Fucking Potter. One would think the obnoxious prat was the backbone of the entire Wizarding World. Like they hadn't survived well enough for the 11 or so years their precious hero had been hiding Merlin knows where.
In Draco's unbiased opinion, they had been doing just fine. Best 11 years of his life.
After two weeks without a sighting of that ridiculous bird's nest and the body attached to it, it seemed like the world had tilted on its axis, spiralling into a reality that tried to be the same but didn't quite manage so.
Sure, there was an overall pretence of normality. Classes were scheduled as per usual, Gryffindors were a bunch of idiots, as per usual. Hogwarts was a joke. As. Per. Usual.
The air, though, was charged with unease. Even with the extent of magic, people did not simply disappear. If Git McNobody, second year Ravenclaw and best friend of "Hogwarts, A History", had suddenly stopped showing up, the whole ordeal would have probably gone unnoticed to all but Madam Pince.
But, Potter was a constant in the peripheral vision of every single person in the whole damned school, whether willing or not.
Surprisingly, it had taken a couple of days for the blast to blow at full power. Despite Potter's habitual courtesy of keeping his delusions of grandeur and heroic gestures until the end of the school year, people had assumed The Boy Who Lived was simply out there, slaying some beast.
A standard fucking Tuesday.
On the third day, the signs of distress now evident even in between the highest ranks, had made it clear that there was nothing standard going on.
Two weeks into the school year and even Longbottom could tell you that, based on the worry lines and perpetual frown on the headmaster's tired face, Dumbledore himself had no sodding clue of Potter's whereabouts.
And, as Draco could testify from his favourable position dead centre in this ever so amusing game of piggy in the middle, neither did the Dark Lord.
Potter was gone. Missing. Vanished. A. W. O. L.
And people were scared.
Draco wasn't scared. Draco was pissed. And, possibly, a tad guilty.
He sank deeper into the velvety armchair at the far right corner of the Slytherin common room, away from the crowd of students most likely speculating about Potter. For some reason, this particular armchair had ended up in front of a window, which meant an unappealing view of the murky lake water. Draco watched as some bubbles raised from the bottom, popping mid way and releasing a green substance vaguely similar to bobotuber pus. He wrinkled his nose, focusing on the repetitive motion of the bubbles and willing his mind to clear and relax.
He was possibly the last one to have seen Potter alive.
He had left Potter with a broken nose, hidden under what appeared to have been a surprisingly powerful invisibility cloak.
Probably choking on his own blood.
When a sharp pain brought his focus back to his own mangled finger, he admitted that he was far from relaxed, his nerves coiled tightly as a spring.
Chewing on the tender skin between his fingers and nails until raw was a habit he had developed during summer and one his mother would have been appalled at, had she not been absorbed in other matters, like his impending death sentence.
Malfoys didn't have nervous ticks.
He had noticed Potter's maimed fingernails enough times to know his perfectly kept manicure was the sign of a completely different upbringing.
He felt suddenly antsy, his breathing getting shallow and constricted. The air in the dungeons was heavy, sweat and must filling his lungs like poison.
He could sense Theo's stare boring into his skull and that was all it took for his feet to start moving.
And then he was running, one step after the other.
He barely registered crashing into another body on the stairs. Professor Lupin's presence was of no surprise, the entire school was swarming with Aurors and Friends of the Potter Club. The werewolf looked beyond his age, eyes wide and circled in black, and possibly as out of it as Draco himself felt.
With his mind still spinning, he wasn't sure either of them even acknowledged the collision.
It was only when he had reached the corridor to the main exit that he let himself slowly come to a halt.
He rested his hands on his thighs, chest heaving with the intensity of his breaths.
As the two inconvenient nuisances they so insisted on being, it was only natural that Potter's sidekicks chose that exact moment to cross paths with him.
He had seen it coming. To be honest with himself, he had expected it much sooner.
If it wasn't for the lack of evidence of misconduct, he would have bet on being dragged into an interrogation as a prime suspect. Even Snape eyed him suspiciously these days. It was almost flattering.
Granger and her freckly boyfriend looked like they hadn't slept in months. Her red-rimmed eyes still glistened with tears and Draco spared Weasley a look of contempt when the ginger sniffed loudly.
"Malfoy," Granger's voice was a sharp blade.
"To what do I owe the displeasure?"
"You know something." Straight to the point.
"As a matter of fact, I am indeed quite knowledgeable," Draco replied, keeping his tone on the edge of bored.
"Cut the crap, ferret!" There was a hint of craze in Weasley's blue eyes and Draco took an involuntary step back. "Where. Is. Harry?"
His eyes darted to Granger's clenched fists. The ghost of pain from her knuckles on the delicate skin of his cheek sent a red alarm to his brain, almost enough to have him backtrack on his current plan of fucking with them.
Almost.
"I knocked him up. Turned out he had all the right bits going on down there. With a dainty jaw like that I should have suspected he was hiding a pair of tits. So much for the boy who lived!"
Granger stared at him with a mix of fascinated incredulity and disgust that kept him going. "He was really ashamed, you know with me being this evil overlord and everything his poor Gryffindork heart stood against. He is probably giving birth in a ditch."
"What the actual fuck. You are insane, Malfoy!"
The Weasel's nostrils flared threateningly. Draco shrugged, "He wasn't even a good lay."
They stared at each other, eyes locked, both factions waiting for the other to break contact. Finally, Granger stomped her feet in frustration but grabbed the other's arm and led him away, mumbling about unworthiness.
Draco's mouth curved in a slight, victorious smirk.
"You know, you keep doing that."
Blaise stood against the wall, one eyebrow raised in amusement.
"And what is that, exactly?" Draco believed his given supply of energy designated to deal with this shit was getting perilously low.
"Alluding at something crass happening during your and Potter's rendezvous."
Fuck. You. Blaise.
"Well, however low your opinion of me might have gotten in the last year, I haven't actually killed the prat."
"I never said you did." The other boy's smirk could rival his own.
If only I could convince myself of that, was Draco's last bitter thought.
Doing his damndest to ignore Blaise's knowing looks, he quickly turned away, making his way back to Slytherin. He was gonna go find a bed and hopefully wake up 6 years in the past when Harry Fucking Potter was none of his concern.
