Hope you all enjoy this chapter!
In Which Miss Parkinson recruits the help of her friends & Draco has fun with a Gryffindor
"Blaise, get off your arse this instant!" Pansy shrieked into the sleeping wizard's ear, only seconds after she rushed out of his Floo. She had spotted the lazy bum splayed across a maroon chaise, robe splayed open and empty liquor bottles scattered along the side tables and marble, and had not wasted a moment.
The young wizard jolted up, almost falling off the furniture in his surprise. His first thought was that a certain fiery witch had finally given in to his undeniable charm and had returned to his flat to accept his proposal. Upon seeing Pansy, his friend and self-appointed heckler, jittering her leg and chewing her lip impatiently, he lay back and rested his head, shutting his eyes and relaxing into the soft velvet.
"Pansy, to what do I owe the displeasure?" he asked sleekly.
"Where's Theodore? Go get dressed! I'm not kidding, we've got a lot of work to do!" She hunkered down, making herself quite at home in Zabini's formal dining room.
Now Blaise Zabini was not as lethargic as some witches and warlocks faithfully believed, so he sat up, intrigued by his friend's irregular determination. Leisurely stretching his arms out he watched as she whipped out her wand to conjure quills, parchment, and pictures, along with a few other items he couldn't identify from his slouch on the couch.
"What've you got there, pug nose?" Theodore Nott asked, strolling in and seating himself at the long table. "I heard your screeching from two floors above while I was having myself a wank."
Pansy shuddered and threw a quick Scourgify over her shoulder.
"Well, I washed my hands, woman!" Theo grumbled.
"Nott! When did you get here, mate?" Blaise questioned, surprised but delighted by his friend's appearance. "I thought you were coming in next week!" Using his fingers, he unsuccessfully recounted the past few days.
"I've been here for at least three days, Blaise," Theo replied, tilting his head with his brows furrowed, trying to gauge whether or not his friend had finally lost it. "You were supposed to put down the wards but I was lucky enough to remember your motions. Why haven't you changed them, by the way?"
"Well obviously because I'd wake up if anyone came in," the snooty wizard countered, sniffing as he found a stray blonde hair from his shoulder. "Astoria Greengrass," he said as he held it up. "I didn't even sleep with her, still the bint managed to leave her trace all over me."
Theo stared at him worriedly for another second and then looked to Pansy for guidance. Pansy shook her head and pushed her pressing concern for Blaise's mental state to the back of her mind.
"Enough of you dolts! We can sort out Blaise's idiosyncrasies later! Right now we've got real work to do!" She urged Theo towards a chair and grabbed Blaise by the ear. Lord knew they'd be here until summer if the lethargic cat of a man were allowed to do things on his own time.
"Ow! That's the second time you've said we've got work to do, but you haven't told us what work we've got to do!" Blaise complained, rubbing the offended cartilage as he took a chair.
"Well, the thing is that," she paused, searching for the correct wording. "I can't really tell you what the work is about until you've guessed the first bit."
"Oh, well that sounds straightforward," Theo said sarcastically.
"Unfortunately, under pressing circumstances, I swore not to reveal this information. So you'll need to put your half-brains together and figure out what I'm trying to tell you. Or I'll have to resort to unethical tactics to put the thought in your head," Pansy threatened.
"Unethical as in?" Nott probed.
"Unforgivables of course! Probably just the Cruciatus because I don't want you dead and controlling you would be besides the point, yeah?" Pansy rationalized.
"Unforgivables! Gone around the twist, have you!?" Theo shouted, springing from his chair.
"Well, what else would I mean by unethical, Nott? A slap or a punch? I was raised better than that!"
"A punch doesn't sound that bad!" Theo retorted, shaking his head and pacing on the Persian rug.
"Next thing you know we'll be playing hide and seek like a load of Hufflepuffs," Blaise snorted. "Are you wearing yellow knickers under all that, Nott?"
Theo ignored the taunt and said, "You do know I was almost Crucio-ed to death in the war, right, Parkinson?"
"Well, I won't let you die!" Pansy cried, defending herself. "I've got more than enough practice!"
"Practice! What the hell do you mean you've got practice! Bloody hell, you weren't kidding when you said LeStrange 'taught you things,' were you?"
"Well, of course, I wasn't, Theodore! Who jokes about a bloody psychopath like Bellatrix?" Pansy asked incredulously. "Anyway, we're getting off topic here. Focus, boys! We've only got so much time before the ball and if our plan isn't in place by then we'll have to wait for the next one or orchestrate our own event which will take way to much time and we won't be able to use Malfoy's Galleons like we usua-"
"For the sake of Salazar, Parkinson, stop rambling and start talking! Give us a hint!"
"Can you give us hints?" Blaise asked, raising a thoughtful eyebrow.
"Well, she has to give us something! Are we just supposed to start blurting every word we know?"
"Just one hint," Pansy stated decisively, even though she wasn't sure how helpful this would be. "It's about Draco."
"Oh, you want to find his mate!" Blaise cried, cheerfully throwing his arms in the air in a most un-Slytherin-like manner. "Finally! I've been waiting years for someone to bring it up! I knew if I masterminded the plan Draco might Sectumsempra me open, but he's always been nicer to females, and considering you have a vagina, Pansy, you just barely fit into that category."
"How rude!" Pansy cried, crossing her arms unhappily. "And I suppose you know this because Draco told you?"
"Well, don't look so grumpy, darling," Zabini gloated. "I am his best friend."
"Oh, that's rich! And I suppose that's why he broke your jaw last year?"
"I broke his nose!" Blaise sputtered.
"It wasn't broken, just bloody, you delusional dear," Pansy said patronisingly. "After you left he sent a Patronus, asking me to come check it. Because I'm his best friend!"
"Well, at least I know who his mate is!"
Pansy's eyes bulged from her skull, her jaw slack and her ears steaming. "YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" she roared, lurching up so quickly her chair fell backwards.
Blaise looked scared for his life, his spine straight against the chair and his fingers wrapped around the wand in his pocket. "Now listen here, Parkinson! You can't expect Draco Malfoy's best friend to be a former member of his fan group!"
"And what about you!?" Pansy shouted, sticking her finger in his face. "You were all over Draco when you had your 'I'm not bi, I'm just sexual' phase!"
"That wasn't a phase! It was a curse and you know it!" Blaise accused. "At least I didn't suck Ernie Macmillan's cock so that 'Drakey-poo' could have a seat in the front row during Charms! Not that you knew, but he only wanted to sit near Granger because-" Blaise blanched, realizing his mistake as understanding bloomed in Pansy's eyes.
"It's Granger!" she exclaimed, righting her chair and using it to climb onto the table to do a little jig, ignoring Blaise's commands to get down.
"That's ten thousand Galleons you're dancing on, Parkinson!"
"Blaise, you fool! I'm going to tell him when we see him next!" Pansy sang, hopping off.
"No, you won't!"
"Oh, yes I will," Pansy returned, settling back into her seat with an unctuous grin.
"You won't say a word if you know what's good for you, witch," Zabini threatened.
"Now, now, Zabini, baring your teeth at me like a dog won't do you any good now. You've already broken Draco's trust and what sort of a best friend would I be if I didn't tell him about such an arrant betrayal!"
"Parkinson, if you want to live to see tomorrow you won't open that fat trap of yours-"
"The only thing fat about me is my arse, Zabini. And if I do remember correctly you loved my arse more than any one else's. I specifically recall one time when you wrote a sonnet to my bum in fourth year after I-"
"Yes, yes," Blaise cut her off nervously, recognizing the lost battle. Pansy's smirk grew even wider as she settled into her seat assuredly.
"Never mind all that!" Pansy said, deciding to use that little tidbit at a later time. "What's important is that we all know and now we can move forward-"
"What do you mean by 'his mate'?" Theo asked uncomfortably, his gaze shifting between his two friends.
Blaise and Pansy looked at each and groaned simultaneously.
After Pansy had left his office, Draco loitered, thinking back to his Hogwarts years. It had been so easy being in such close proximity to her. Now he had to stage run-ins or wait for Ministry events to see her. First year he wasn't too mean, choosing to observe the Muggle-born conundrum from afar rather than speak to her. Second year was terrible, him calling her a Mudblood in front of a crowd. He'd seen the anger in her eyes wither into something pathetic and uncourageous, a look that should have never introduced to her expressions. But he hadn't lashed out because she'd hit the nail on the head, it was because she clearly thought so lowly of him and he couldn't stand to see her defend Potty and His Weasel.
How he longed to shake young Draco and tell him to be true to his thoughts. But it wouldn't have been of any use – even young Draco knew the dangers of being honest and open, especially regarding his own belief of Muggle-borns. How he had twisted and turned in his bed that night, wishing that he had never called her the dirty word. Still, he could see the ghost of a tear in her eyes. He shook his head, clearing his morose thoughts and recalled the summer before fourth year. He'd warned the Golden Tri-diots away, wanting Hermione out of harm's way. The Weasel, of course, hadn't taken the tip for what it was and chose that moment to grow bollocks, advancing on him. Hermione, smart witch that she was, held the ginger idiot back, dismissing Draco with a quick "never mind," but giving him a look that showed she understood. If he didn't care whether they lived or died he wouldn't have bothered warning them away and Hermione understood that.
'Smart girl,' Veela said. 'She deserves a present for all the times she saved our behind by being brilliant.'
'And she deserves a punishment for not catching on to our affection,' Vey added, grinning from his perch in the cage. 'Perhaps a spanking or two will do the trick. I would love to see her bubbly arse turn red for us.'
'There's no in between with you, is there Vey?' Veela said angrily. 'Most wizards would be ecstatic with just a pink arse but you have to go further and wish pain on her!'
'There is a fine line between pleasure and pain,' Vey said wisely.
'Only sadistic psychopaths say that kind of thing!' Veela screeched, causing Draco to flinch. He was surprised by Veela's vehemence, only having seen the softer side of his magical lineage, and Vey's coolness, only having experienced the brutish side of the beast.
'What do you know about sex?' Vey sneered, the sound of cracking knuckles resounding within the walls of his mind. 'You're a virgin!'
'Listen here you evil demon, when you talk about my mate you call it making love and that's final!'
Vey howled in laughter.
'And just what are you laughing at you... you, you- you heathen!'
Vey's laughter grew noisier as he bent over at the waist holding his side and barely able to gasp in a breath, prompting Draco to tune out the crazy voices inside his head.
Merlin damn his great-great-grandfather for harming a bitter, old witch disguised as a young Muggle! The poor woman had only been trying to put out her fire for the night, probably fed up with ugly bastards, and Brutus Malfoy had to just cock it up and – not only turn her down – but throw a dozen Hexes and a few failed Unforgivable in her direction. Now Draco was stuck with a cursed beast in his head, capable of breaking its chains at the most inopportune of times. And as if being told by his parents that he was cursed to have a raging beast in his head for the rest of his life wasn't enough, they added a cherry to the ice cream by revealing to him that his family's 'pure blood' was not so pure after all because they were a family of blasted Veelas, the credit going to his earliest dated ancestor, Armand Malfoy, who pissed off a Veela by being faithful to his wife. Of course, the bastard had to ruin it for them all! How hard would it have been to sleep with a bloody Veela?
Draco sighed, massaging his temples before pulling himself up. He wasn't going to be doing any more work, so there was no point in just sitting around. He locked his office with a twitch of his wand and headed towards the lift.
Because his elevator was private, going down thirty-three floors only took a few seconds. He praised himself for putting one in. His time at the Ministry had given him a taste of how dreadful lifts could be with a large amount of chatty witches and wizards who grew abruptly silent in the presence of a Marked man. Of course, there was also the occasional ride where it was just him and a witch, which resulted more often than not with him deflecting a willing cunt, or him and an enthusiastic wizard, which meant he had to endure small talk. Either way, Draco was happy to avoid the pointless word exchanges, again commending himself for putting in a private lift and avoiding all the mess.
But luck was not on his side. In the lobby, waiting for him, was one of his least favorite employees, Marcus Flint.
"Draco Malfoy! How are you today? Heading out early, are we?" Flint grinned. "Being the boss must be nice."
"Good and yes," Draco replied shortly, wondering why the fool spoke to him as if they were old friends. Well, he supposed they were old friends, but not the type of old friends that really mattered. Flint was a good minion at Hogwarts, but Malfoys had a history of outgrowing their minions, as a right of way. So chatting with his former Quidditch teammate was not something Draco wanted to spend time doing.
"I'm doing okay, too, seeing as I work for the most profitable corporation in the wizarding world, eh? Thanks for that!"
"Just doing my job, Flint," Draco said pointedly, angling his body towards the entrance.
"Right, right," Flint trailed off. Draco saw the wizard catch on to his disinterest and rack his brains for a topic that was compelling. Well, good luck with that, Flint- "Have you heard the news?"
"What news?" Malfoy returned, irritated by his vagueness.
"The news about Hermione Granger and Oliver Wood!" Flint exclaimed, excited to see Draco's ears perk.
Vey narrowed his eyes, glaring at the large-toothed man before him while he made a mental checklist of the available weaponry in the room – lamp, coat rack, candle holder, vase, pro- Draco cut him off: "No, I haven't."
"It's crazy! Apparently, they've been going around behind Weasley's back-"
"I thought Weasley was with that Lilac girl," Draco said, attempting to recall any tabloid covers he might've subconsciously seen on Diagon Alley.
"No, Lavender and Weasley broke up a few weeks ago and everyone thought that Granger and Weasley were back together, because that's what Weasley said-," His temples throbbed as his eyes went green, the ancient monster inside him fighting to take control and pummel the messenger of bad news. "-But I guess he was trying to force her into a corner-," Of course that was the Weasel's stupid plan, Draco thought, forcing a furious Vey into submission, "-because there are pictures of her snogging Wood in the Prophet-," Shock colored Draco's thoughts, before Veela's rage kicked in, hammering against the ridges of his brain. 'My mate snogging Oliver Wood! While I can't sleep because of the guilt, my mate is busy snogging Oliver fucking Wood!'. A darkness took over him, his face suddenly seeming more angular and imposing, the aristocracy of his heritage clear and the menace in his eyes blatant. "-and Hermione never struck me as the slag type. Then again, you never know with witches, do you? She could be having Potter on the side for all we know-"
"Stop," Draco ordered, ignoring the surprise on his informant's face. "Thanks for the chat, Flint."
"Your eyes are a bit green, boss.. Might want to to get that checked out," Marcus advised, crinkling his brow.
"Right," Draco said, spinning on the heel of his snakeskin loafers he stalked out the front doors. The freezing air and whipping wind had no effect on his person, neither did the shards of flying ice nor the crunchy snow melting in his shoes. Even a few Muggles gave him looks of concern before he fixed them with his malicious scowl.
How could this have happened? He knew it was an eventuality that Granger would find a man to settle down with, but the reality was insupportable. He tried to keep a hold of himself but his rage was too great, the adrenaline pumping through his veins at a phenomenal speed, building him up for a fight.
'Stupid, stupid girl,' Vey thought darkly. 'She never knows what's good for her.'
'She's managed thus far without us,' Veela thought grumpily, if only to contradict his nemesis.
'If she did, she wouldn't be on her knees for Oliver sodding Wood.'
'You don't know that she's on her knees! It was just a kiss...,' Veela defended. 'Right?'
'You would be so dense to think it was just a kiss, wouldn't you, you ninny?'
'I'm not a-'
Vey interrupted. 'Would we take just a kiss from her?' Veela shook his head. 'Then why on earth would that smarmy bastard Wood or any other man with half a brain take just a kiss from her?'
Finally understanding the situation, Veela threw his head back and screeched, the vibrations aggravating Draco's headache further and making him want to carve his own brain out. Vey joined in, howling and rattling the metal of his cage.
Draco tried to calm the distressed clowns, but he knew it was of no use. Vey was running rampant in his head, tearing up rational thought and plotting ways to get back at the stupid, stupid witch. It took everything in him to hold the monster at bay, thrashing and fighting against the chains he'd been locked into. It wasn't much, and if Hermione kept seeing other men it wouldn't hold, but for now, it worked. Draco swallowed back the impulse to knock Wood's door down and quarter the man, and instead focused on finding a solution.
It was obvious that neither Vey nor Veela would ever allow Hermione to become someone else's; Veela's furor was too great that he would end up causing permanent harm to any of her lovers and Vey's dominance would shine through in the form of kidnapping Hermione and taking her by force, the latter of which would not do. He'd try his damnest to pursue the obtuse woman before the two tore down the town and bled everyone dry, because – let there be no mistake – that's exactly where it was headed.
But taming the beast was too difficult when he felt the rage himself, when he himself wanted to hang Wood from his dungeon walls and strap Hermione to the flogging bench so that the Puddlemere United player could die as he watched Draco fuck his mate while she screamed that she'd never had it better.
Again fury clogged his thoughts as he thought of Granger and Wood entwined in a lover's embrace, whispering to each other after sex, and making eyes across the room. As he passed a general magical market, the cover of Witch Weekly caught his eye. Heat rose to his neck and he ground his teeth to the point of pain, jaw and fists clenched. There, splayed out across the cover, were his mate's lips, smashed against a very eager and soon-to-be maimed Oliver Wood. Another tabloid showed a closer shot, a bit of saliva hanging from their chins, a hint of their tongues pressed together. He had to look away, unable to bear the sight. Along the side were shots of the two laughing and holding hands, strolling without a damn care in the world. He pulled his lip back in a snarl as he imagined Granger laughing at a joke Wood made, leaning in to kiss him without a thought, grabbing his grubby paws like they belonged together! Veela cried out pathetically at every new image, amplifying Draco's own anguish.
It was too much to think about, and he couldn't spend a moment more dwelling on it. He could already hear Vey's oily voice persuading him to begin a little harmless research on the boy's whereabouts. He couldn't do that, since then he'd have a murder on his hands (and he was far too emotional to not leave any evidence behind), but he knew what he had to do now.
He was going to ensnare Hermione Granger, catch the pretty witch and trick her into falling in love with him. He would befriend her mind and slowly crawl into her heart, claiming all the free space and conquering all the rest, making her completely dependent on him. After he was through with her she'd be so dependent that she would look to him before deciding whether or not she should put more salt in her food! Aside from him, Oliver Wood would be the last man to ever know her pretty lips.
She had better be ready, because he was coming for her.
Soon.
After having a single Butterbeer at the Leaky Cauldron, where a group of old Ravenclaws whispered about 'the Death Eater in the corner, there, you see right there,' Draco decided he needed a proper drink. Obviously, he couldn't stay here, because the other patrons were growing more watchful of his presence, but he knew it was too early to head home and he was too moody to meet up with his friends, especially considering he had just yelled at one. He opted to visit one of his favorite hiding spots, The Willow's Whisper. It was an upscale bar, named for the Whomping Willow's distant relative which was planted near Beauxbatons. Much like their student body – and unlike the Whomping Willow –, the Whispering Willow was graceful and beautiful, providing shelter to those in need. It had opened towards the end of the Reconstruction Era, so it promoted a wide range of customers. And, as a bonus, because the menu was overpriced, there weren't many older, more prejudiced regulars, making it easier for him to blend in.
On this frozen evening there were only a few people willing to brave the blizzard outside for a drink at a pub. One of those brave people, as any Muggle might guess, was Harry Potter. Where else would the renowned Scarhead be on a wintery night, but in an empty pub, brooding at the end of the bar in his trademark 'woe is me' manner?
Draco supposed that if he were to truly attempt pursuing his mate, making friends with the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die would make it that much easier. He took a step towards the Gryffindor, hoping that it was also a step in the right direction.
However, as the blond headed for the bar, so focused in his righteous quest was he that a dark wizard with a vicious eye, seated in the far corner of the establishment, escaped his notice.
It was all the better for the dark wizard.
"Potter," Draco acknowledged, sitting a stool away from the Golden Boy himself.
Harry's head shot up, meeting the eyes of his former foe. Just from that movement it was obvious to Draco that Harry was beyond drunk, so the light shining in those supposedly "almond" eyes made sense – Harry Potter was itching for a fight.
"Malfoy," he spat, catching the eye of the bartender and pointing down to his empty glass. The young bartender looked reluctant to refill the glass, but knew better than to turn down the Greatest Wizard of the century, so he poured another pint of Firewhiskey.
"I'll take the same," Draco requested politely, ignoring the widening eyes of the young wizard as he recognized the notorious ex-Death Eater. It must seem odd that the two were seated together, the protagonist looking far more disheveled than the antagonist. Well, I guess not, seeing as I am a Malfoy. But still. "So, Potter, I assume from the looks of things life hasn't been treating you too well."
"Yeah, what's it to you, Malfoy?" Harry asked indignantly, slurping down a third of his drink.
"Just making conversation," Draco replied, shortly. He didn't want to come across as some sappy fool, citing how he only wanted to help and whatnot. The Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't trust such an obvious sentiment; he needed proof of good will.
After a long pause and brief hesitation, Harry said, "Ginny and I had a row."
"Women," Draco sighed, gulping down some Firewhiskey. Really, he shouldn't be drinking anymore, lest Vey and Veela decided to attempt a coup, but there wasn't much else to numb the pain. He'd tried bedding random witches, but the embarrassing truth was that he was no longer able to engage in that particular activity successfully, so he drank.
"Right?" Harry asked, his ire melting as he looked up at Draco. "What is wrong with them?"
"A lot," Draco answered, smirking. "But they're worth it in the end."
"Ya think?" Harry wondered, dropping his head into his hands. "I just don't know how to fix this one. Or if I should even be bothered to fix it."
"Of course you should, unless she cheated. Then dump the Weaselette and find a real woman," Draco joked. But Harry didn't laugh; instead, he grew silent, his shoulders slumping lower. "My god, did the Weaselette cheat on you?"
"Don't call her that," Harry replied weakly, giving the answer away.
Shocked and a bit in awe of the Weaselette, Draco wasn't sure how to comfort the heartbroken Gryffindor. He only knew the Slytherin way, so instead of saying "I'm sorry man," or "You deserve better," Draco said, "Let's get drunk, Potter. I figure it's long overdue anyway." Harry's pleading look was all Draco needed to swallow the rest of his firewhiskey, throw down a hundred-Galleon note. Yanking Potter from his seat he made their way to the Apparition point.
"Where are you taking me? You know that you won't get away with any funny business! I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, the most important third of the Golden Trio-"
"Maybe the second most important third, Potter. Would you have made it to second year without the Muggle-Born?" Draco asked.
Bristling at the insult, Harry shoved the blonde away and corrected: "Her name is Hermione Granger, and I'd appreciate it if you called her that!"
"Yes, I know," Draco said, outwardly remorseful but inwardly cheering for his performance. Now, Potter would have no reason to think he was befriending him with an agenda. "I'll make sure to call her that from now on. Now will you shut that half-blood trap of yours so I can Apparate us to a more appropriate place for sulking?" Draco asked, choosing not to ignore the worried looks of the people who had been happily enjoying their drinks moments earlier. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt him!" he called to them. They looked unconvinced.
"Still on with the blood prejudices, eh? You're a fool, you are, Malfoy. You know the war is over-"
"I'm only pulling your leg, Potter. Now, please, if you don't mind, shut up!"
Harry obliged the Slytherin and off they went, twisting and turn, nausea rolling in their guts as they bent space to transport themselves to... Malfoy Manor?
"Malfoy, am I dreaming or did you just Apparate me to the Manor... as in YOUR manor?" Harry asked, turning back to see the tall foreboding gates that once gave him nightmares.
"As if there's need for clarification that it's my manor," Draco snorted." But yes, I'm afraid we are at my manor, dear Potter. Is that a problem?" Draco asked, strolling away from the gates and down the stone pathway, drunk wizard in tow.
"No," Harry replied uncertainly, glancing around, sobriety inching in on him. "But why are we here?"
"To get drunk of course," Draco stated simply, dragging the reluctant brunette through the front door. "I'm not looking to spend another hundred Galleons on cheap Firewhiskey when I've got my own arsenal of liquor."
"When did you get so smart, Malfoy?"
Draco just smirked.
"A-a-and it doesn't make any sense! I mean how- why- what- why would she just risk it all for one fucking night with Zabini," Harry spat. "Dirty Slytherin swine that he is, I suppose he was a good lay." Draco didn't bother confirming his suspicions. Harry shook his head dejectedly. Realizing his slip-up, he glanced at his host and added: "Sorry, but you know what I mean."
"I do know what you mean," Draco admitted. Unchecked images of Wood and his mate flew through his mind for the millionth time that night. He clenched his jaw, reining back a bellow of rage. "But, it's better to grow out of the immature slights before you see the Weaselette again." And he would try to do the same with Granger, though he wasn't sure how well he would fare with a bitter Vey and a vexed Veela in tow.
"Don't call me immature!" Harry glared; Draco quirked an eyebrow. "It's fl-funny, but when you call her Weeeeez-let I don't really care anymore! I mean what is that? How could it all have changed so fast?" Harry cried, falling to his knees and throwing his arms up. "I thought she'd be the mother of my children, but- but now I can't see it! Now, even if we stay together, I'll always wonder about what she was thinking that night and how she could forget me! I'll always think that I'm not enough for her! I guess I never really was, seeing as she was the one with about a hundred boyfriends at Hogw-"
"Potter, I understand that you're upset, but don't be stupid. She chose to step out on you and it isn't any fault of yours. Tomorrow, we're going to work out what you want to say to Ginny and you can go from there. What's the point of lamenting over what could have been had she not decided to step out on you? What's happened has happened and there's no use wondering how it could've been because it can't be."
"Well, excuse me, Malfoy, for having a bleeding heart!"
"Having a heart is just an excuse for these pathetic water works."
"I'm not even crying!" Draco eyed him, as if to say 'it's enough that you're thinking about crying'. "And it's not my choice to have a heart, Malfoy! Merlin! How do you get so many women with that icy attitude!?"
"For your information, Potter, the rags have greatly overestimated my ability to bed witches. Though my fortune of good looks, brains, and wealth, gifted to me by my Malfoy heritage-," Harry rolled his eyes, "-garners quite a bit of initial interest, I usually fuck it all up by either, a, pining after someone I can't have or, b, saying something remarkably offensive because I have a low tolerance for asininity."
"Who are you pining after, Malfoy?" Harry asked, sitting up a bit. "Who's the lucky witch, or should I say, unlucky witch?"
"Perhaps comedy is not in your future," Draco deflected. "Though your friend Weasel could make it as a jester."
"You're probably right," Harry agreed, thinking back to the time Ron had managed to break every dish in the Burrow's kitchen while attempting to make a simple casserole. Charlie had walked in on his younger brother huffing at the burnt pan in the oven, whilst wearing a mangled pot atop his head. The real wonder was why Ron had flour on his face, because the recipe hadn't called for it. When asked he replied, he thought it would add some flavor. "He's basically doing that already, what with him helping George run the joke shop."
"Huh," Draco snorted in surprise. "Anyway, allow me to let you in on a little secret: a baby Weasley is the stuff of nightmares. Can you imagine? Newborns are already disgusting enough, wrinkly goblin-looking little buggers... But common freckles and coarse red hair to top it all of? My god, man! Why would you hope for such a terrible thing?" Veela yelped in disgust at Draco's mean words, and even Vey grumbled obscenities under his breath. Both, of course, wanted to see their mate round with child as soon as possible, meaning yesterday.
"The red hair isn't so bad," Harry said forlornly, "or the freckles."
Draco shook his head and took another sip of brandy. "Just know, that you'll do the world a huge favor by ending it. Your children will be celebrities, like you! And if you reproduce with the Weasel's sister, the standard of beauty will drop significantly. Any old Longbottom off the street could become a model! The horror!"
"Longbottom's not so bad," Harry reasoned, finally lifting himself off the floor and snuggling into the couch, even going so far as the nuzzle a pillow, to Draco's revulsion. He needed to remember to throw that one out. "You're not so bad, Malfoy."
"Why thank you, Potter," Draco replied sardonically, gulping down more brandy hastily. It was one thing to gain Potter's favor to make it easier to snag his mate, but it was entirely another thing to gain Potter's favor because he enjoyed the company of the Scarhead. It was time to get to bed before he went soft like Parkinson.
"Nooo problem," Harry sighed, turning to his stomach and setting his head in the crook of his arms. "I don't suppose you'll let me spend the night? I believe I've drunk far too much to transport myself," Harry said facing the couch, his muffled voice drawing a hearty laugh from Draco.
"The room is yours, Potter. There's also a guest suite down the stairs - fifth door on the right -, if you decide you'd rather sleep in a bedroom rather than my study." Harry grunted noncommittally, settling himself further. "Right. Just snap your fingers if you need anything. Good night, Potter."
"Why would I snap my fingers- Oh right, House-Elf. Forgot that you're a filthy pureblood for a minute there," Harry mumbled into the sofa. "Hermione will have it out for you when she hears about it, you know."
A smile tugged at the blonde's mouth as he pictured the scene. An irate Hermione Granger would raise her voice and grow heated as Draco refused to dismiss his House-Elves. Her face would flush and her chest would heave, giving just enough friction for her little nipples so that they would harden, poking against her shirt and shifting the mood of the argument entirely. He would take a heavy step towards her, licking his lips as he imagined the sweet, pebbled tips under his tongue and between his teeth... "I look forward to it." Finishing off the last of his brandy, he placed the glass on the side table and stood, making his way towards the closed entrance. With a wave of his wand, the heavy doors flew open and he continued out.
"Oi!" Harry cried, hearing the retreating footsteps. Draco peeked his head back in to see the Scarhead hanging off the furniture, waving his arm frantically.
"Yes?"
"Thank you, Draco. I r-really needed this," Harry hiccupped. Before Draco could reply, the drunken wizard was out like a giant, snoring to himself and muttering about truthful Nargles and lying fire-crotches.
"Anytime, Harry," the Slytherin prince said to himself. And it was better that way; he didn't need the righteous Gryffindor scuffing up the leather with his dirty shoes every night.
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