallow and stupid Pansy.
Just like the empty, bully and conceited Draco.
The truth was that she had things to prove herself and she understood him. They understood each other and that was convenient – not at all comforting but at least it was convenient.
'Only the Gryffindor prefects haven't arrived yet, yeah?'
It was Hillary Reeves, the Ravenclaw Head Girl. The one to answer that obvious question was the equally Ravenclaw Padma Patil. He knew her, had seen her many times. It was hard to miss twins at Hogwarts and the Patil twins were as recognisable as the Weasley twins were. Saved for the absurdly ginger head of course.
Her fellow prefect, Anthony something, was already taking notes but Draco wouldn't know of what. Ernie Macmillan was looking ever so the reluctant genius he wanted to be - his main frustration in life must have been his sorting in Hufflepuff. The female Hufflepuff prefect – he wouldn't be able to remember her name if his life depended on it – looked dreamy, decently pretty and all the way excited. A true representation of her house.
Hillary was checking her watch every five seconds, huffing something about lack of responsibility under her breath and sending suspicious glances at him and Pansy.
Actually that seemed to be what everyone else was doing, as if expecting the Slytherin couple to hex then at any second. Draco didn't care, he was used to that but he could understand why it affected Pansy. She didn't deal very well with silent tension; her things were offences and deprecating comments. Any environment that forced her to be quiet unnerved her.
The thought made him grin and he hadn't realised that he was looking over at Pansy until she mirrored his grin. He nodded once and then she only shrugged and looked away.
They did understand each other.
'I'm sorry!'
The door of the compartment was flung open and the sound made everyone inside either squeal or flinch. Pansy jumped slightly and Draco only frowned at the girl standing at the door.
She hadn't changed much during the summer; her hair was still everywhere and her eyes patronising. The Mudblood was the same annoying know-it-all she had always been. Draco heard Pansy grunting something under her breath and that made him smirk, Gryffindors always made Pansy happy.
She loved an opportunity to be mean and bitchy and they always provided that to her. Besides she took great pleasure in tormenting Granger, too.
'I'm really sorry, Hillary' the girl continued, flushed and honestly embarrassed 'We had problems coming and got late. I am really sorry... Come ON!'
Draco sighed as she urged something into the compartment. It'd be a good thing to finally get his bearings and fall into Hogwarts mode. The little bickering with Finnigan had been nothing, and sneers he spared to everyone. He hadn't spotted Longbottom but the next best thing was about to get inside and after two months he'd finally see the hated, despicable, annoying face of –
Ronald Weasley.
The ginger-haired boy burst into the compartment just like his friend had, his cheeks the colour of his hair as he bent forward and tried to catch his breath.
Draco felt Pansy's fingers tightening around his and that prompted him to pull his hand away. What the hell was going on?
'What are you doing here, Weasley?'
The room went still. Every face turned to Draco who was now white with anger. Pansy didn't try to reach out to him; neither did she openly look at him. She knew that was coming and knew it wouldn't be good.
'Mr. Weasley is a prefect same as you, Mr. Malfoy, and he has every right to be in this compartment.' The Head Girl said slowly before shooting the Grynfindors a reproving look 'Even if dreadfully late.'
Granger blushed and nodded in acquiesce as she got a handful of Weasley's shirt and pulled him to sit beside her.
'You are prefect?'
This time Draco heard Pansy's whooshing exhale. He knew he was hammering a very sore nail but he still couldn't believe it. Weasley? Weasley? But Potter – Potter was the old man's favourite boy. Potter was the bloody Golden Boy. What the hell was Weasley doing with a badge?
'Yes, Malfoy' the redhead hissed, saying his surname with that thick amount of hatred that only he could muster 'Got a problem with that?'
The Mudblood again gripped Weasley's clothes, urging him to stop. Draco was stumped for a second, scarcely aware that the other occupants of the compartment whipped their head from him to Weasley repeatedly.
Potter wasn't a prefect. Of all things he had thought possible, that most certainly hadn't crossed his mind. Since receiving the official letter and Snape's congratulations note, he knew, he simply knew that again it'd be him and Potter. Both Seekers, both unofficial leaders and both indisputable rivals.
Equals.
One way or the other.
But now. Draco felt himself pull his badge from inside his pocket and clutch at it tightly. He had it, Macmillan had it and Anthony Something had it. Hell, Weasley had it but Potter didn't. Harry Potter was the damn Boy Who Lived but wasn't the Gryffindor fifth-year prefect.
'It's official...' he said quietly 'The old man's off his rocket...'
'Shut up, Malfoy.'
Draco didn't pay any attention at the redhead's crimson ears or his affronted tone of voice. He simply turned to Pansy and blinked repeatedly.
'Potter isn't a prefect?'
'That was what I was trying to tell you before...'
'You knew Potter isn't a prefect?' he asked with a tinge of awe in his voice.
'I found out while you were at the platform...' the Slytherin shrugged.
'So you are prefect, not Potter?' he inquired Weasley, his amusement so clear that it took everyone by surprise.
The first to recover was Granger, as usual. She scowled at him and wrapped her fingers around Weasley's wrist, as if that would stall him from jumping at Draco with blood thirst carved all over his demeanour.
'No, Malfoy, Harry isn't prefect.' She snapped 'And yes, Ron is prefect. Are you done?'
Draco felt the corner of his mouth twitching and as he watched Weasley trembling and turning purple with anger, he felt that twitching pulling his lips to a lopsided grin that made Granger frown in apprehension and the red freak blink stupidly.
He leaned back on his seat, crossing his legs and nodding readily as he played with his badge, allowing Pansy to rest her cheek on his shoulder.
'Yes...' he chuckled lightly 'I'm quite done...'
'Well, now that you're quite done, I want to start this meeting.' Reeves started in that bossy tone that came naturally to Ravenclaws 'As fifth-year prefects you have several duties and obligations to attend.'
Draco could see Granger looking lustfully at Anthony's parchment and quill, he knew it was killing her to receive instructions – regardless of how pathetic they could be – and not being able to write them down.
'Most of these activities that come with your badge, and the responsibilities attached to it, you'll learn in detail at your first Prefect Meeting later this week.' Hillary continued the speech she had clearly memorised. Pansy yawned noisily by his side.
'For now, what you have to know is that your duties today are the patrolling of the corridors and the tutoring of the first-years. Naturally you have to keep an eye open for any senior who might be misbehaving but retain to reporting them to me or Hildegard Jonce, our Head Boy.'
Draco knew Jonce from Quidditch. He was Hufflepuff's Keeper and Derrick had knocked him down during a match the year before with a very well aimed bludger. It had cost Slytherin a hundred points but taking in consideration that the substitute was inapt and Draco had caught the Snitch, no one really was bothered by it.
At least, no one in Slytherin.
'When we arrive at Hogsmeade you shall lead the new students to the responsible teacher and then leave to the Great Hall.' Reeves went on, pleased with Patil's complete attention and Granger unwavering stare 'After that you shall lead the students sorted into your House, teaching them the way, the password and showing their rooms. Any question?'
Of course, Granger's hand flew up in the air.
' Miss Granger?'
'Can we get the first-years together now as we patrol the corridors?
Hillary seemed to consider that before she nodded with an appreciating smile on her face. It was known the fact that the Ravenclaws regretted the Mudblood's sorting into Gryffindor. After all she was the spitting image of everything they stood for and represented.
She was annoying, unattractive, boring and plain.
'You can do that, yes...' Reeves finally answered 'Some students might be incredibly lost and in need of assistance of any kind. Remind me to give Gryffindor 20 points when we get at the castle. Anyone else?'
Pansy was about to groan aloud at another interruption, ready to bark at the stupid wench or git who had managed to keep them there for another excruciating minute when she realised that all eyes were focused on her.
She frowned deeply, not understanding why they would stare at her with those foolish faces when she noticed that they weren't looking at her at all. Shifting her weight and getting her head from Draco's shoulder for the first time, Pansy found herself ashamedly stumped too.
Draco couldn't help but raise an amused eyebrow and let his lips quirk teasingly as he kept his hand raised. He was counting, trying to figure out how long would it actually take for the Head Girl to go back to business mode.
He got to 15.
'Erm...' Hillary cleared her throat softly 'Do you have a question, Mr. Malfoy?'
He moved his hand, in a very condescending and dismissing way before he looked coyly at Hillary. She blinked a few times before an expected blush tinged her cheeks.
'Obviously, Reeves...' he replied but his tone wasn't crude or harsh, what gave the words an odd ring 'I'd like to know when I'll be able to take points and assign detentions...'
His inquiring had the response he was expecting. Grange's eyes narrowed, the Ravenclaws shook their head disapprovingly, Macmillan blinked twice not knowing if he should follow the others or nod his assessment to Draco's curiosity and the Hufflepuff girl gasped noisily.
Of course, the best one was the blood traitor's snap.
'Just the type of thing you'd like to know, eh Malfoy?'
'I'm not talking to you, Weasley.' Again he used the words but not the harsh infliction 'I think it's a very valid question and anyone with intellectual capacity of a Blasted Ended-Skrewt would do it.'
'Intelligence has nothing to do with cruelty tendencies, Malfoy...'
He flashed Granger a smile, which oddly enough carried all the venom he didn't put in his voice and made him look dangerous. Draco saw the way Weasley put a protecting arm around the Mudblood's shoulders and that only made his smile widen.
'I am pretty sure that you would never fathom any of my...' he looked thoughtful for a moment before he added pleasantly 'Tendencies, Granger... Not even if you tried really hard...'
'Oh we can try, Malfoy.' Weasley hissed 'Look: stupidity, rudeness, bastardness, cruelty–'
Draco crossed his arms over his chest as the redhead boy counted off insults with his free hand, the other still over his friend's shoulder. The blonde boy only tilted his head to the side and leaned forward ever so lightly, his tone the one of those who were about to whisper something important.
'I see your point, Weasley.' He said contemptibly 'But you totally blew your argumentation: Granger already used cruelty and bastardness is not a word, you imbecile.'
'Shut up, Malfoy!'
'Very articulate, Granger... I see now that you are terribly busy improving your eloquence and are left with no time to actually take care of your hair...'
Draco's smile diminished ever so lightly at Pansy's hiss, his lips adopting the grin that came easily to him. The punch-able grin that clearly was making Weasel's blood boil in his veins.
'At least I actually do something productive with my time, Parkinson'
'Oh yeah... You read... And look like a beaver...' Pansy gave her a once over 'Very productive...'
'That's enough!'
The room went suddenly silent, the tension thick and oppressing but that wasn't anything new for anyone in that compartment, carriage or express. It was bound to happen whenever Slytherins and Gryffindors were forced together for any period of time.
'You are prefects now!' Hillary Reeves' voice echoed through the silence 'You have to settle the example and this behaviour will not be tolerated!'
Draco and Pansy weren't thrown off by the lecture in the least but the same couldn't be said about the Golden Couple who were now blushing deeply and mumbling apologies. Malfoy shrugged luxuriously and leaned back on his seat.
'So...' he continued as if nothing had happened, as Pansy placed her head back on his shoulders 'I'd like an answer to my question...'
The Head Girl looked at loss for a moment and by the way everyone else exchanged a confused look, he was sure that all of them were trying hard to remember what he had asked in the first place before everything got out of hand.
'The points' deduction and detention assignments, Reeves...' he supplied clearly bored.
'Oh... Right... Of course...' she nodded abashed before getting hold of herself again 'The prefects are only able to give detentions or take House points once they are officially in duty and that will only happen after the prefects attend their first Meeting. More over, those occurrences will only be valid on Hogwarts' ground – specifically inside the castle. Although you have the authority to record punishments now if it is utterly necessary, report them to me or Jonce so we call inform this particular student's Head of House so he or she can be punished when we get to the castle. Anything else?'
Draco shook his head and smiled again, making everyone tense and wary.
'No, Reeves...' he drawled 'That's more than enough...'
To ask for a Malfoy not to gloat, it's like asking the river to stop flowing or the sun to quit rising and setting every day.
It was unheard of and if it ever happened, it'd mean a premonition of the end of the world, as we know it.
Now, to ask Draco Malfoy not to taunt Potter, Weasley and Granger was like asking him to forsake pleasure itself. It was like taking the heat from the fire, or the salt from the sea.
It simply couldn't be done.
So to Draco to know that for the first time in four years he'd finally have more, be more, destroy and terrorise more than he had ever done– well that was the closest to heaven he had ever been. But what really took him to nirvana was knowing that even with all the power he inadvertedly had, even with everything he was capable of being and doing, there was no Scarface to get in his way or question him. There was no bloody orphan to match forces with him and for the first time, there was no harmony, no equilibrium to things.
Draco Malfoy was a damn fifth-year prefect and he would have to patrol the Express during the journey to Hogsmeade. He'd have to supervise the first-years and lead them to the teacher responsible to take them to the castle. He'd have to take them to the dungeons and teach them the password once they've been sorted.
But more importantly, he could deduct House points AND give detentions.
That could be summarised very neatly with one simple word.
Revenge.
Pay back for a wrinkle of nose at Madam Malkin's, a refused offering hand at Hogwarts, Quidditch defeats, duel humiliation and general annoyance.
It was so good to be 15 and Draco Malfoy.
'Draco...'
'Yes, Blaise?'
'You're still grinning...'
'I know that Blaise...'
'Well then..' the black boy grunted 'Bloody stop...'
But Draco didn't. He didn't because he was a prefect, he didn't because his father gave him a chance and he didn't because he had found the one thing that could help him get everything he had ever desired.
'Draco...'
'Yes, Pansy...'
'Blaise is right...' she shrugged 'You can stop grinning now...'
He only shook his head as he put on his robes. Crabbe and Goyle were already inside theirs. Parkinson and Zabini didn't bother but then again neither were planning on leaving the compartment anytime soon.
But Draco had things to do, mean things to say and people to irritate.
'Let's go...' he chuckled hollowly as he had ever.
And without another word he waltzed his way out, with the other two at his back. Blaise deemed necessary to raise his eyes from his book just when the blonde boy was out of earshot.
'What got him in such a great mood?'
Pansy shrugged and smiled softly, inspecting her nails.
'What ever does?' she clicked her tongue against her teeth 'Potter, obviously...'
The path through the corridors was clear and Draco had all the room he could ask for, even a bit more. He was so busy in his exhilaration that he overlooked, as always, the fact that it was only so because Vincent and Gregory were shoving everyone out of his way.
His hands were once again in his pockets and he whistled carelessly, ignoring possible cursing or painful sounds. He hadn't bothered to put his badge on, but he'd have enough time to feel it on his chest.
He had a whole year to enjoy it there. As it happened, Draco was enjoying his "patrolling". He patiently looked inside the compartments, flashing a grin or a sneer, depending of what he seemed fit for each grimace he encountered.
It was an acquired talent and he knew it, but he did have the bloodline to justify it and enhance it. Not to mention that he did have the looks. His whistling was unending, he didn't even realise what tune it was but that didn't matter. His thumb gingerly caressed the locket attached to his belt, as his other fingers hooked around the chain in his left pocket.
His wand – that he had kept shrunk inside his shirt's pocket – was now in its natural size and inside his robes. That was another thing that never failed to lighten his mood, the weight of his wand and its soft tapping against his stomach.
And soon he'd be able to use it to his heart's desire. Draco never understood that stupid law about underage wizard's use of magic. How could they give them wands at the age of 11, teach them how to use, let them feel the pleasure of using them and then shake their heads, saying that they'd have to spend two bloody months with their wands at their reach but not being allowed to cast one single spell?
Or charm?
Or hex?
It was damn stupid in his opinion. Even though he had loved that law fiercely when he was thirteen and loved it even more not two weeks ago, when it concerned him, he resented it deeply.
It wasn't as if he'd go berserk and deranged enough to cast spells and hex people just because he was a teenager and annoyed. He was pretty sure the one person prone to do that was well out of his teens and did so especially when he was not annoyed at all.
It was Gregory's grunt that got him out of his reverie. Without asking for a better, more articulated, response he instinctively looked around himself, trying to gauge in his surroundings a reason for the other boy's noise.
He didn't have to look too hard. Draco knew that if he hadn't been too busy spacing out and whistling, he would have heard them a long time before. His ears were trained for that lot and, most of the time, so were his senses. But he was in a good mood just then and that made him lapse.
And his mood was so good that he didn't even berate himself for it. With one single tilt of his head both Crabbe and Goyle were pushing open the door of the compartment at their right. Draco took his time to step in between them, his smirk ready and firmly on his lips.
There they were. He could see Longbottom (already shrinking away from the door), the Weasley girl glaring fiercely, Weasel and the Mudblood setting their jaws and frowning deeply but obviously his full attention was at the four-eyed cold stared of Harry Potter.
'What?'
Amazing, how amazing it was that he could get that tone without even saying a word. The animosity was tangible, it was oozing from Potter's every pore. Draco's smirk only widened.
'Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention,' he drawled easily enough 'You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect' he spoke as if he was talking to a very stupid child 'Which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments.'
He watched as Potter's eyes narrowed ever so lightly. It was a give away really how open the brunette boy was. Draco was sure that the only reason no one – not even Snape – had ever caught the Golden Boy in his lies was the fact that no one could ever prove that he'd done something wrong.
But naturally that little fact would never stop Snape from trying.
'Yeah, but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone.'
Draco's lip curled at Potter's snap, his hands closing reflectively inside his pockets. The ice-cold feel of the chain in his fist was welcomed and calmed him down, even though his nails were piercing the soft flesh of his palms.
It was the rumbling of Crabbe and Goyle's grunts at the others' laugh that brought him back from the extenuous exercise of self-control.
'Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?'
That about did it. The laughter died instantly and he was the one dealing the cards again. He didn't miss the way Potter's hands closed at his lap, or the squeak leaving Longbottom's throat. The Weasleys were both crimson red with fury and Granger was obviously trembling with anger.
'Shut up, Malfoy!'His smirk returned, his fingers uncurling but still hidden in his pockets. Potter was shooting daggers at him, as everyone else and honestly he couldn't have been more delighted with that if he tried.
'I seem to have touched a nerve' he feigned surprise, his tone nastily solicitous as he added 'Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of
line.'
'Get out!'
He mocked a bow at Granger before he swiftly found his way out, all the while sniggering contently. It didn't take him more than two steps and he was whistling again.