Give My Bloody Kitten Back
Draco chased after Zabini furiously. The nerve of that fucking bastard to think he had a right to rifle through Draco's possessions, and then just take one of them! Like he was Draco's equal, or close friend.
Psh. He wished. Draco didn't have any human friends, not real ones, and he didn't think the one person he considered his equal (besides Severus) would have access to Draco's belongings.
Although, if he did, Draco rather thought he would let him take them all. And Draco with them.
But that was merely wishful thinking, and Draco had more important things to do than daydream.
Like pound Zabini's head into his arse until they meshed completely.
Just because Draco wasn't a Death Eater didn't mean he wasn't Dark…
Zabini, frantic and ungainly in his flight, stopped near the Great Hall, where no doubt he thought a crowd would gather.
The stupid fucker was right. Almost magically (ha ha) a horde of teenagers descended upon the area.
Zabini looked exultant, and straightened slowly, preparing for his audience. He cleared his throat, and raised his right hand slowly.
Draco saw red. There was his only companion hanging carelessly from Zabini's ugly claw. Crying helplessly for Draco. Gods, Draco hated himself for ever leaving Gianfar alone.
And he couldn't do a bloody thing because Zabini had his wand pointed at the tiny kitten, ready to fire a nasty little spell that would probably turn Gianfar's organs inside out, or make him eat his own skin.
And even if he cast Expelliarmus at Zabini's wand, the prat would probably drop Gianfar or break his neck by a slight of hand.
Draco knew there were tears of rage streaming down his face, but he so bloody frustrated that he couldn't do anything! He could get his friend back if only someone would help him, someone who could cast a spell at Zabini while Draco rescued Gianfar.
But, as Draco scanned the eyes of the jostling, jeering crowd, he knew that no one would help him, the dirty Slytherin with now known poncey attributes. So he settled for an emotion-cracked growl at Zabini, "Give him back. Now."
Zabini laughed, a slow, rich sound that Draco knew he practiced for half an hour before heading to breakfast, and replied mockingly, "Aw… Does widdle Draco want his precious pet back? His dwarling widdle… kitten?!"
And the masses roared with amusement, as Draco knew they would, mindless fools attached to Zabini's puppet strings. Hell, they would probably A-K each other if he said it was cool.
If only they could see him behind closed doors, like Draco did. How he put on a glamour each morning to look that good, and how his voice was really an octave and a half higher. How he practiced smiling in front of the mirror every spare second he had, and how he would slave over his fricking hair a full forty-five minutes more than Draco did. It was pathetic, but they couldn't perceive that.
Draco could settle for telling them, but that wouldn't help his cause, as he wouldn't get Gianfar back, and Zabini's public wouldn't believe the truth. So he would stand ramrod straight, a patented sneer falling to his lips, and answer, "Yes, Draco does bloody want his kitten back. And you're going to give him to me, or are you going to add murdering the innocent young to your list of barbaric things to do today?"
A small part of the crowd rippled a giggle, and Zabini's face distorted into an ugly grimace for a moment. But then he recovered himself, and sneered almost as well as Draco could.
"No, that sounds rather boring, and my schedule is rather full today. I have so many appointments… (He gave a lewd wink as many of the girls surrounding them blushed) Anyway, if you want this flea-infestation back, get on your knees and beg for it, as befitting your station below a proper Pureblood."
Draco wondered if the Zabinis would ever forget that for a span of two years, over five centuries ago, they were actually higher ranking than the Malfoys were. He thought not.
But he was relieved that all Zabini wanted was his supposedly broken pride. The git was rather unstable, and Draco thought he might've killed Gianfar "accidentally" and then snicker over Draco's sobs. Draco was willing to do most anything just to get Zabini's slimy paw off Gianfar, and have him safely back where he belonged: in Draco's arms.
So Draco sank stiff-kneed to the floor, and muttered, "Please."
Without a moment's hesitation. Gianfar was far more important than his social standing in the eyes of soul-sucking idiots. They gasped, as though they thought he wouldn't do it. And then the chortles and unsightly giggles started, as Draco Malfoy bowed before a triumphant Blaise Zabini for the first time.
Draco lifted his head after a few minutes, and saw Zabini, still ill-fitting in his glory, raise his wand with an evil smirk, and press it to Gianfar's petite, fragile head.
He lunged desperately across the floor, a cry ripping from his throat, but he was too far away, and too slow at pulling out his wand. He closed his eyes in despair.
oOo
Harry was walking to lunch with Hermione and Ron, when they saw the commotion outside the Great Hall. He sighed disinterestedly. Great. Zabini and Malfoy were at it again. He would have to wait for his turkey sandwich and pumpkin juice while their stupid little standoff ended.
He wondered absentmindedly if they planned to fight at eating times just to purposely piss him off. Harry's stomach gave a large rumble, and he decided that his sandwich and juice couldn't delay.
Harry pushed his way through the slack-jawed throng, determined to stop their insignificant spat that was undoubtedly about one of them taking the other's favorite hair gel, or something equally asinine. He hated Slytherins, how they never thought about anything really important, or cared about anyone except themsel-
Harry stopped short, near the front of the audience. He had never expected to see this. It made him reevaluate all his previous positions on Slytherins in general.
He never imagined that he would see Draco Malfoy, king of all purebloods, willingly kneel before a glowing Blaise Zabini, who was holding a… kitten? In his hand. Wow. Harry was surprised that Malfoy actually felt positive emotions for something besides his own reflection.
Harry stared at Malfoy's bowed head. Perhaps Malfoy was a victim to Harry's admittedly skewed perspectives. Perhaps Harry needed to do an in-depth reevaluation of the gorgeous bloke.
And by in-depth, he meant whatever it took. Physically, socially, physically, erm… all Harry really had was physically. But it would be in-depth!
Harry transferred his gaze to Zabini. The prat wouldn't need a second assessment. He was merely scum hidden by a layer of outer perfection. But the longer the cover stayed, the more disgusting the scum would get.
The crowd jostled Harry, as the shocked teenagers finally realized that Malfoy was actually touching his expensive wool trousers to the dirty stone floor. Harry wondered, as he removed himself from reverie, if Malfoy was still too proud to let Harry rescue his pet for him. Probably.
But then it didn't really matter, because some jarring note in Zabini's face changed, and his wand rose in a threatening manner, and Malfoy was raising his head there was a look of despair and he was too far and Harry was so close and the kitten was crying and Harry said fuck this-
He lunged, wand ramrod-straight ahead.
oOo
Draco was in shock. He had been preparing to kill Zabini for killing Gianfar, and was thinking up the nastiest curse he knew.
But then there was this streak of powerful black, and it moved so quickly, and magic burst from it-
And then Draco was gently cradling Gianfar, and a glorious Harry Potter was straddling a terrified Zabini, and crooning things like, "You're lucky I didn't kill you by shredding your bones from your ligaments," and then Zabini was pissing his pants.
It was all so fast, and Draco noticed the oddest things.
Like how Gianfar's fur was slightly ruffled in the wrong direction, and how he really needed to be groomed.
How crimson and pale Zabini's face alternately was. It reminded Draco of a Muggle Circus.
How fit Potter was, and how his nice arse showed even through thick robes.
Well. That wasn't so odd.
And then Snape was tearing Potter off Zabini, and Potter turned around facing Draco his face slightly red but beautiful and he smiled and stepped towards Draco and they sort of collided and their lips sort of collided it was gratitude Draco thought to himself but it was nice gratitude and it was soft and lovely and quiet the crowd was and when Potter Harry! did that with his tongue it was beyond marvelous and not at all odd
Not at all odd.
oOo
A/N: Wah! I'm back! After a long time…
I'm sorry if some parts of this are confusing and you can't read them very well, but I've been reading Joyce, and I've got streams of consciousness stuck in my head. So, the bad grammar is on purpose. I'm sorry. :)