After the meeting with Slughorn thankfully ends Harry follows Zabini under the invisibility cloak back to his compartment knowing where there are sixth-year Slytherins there will be Malfoy. As Zabini goes to sit down the train shifts causing Zabini to land in Parkinson's lap, leaving the bench free for Harry to jump up and propel himself up to the luggage rack. For a moment he worries that Malfoy sees him because he glances at the spot where his foot appears with interest, but then he goes back to watching Zabini and Parkinson detangle themselves with amusement. Zabini settles his head into Pansy's lap as she starts petting his hair, like a spoiled lap dog.
"So Zabini," Malfoy says, "What did Slughorn want?"
"Just trying to align himself with well-connected people," Zabini says, "Not that he managed to find many."
"Who else did he invite?" Malfoy demands, his grey eyes intent.
Zabini grins wickedly as if he knows Malfoy is asking something else.
"Potter."
Draco scowls and Harry wonders if he is thinking about their encounter in Madam Malkin's shop.
"Oh yes, who could leave out the Golden boy?" Malfoy sneers, grinding his teeth together.
Zabini's eyes brighten as if he scored a goal.
"And that Weasley girl."
Malfoy sits up straighter, his eyes narrowing.
"Not her!" He all but hisses.
Zabini seems to relish his reaction and nods fervently from Parkinson's lap.
"Why would he invite a Weasel? Least of all her." Malfoy growls, not seeming to be able to contain his disdain.
Harry feels a wave of protectiveness spike in his chest at Malfoy's obvious dislike of Ginny. What did she ever do to him?
"Many boys think she is gorgeous. Potter seems to agree, he couldn't take his eyes off of her, and acted like she hung the moon." Zabini says.
Harry feels his face heat up. He did not act like that; he thought in embarrassment.
Parkinson frowns, stopping her petting, "If I remember correctly even you said she was pretty."
Zabini freezes and seems to regret every life choice that led to this moment.
"I'd never lay a hand on her darling, she's a filthy blood traitor, you're as pure as a princess, she's about as clean as a nasty house elf."
Parkinson seems satisfied with this answer and begins stroking Zabini's hair again.
"Was Lu-Lovegood there?" Nott asks in such a quiet voice as he looks up from the giant book in his lap, Harry startles, forgetting he even sat with them.
"No Theo, your embarrassing, blood-traitor crush was not there," Zabini says in a snide voice.
"Could you imagine Loony, at an upstanding social event? Just imagine the things she would say!" Parkinson squeals.
"Did you know that nargles predict the weather!" Zabini crows.
"There goes my thoughts, the Blibbering Humdinger must have stolen my them!"
"It's wrackspurts." Nott says in the same quiet voice.
"What?" Parkinson asks, her eyebrows disappearing behind her bangs.
"Wrackspurts float through your head and make you lose your thoughts." Theo says in a louder voice, seeming to gain confidence from some hidden source, "And don't call her loony, she's perfectly sane!"
"Don't tell me, you listen to what that Janus Thickey patient says, Theo?" Blaise asks in mock sympathy.
"Maybe his brain has been taken over by Wrackspurts. Quick, we better take him to St. Mungos." Parkinson cackles.
Malfoy lets out a cruel laugh with her but his eyes look empty of emotion. For a moment Harry thinks he sees tears spring in Nott's eyes, but before he can be sure Nott turns and runs out of the compartment. The door slides shut with a soft click behind him.
For a brief moment, regret flashes on Zabini's face and he almost seems human, then it disappears behind his cold mask.
"Do you think we went too far?"
"No," Draco says, wearing a hard face, "You know how it is for him at home. How it is for all of us. Only show weakness if you want someone to crush it beneath their foot."
"But he's still so sensitive even after everything, how did he even end up in Slytherin?" Parkinson complains.
Malfoy's mask sobers and he frowns, "Survival. His father would have disowned him if he sorted into anywhere else."
The train comes to a halt after the words fall out of his mouth and they all gather their stuff. All of them except Malfoy.
"Are you coming, Draco?" Pansy asks.
"I'll be there in a minute; I still need to change," Draco says.
Pansy shrugs and files out behind Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle. When the door slides shut, Draco saunters over to his bag and pulls it off the rack. He throws it on the bench and unlocks it, rifling through its contents until he finds his uniform and robes. He tugs on his charcoal grey tie and pulls it off his head, tossing it into his open trunk. His fingers undo the buttons of his Parisian silk waistcoat before doing the same to his underskirt letting them hang open exposing his Quidditch-toned chest. He turns towards the luggage rack as he glides his graceful hands down his chest chasing after the moving dragon constellation inked into his skin, stopping just above the buttons of his trousers. With deft fingers he unbuttons them, exposing the waistband of his pants. With a careless motion of his hand, Draco mutters a freezing charm at the poor boy on the luggage rack, relishing their sharp intake of breath.
Draco stalks to the luggage rack and grips the elusive fabric, ripping it off Potter. He enjoys taking in the long lean lines of Potter's body without the boy being able to fight against him, feeling the first spark in his cold dead heart since their guests arrived at his home. He knew practising his wandless magic this summer would have its uses beyond distracting his nerves.
"Hello, Potter never took you for a voyeur. Doesn't fit with the Golden Boy image." Draco says with a malicious smirk.
He grabs the boy by the shoulder and drags down Potter's prone body onto the ground, sprawling him face up across the compartment floor.
"Aren't you a docile little thing?" Draco coos at him, his voice cruel as he puffs out his chest letting Potter get a good long look.
Draco knows that Potter would be scowling at him now if his face wasn't stuck in place. Though he quite likes the innocent look of shock that regards him right now. Draco stalks around him, stopping close to Potter's head, cocking his head to the side in curiosity. He caresses the edge of Potter's face with the toe of his dragon hide boots.
"So submissive and obedient. You won't even stop me if I do this, will you?" Draco asks, raising his foot above Potter's face and ramming it down with a satisfying crunch.
Blood spurts out of Potter's nose, running down his face in a dizzying hot stream of liquid. It kisses his lips red, as it seeps into his mouth, contrasting with his emerald eyes. A sweet golden scent fills the compartment.
A low groan vibrates in Potter's chest.
"Are you into pain play, Potter? Does it turn you on?" Draco leers at him, his eyes drawn once again to the garish colour on his lips.
Potter's face continues to stare at him, not even flinching. Draco crouches down mesmerised, hatred burning through him like fiendfyre.
"Stay still," Draco breathes, as he rubs the pad of his thumb back and forth through the blood on Potter's lips, smearing it.
Draco's warm breath lingers on his thumb as he surveys his handiwork. Potter looks like a vampire's debauched plaything, with blood dribbling down his chin and staining his pale skin. Draco brings his thumb to his lips and savours the bittersweet tang of the blood, feeling a rush of adrenaline and power wash over him. It's almost as if an arrow has found its target in the back of his head, igniting a spark of magic within him. A small smirk plays at the corner of his mouth as he realizes Potter is just as powerful as he always imagined. With distasteful fingers, he picks up the invisible cloak and stands tall.
"Good boy" Draco murmurs as he tosses the cloak over Potter, obscuring him from view.
Draco gathers his things and with one final superior glance at the spot where Potter lies he opens the compartment door.
"Until next time, pet." Draco says his cruel voice dripping with sarcasm.
Draco lets the compartment door slide shut with a soft click pulling out the enchanted notebook and entering another compartment. Flipping it open he wrote down in his neat looping script,
"Target secured in compartment one hundred and five."
"Yaxley will be waiting at the next station." comes his father's reply.
Draco smirks as he waltzes off the train, his weakness that dogged him since the first year effectively crushed.
Harry stumbles into the Great Hall, his senses overwhelmed after months of silence at the Dursleys by the noise and chatter of the other students. The smell of the feast causes his mouth to water, but he forces himself to pause and look at Luna. He tries to give her a reassuring smile but ends up wincing, his face still smarting despite Luna's spell.
"Thanks, again, for healing my nose Luna, I'm pants at healing charms and Hermione would have thrown a fit," Harry says, glancing back at her.
Luna wears a dreamy look on her face, her smile serene.
"In Japanese anime, characters get a nosebleed when aroused," Luna says, looking off into the distance.
"Ummm…okay, Luna, but Malfoy broke my nose…I wasn't you know…" Harry stutters out.
She winks at him.
"Don't worry I'll keep your secret. I always thought there was more to your rivalry under all the fighting." She says, leaving Harry speechless as she floats away.
Harry shakes her comment off as Luna being Luna and makes his way to the Gryffindor table, where Ron and Hermione wait. Almost despite himself, his eyes drift to Malfoy, who zeros in on him. His wide grey eyes regard him with hatred and a touch of fear. Harry sneers at him as he glances away.
"Harry!" Hermione shrieks as he joins them at the table, "How did you get blood on your shirt?"
He completely forgot about the stain after Luna said that weird fact about Japanese anime.
"It's nothing, Hermione, I just slipped," Harry assures as she points her wand at the stain and removes it.
He doesn't want them to get on him again about his obsession with Malfoy and the danger he put himself in by trying to spy on him.
"What took you so long?" Ron asks, giving him an odd look.
"Yes, Malfoy was late as well. You weren't fighting again, were you Harry?" Hermione accuses in a suspicious voice.
Harry takes a second to gather his thoughts, using the excuse of adding food to his plate to buy him time. If Hermione guesses this, she doesn't say anything.
"No, I was talking to Luna, and I couldn't find a good way to get away. Then something she said surprised me and I tripped and fell," he says.
Hermione gives Harry a sympathetic look, not being able to put up with Luna at the best of times.
"Oh, Harry, that was very nice of you. I don't think she has very many friends."
Harry feels a spike of guilt shoot through him as he sees Luna at the end of the Ravenclaw table, alone.
"We should ask her to sit with us sometime," Harry says to try and relieve the feeling.
Hermione gives him a hesitant look.
"Luna's great once you get to know her." Ginny pipes in and Harry gives her a thankful smile.
Ginny never judges people and accepts them, quirks and all. He feels the same warm fuzzy feeling when he looks at Ginny as he did a week ago, and wonders what it means. He never really thought about girls in general, they always made him nervous and uncomfortable. He's never even dated or kissed one aside from his failed date and kiss with Cho last year, so the strange comfort he feels towards Ginny surprises him. Harry pushes it away though, he doesn't have time to be starting a relationship right now anyway. He has a Dark Lord to help defeat.
"Draco, are you not hungry?" Pansy asks, giving him a sharp look that reminds him so much of his mother that he wants to scream.
He forces another bite of his favourite tarte normande into his mouth and chews as nerves spike up and down his arms. It tastes like ashes in his mouth. He gives her a cold look. She scowls but thankfully goes back to paying attention to Blaise and his endless ego that always needs soothing. He feels…worried isn't the right term, neither is anticipatory. He feels like pixies crawl up and down his arms and buzz in his ears, trying to get his attention and tell him something is wrong. A few seconds later Potter walks into the dining halls.
Draco stares at Potter as wave upon wave of fury assaults him. How did he escape? Was his spell imperfect? Can Potter perform both wordless and wandless magic? It should be impossible, but Draco learned long ago where Potter is concerned anything is possible. Then he sees Lovegood walk in behind Potter and sneers. Of bloody course that freak had something to do with this. He watches Potter laugh and talk with his friends and seethes as he smiles at the she weasel. He has no idea what danger surrounds him in the form of Draco and his housemates. All holding wands pointed at him waiting for the moment Potter slips up enough to tear a hole in his throat.
Draco bares his teeth. He intends to beat all of his rivals before they get the chance. No one will stand in his way of saving his parents.
Dean settles onto the floor beside Harry leaning back against the sofa behind them.
"So, when is the first D.A. meeting?" he asks, his expression expectant.
Harry regards him with wary eyes as he puzzles out an answer that won't leave the Common room full of disappointed sighs. Harry is torn between wanting to help and protect his friends yet feeling overwhelmed by the weight of being Quidditch captain, Dumbledore's soldier, and a student trying to balance classes. Already he can see Neville creeping closer, looking hopeful and Seamus popping his head up from the game of exploding snaps he plays with Parvati.
"Ow!" Dean shouts, as Ginny, sitting above him on the sofa, slaps him across the back of the head.
"It is only the first night of the semester, give Harry a chance to settle in. Anyways don't you think he has enough on his plate with being Quidditch captain and handling his classes?" Ginny says with a scowl.
Dean looks vaguely guilty as he glances away from Harry, a faint blush on his dark skin.
"But what about Voldemort? Do you at least have any news of how to defeat him?" Seamus pips up.
Hermione and Ron's eyes turn to him even though he always tells them everything he knows. He often wonders if they think he holds back pieces of information because Dumbledore asks him to. Harry almost wishes that was the case instead of constantly being in the dark until after the fact.
"Umm.." Harry opens his mouth to say what he doesn't know.
"He doesn't have to tell you anything, Seamus those could be secrets between him and Dumbledore," Ginny growls, raising her wand in warning.
"But he's the Chosen One! It's his job to know how to defeat Voldemort!" Seamus sneers, glaring at Harry.
Harry feels himself grow smaller, desperate to hide inside himself, but giving into this feeling in the past only made the pressure grow stronger. So instead he releases it.
"I never asked to be your bloody Chosen One," he yells.
And how true that statement is he thinks trying to remember a year he didn't end covered in blood.
"And if anyone had bothered to ask I would have happily turned them down," he snaps, grabbing his invisibility cloak and storming into the empty corridors.
Harry finds himself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, the powerful wind whipping away all of his hectic thoughts. The peace only lasts a moment of course. He jumps at the distant sound of footsteps, throwing his cloak back around him, keeping it on through sheer force of will. A few seconds later Draco Malfoy's pale head steps into the open air, with a haunted look on his face. Harry stifles his startled gasp as Malfoy walks towards him, his eyes fixed on the star filled horizon. Malfoy collapses in a long limbed heap next to Harry, his outstretched foot inches from Harry's. He lets his feet dangle over the ledge, the thin metal bars the only thing keeping him from falling and leans his head against them. Harry feels the strangest urge to grab his robes and yank him back. He resists.
"I don't know what I am doing," Malfoy says in a desolate voice to his swinging legs.
Harry feels himself shiver, at the closeness of Malfoy's voice, it almost feels like he is talking to Harry.
"My mother's family believes in you, even named their children after you. They say you have the power to change fate," Malfoy says, glancing up at the sky, his eyes darting around the bright glowing lights that out here aren't ruined by light pollution.
Malfoy sighs in defeat.
"I used to think she was senseless, acting like a muggle, for believing in things bigger than herself. Though now I wonder how much of that was me and how much of that was my father,"
Malfoy grips the metal bars between white fingers. His voice gets even quieter as if he feels ashamed of what he says next and Harry has to lean forward to catch his words before the wind steals them away.
"I don't know what I believe anymore. I used to believe in the Dark Lord and his vision for a mudblood free world. I still do, but the more I'm around him the more it becomes clear that his goals are broader than that. I think if he remains unopposed he will kill anyone and everyone who displeases him."
Or if he's bored Harry adds in his head, his hands clenching in fists at Malfoy's use of the m-word.
"Part of me...a very small part of me almost hopes he wins, but then I think about my parents and I can't let that happen. I have to save them, they are as much a part of me as I am of them,"
"I don't know what I would do without them."
Malfoy frowns as his eyes scan the grounds of Hogwarts with nervous eyes.
"So if you are up there, if you care at all, change my fate, give me a way out that saves my parents without dooming everything else."
Malfoy squeezes his eyes shut and hunches his shoulders as a single sob wracking his thin frame. Harry wants to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, but he imagines that will not be well received. Malfoy shoves himself to his feet with a growl of frustration, "I'm such a twit for thinking this will make a difference. What would father say if he say me talking to fake gods in the sky like a ninny?"
Malfoy answers his own rhetorical question a few seconds later, "He would say that I was a hopeless fool for expecting anyone else to pull me out of my mess except for myself."
Harry would argue it is Malfoy's father's mess if it wouldn't get him a one way ticket over the railing.
"It doesn't matter, I'll do whatever it takes, damn the consequences," Malfoy snaps to the sky, a sudden fierceness burning in his eyes.
His fur lined cloak whips around with the force of him turning and stalking away. Harry remains up there a while longer mulling over Malfoy's words and wondering what he meant by needing to save his parents.
When Harry returns to the Common room it is empty and he finds himself sinking into a chair with conflicting emotions. The familiar warmth and comfort of his first home conflicting with the expectations placed upon him. The crackling fire and soothing presence of his friends help lull him into a half-awake state as he loses yet another game of wizard chess to Ron. Hermione sitting nearby, diligently takes notes from her book every few minutes, creating a feeling of normalcy in their chaotic world.
But as Harry glanced at his Marauder's Map, he can't help but feel a twinge of unease. Malfoy paces in the Slytherin common room with his usual followers in tow. Nott, surprisingly absent from the group, is holed up in the sixth-year dorms. A small part of Harry wonders if he should tell Luna about Nott's crush on her, but quickly dismisses it. He is probably the worst person when it comes to matters of romance. After all, his failed attempt at kissing Cho proves just how clueless he is in that department. If Nott wants her, he can find a way himself.
"This is interesting," Hermione says, not looking up from her book, "Did you know that you are a Leo, Harry and the animal symbol is a lion? It's from the Greek myth of Hercules, who had to kill a lion as part of the tasks he needed to complete to overcome death and become a god. They are supposed to be confident and passionate."
"I do seem to defy death a lot to complete tasks," Harry says in a monotone voice.
Hermione and Ron give him sympathetic looks.
"What do you want to bet that Malfoy is a snake or a ferret?" Ron says trying to cheer Harry up and change the subject.
Harry snickers at the look on Malfoy's face if his birth month was symbolised by his most hated rodent.
"I don't know when his birthday is," Hermione admits with no small frown.
"Wait, are you saying there is something that you don't know?" Ron jokes.
Hermione glares at him.
"I never claimed to know everything." Hermione replies in a heated voice.
"It's June fifth," Harry interjects before this turns into a massive argument.
They'd been having more and more of those lately and Harry wishes they would just get over themselves and realise that they liked each other. Ron gives him a strange look as he checksmates him for the fifth time that night. He wonders how Ron would look at him if he knew Harry almost sorted into Slytherin. Hermione riffles through her book until she finds the right page.
"According to this he's actually a Gemini, which makes his animal a fox. Gemini's are supposed to be creative, adaptable, and enjoy talking."
"Well those badges in fourth year were certainly creative." Ron says with a snicker, "And foxes are sneaky little bastards, there's one that keeps chasing the garden gnomes, drives mum around the bend."
"And the wanker never shuts up." Harry adds thinking about how Malfoy went on and on in the compartment taunting him, as if he loved the sound of his own voice that much.
"Hmm…it says here that Gemini are supposed to get along best with Leos."
Ron cracks up laughing, but Harry feels transported back to that day in the Great Hall where Malfoy offered his hand in friendship and Harry turned him down. Long before everything went to hell.
"So which month are the snakes?" Ron asks, "I could see Parkinson fitting that category."
"Not Zabini?" Harry taunts, finding Ron's unease with the Slytherin entertaining and a good revenge for all of Ron's jokes about Malfoy.
Ron gives him the bird, a gesture that he learned from visiting Hermione's family last summer, and retorts,
"Don't underestimate Zabini, mate. If he was anything he would be an owl. He stays above the other Slytherin conflicts waiting for them to pick each other apart before he delivers the killing blow, just like his bloody mother did with all of her husbands."
"The only snakes that are mentioned are part of the Chinese Zodiac and they are nothing like Slytherins. They are problem solvers. All the Slytherins seem to do is create problems." Hermione huffs, annoyed with their fighting.
"Too right," Ron says, all too happy to let her change the subject if his red cheeks are any indication.
Harry smirks to himself, it is Krumb all over again.
"It goes on to talk about Serpens the snake constellation which is based on the story about a hunter who kills a snake, and another snake heals it with a special herb." Hermione says scanning further down the page, "Again not very Slytherin."
"Malfoy as a healer?" Ron asks with a nasty grin.
Harry tries to picture Malfoy wearing neon green robes of St. Mungo's and fails.
"He would only do it for the prestige, not because he cares about saving lives," Hermione says with a derisive snort.
"Could you imagine his bedside manner?" Ron snorts and says in a snotty imitation of Malfoy's voice, "Oh you don't like the way I cured you? My father will hear about this!"
They descend into a fit of giggles.
"I bet he would refuse to treat anyone who wasn't a Pureblood or part of the sacred twenty- eight," Hermione says in a bitter voice.
They all go silent after that no one can come up with a funny comment after that.
"So, your book is full of rubbish then?" Ron asks in the resulting silence.
"They are just symbols, Ron, they don't have any higher meaning," Hermione says in a shrill voice.
"I thought that the whole point of reading this book was admitting that symbols did have meaning and to help Harry understand the ones in his prophecy." Ron shoots back.
"Sometimes symbols don't always have a higher meaning, sometimes they are just prejudice disguised behind a supposed higher power."
Hermione glares at him and Harry can feel another row in the air. Over the summer Ron and Hermione spent time comparing their thoughts on the invention of religion by wizards to hide their existence and its positive or negative influence on muggles. Needless to say, they are very different.
"I'm going to go to bed," Harry says bowing out before it gets too bad.
As he walks up the stairs, he hears them arguing about the superiority between being a fish vs. a virgin and feels good about his decision to leave.
"Ugh, Ron! You're supposed to keep the Quaffle out of the goal!" Ginny cries from her seat on her broom.
"Would you like to take my place?" Ron yells back, his face bright red as he barely keeps Chambers from scoring.
Harry ducks as a bludger flies past his head, almost smashing his face in. He eyes Cho across the field who is circling above the Gryffindor goalpost, keen eyes scanning for the snitch. Harry spots a flicker of gold flash under the bleachers and dives towards it, Cho seeing his burst of speed takes after him. They weave between the posts, in a wild blur, chasing after the glint of gold that moves in and out of his vision. The snitch swoops up and they both follow, Harry's stomach jumping with excitement as he leans forward on his broom, a cold wind whipping past his face. With adrenaline pounding through his veins everything falls away, his guilt over Sirius, the pressure of Voldemort, and the impossible expectations of the public. He never feels more alive, more himself than when hurtling through the air hundreds of feet above the ground. He hears Gryffindor score and Collin losing his fight to appear unbiased as he announces the current score a little too giddily.
Harry flies inches ahead of Cho, his bony arm outstretched as his fingertips brush icy metal. His hand closes around it, the soft flutter of its wings disappearing as he clutches it in his grasp. The Gryffindor stands screams out in victory as Collin announces the final scores and on habit Harry scans the Ravenclaw stands for a familiar blonde head, wanting to see his face pinched with disappointment. He frowns as his search comes up empty. Malfoy never misses a Quidditch Game, at least not when Gryffindor plays, almost like he's determined to be there when they fail. Harry lands and his team surrounds him, slapping him on the back in congratulations.
"Brilliant catch, cap!" Ginny says, giving him a wide smile.
"Thanks," Harry replies with a blush.
She looks beautiful like this, her long red hair windswept and fiery in the sunlight, highlighting the smattering of freckles on her tanned skin. So different from Malfoy's short bone-coloured locks and unhealthy parlour. He turns away as Dean fights his way through the crowd to talk to Ginny, his mind already drifting. He feels the itch again underneath his skin to check the map, to know where Malfoy is and make sure he isn't up to no good. Harry makes his excuses to get out of the party that they are planning and slips through the crowd before Hermione breaks through the celebrating team and starts asking questions. Once away from the prying eyes Harry pulls out his map and swears to being up to no good. His heart beats faster as he spots Malfoy and Anthony Goldstein in the library, their dots on top of each other. Harry pokes the map with the tip of his wand, sending sparks into the paper, but the dots stay in the same position. He shrugs assuming a map as old as this is bound to glitch.
In the library Harry scans the tables looking for a pale head but comes up empty. He groans under his breath, aware of Madame Pince's hawk-like eyes drilling into his. Malfoy and Goldstein must be in a private study room. Harry finds a table near the place Malfoy and Goldstein were supposedly and settles in to wait. The study rooms unfortunately work like the Room of Requirement, with the doors appearing when a student needs them and reappearing only when they leave. Making it impossible for sound to pass through the doors and keeping the library quiet the way Madame Pince demands. Harry pulls out his History of Magic book and a sheet of parchment. Hermione will have his head if he isn't halfway through with his essay due in class by the end of the week. He pulls out a quill and starts writing thinking he might as well get started to avoid the lecture from her.
Draco pulls out of the quivering body under him with a gasp, grimacing at the wet trail of semen and lube that drips off of him. Long red fingernail marks stand out in bright relief down Goldstein's sides and weeping bite marks mar the white skin of his shoulders. Goldstein winces at Draco's none to gentle treatment of him, his fingers clenching the edge of the desk Draco leaned him over, but gentleness was hardly part of their deal. He waves his wand in a wordless cleaning spell and tucks himself away with clinical disinterest. He considers doing one on Goldstein and then thinks that he is not owed the courtesy. Goldstein eases himself up and Draco watches with impatient eyes, trying to remember how he ever found this enjoyable. He understands the appeal of seeing your own spend splattered over another man's vulnerable area and recalls how it made him feel like a proper Malfoy heir taking what he wanted because it was owed to him, but those feelings are lost to him.
Now all he feels is sated and relaxed in the same way he would if he rubbed himself off. If anything, Goldstein got in the way of his enjoyment, with his too-light hair, and dull blue eyes. Goldstein straightens his hair he messed up just for Draco knowing how he prefers it and makes himself presentable. The marks stretch as he pulls on a shirt over his head and Draco shakes his head at the disinterest they inspire.
Goldstein turns to Draco with a flirty smile, and he fights back a cringe.
"Do you want to study and then go again? I should be ready in an hour, maybe less if you keep using that dirty mouth of yours."
Goldstein is good for more than his ability to spread his legs, but only just. He is passable enough in Arithmancy and Herbology and occasionally grasps the topics better than Draco to provide some useful insights. Draco bites down a sneer at his tacky word choice, knowing he might need Goldstein again before this all goes down. If for nothing else than a predeath fuck.
Sweet Circe, he is depressing.
"No, I have plans," Draco says dismissively, picking up his bag and throwing it over his shoulder.
"Of course," Goldstein says, the emotion falling away from his face as he lowers himself into a chair with a small wince of pain.
That is another good thing about Goldstein: no risk of attachment from either of them. Everything is purely business between them, and neither is confused about the roles they need to play to meet each other's needs. Goldstein spreads his books and parchment across the desk Draco fucked him against a few moments ago without a hint of hesitation, not even looking up as Draco leaves the room. That is what he wants in a Pureblood husband, cold calculating precision, and loyalty to the family image above all else. He only wishes Goldstein smelled a bit sweeter.
Draco narrows his eyes in irritation as the door shuts behind him and disappears.
The limp body of Harry Potter lays sprawled across the table in front of the door. His signature messy black hair falls in disarray over his forehead, concealing his famous scar. One arm is propped up serving as a makeshift pillow for his head, which rests to the side with his flushed pink lips slightly parted. A History of Magic lies discarded on the other side of the table next to an abandoned piece of parchment.
Draco's tongue darts out to moisten his suddenly dry lips as the scent of Potter fills him, intoxicating his senses.
Potter's wand sticks out of his robe's pocket, and he snatches it up twirling it between his fingers once before slipping it into his own. Draco clenches his fists. He thought he would have a longer break from babysitting duty, but Potter couldn't manage to stay in his protective ring of Gryffindor's for even one hour. He had to fall asleep defenceless in the middle of the library where any Slytherin could pluck him up and disappear with him. Draco's skin prickles with anxiety and he pushes against the urge to slap Potter.
A small smile spreads across Potter's face, creasing small lines into the skin by his eyes. Potter must be dreaming Draco thinks as he pauses to take in that smile. A smile he would have killed for to be directed at him even as recently as last year. But everything is different now. What once felt like boyhood rivalry and secret admiration soured into hatred and a need for vengeance for his family.
He feels a spike of anger. All he ever wanted was to be his friend he thinks as the bitter acid of longing settles in his stomach. He twirls a piece of silky midnight hair around his pale finger, admiring the colour contrast and the golden sweetness of its scent. He wants to bury his hand in Potter's hair, lift his head and slam it back down. He wants to kis- Draco shakes his head releasing his confusing thoughts that battle for dominance there.
"I suppose I should thank you for turning me down all those years ago. This would be so much harder if I had figured out how to like you." Draco muses as he gives Potter's hair a sharp yank.
Potter sits up in a flash, his bright green eyes, looking around in a wary fashion. Too late for that now pet, he thinks with a smirk, giving the strand of hair another hard tug. Potter's head rears back with the movement and his eyes widen when he sees Draco leering at him. Potter's hand reaches into his robe pocket.
"Looking for this?" Draco croons holding up Potter's wand, as Potter's expression turns frantic.
"Malfoy-, what are you doing here?" Potter stutters out, his eyes still murky with the shadow of exhaustion.
Teaching you a lesson, he thinks, shoving the tip of his wand under Potter's chin, forcing it to tilt up until the veins in his throat strain against his skin. Potter's eyes widen the sleep fleeing from them as they dart around searching for an ally. Dark delicious excitement like Goldstein used to produce in him thrills through Draco's veins as he observes Potter at his mercy.
"I thought our little chat on the train would have taught you something about the dangers of being alone, but I guess not," he says as he digs the tip into Potter's pulse, feeling the thud of it reverberate through the wood.
In a flurry of adrenaline, Potter lunges at Draco and they tumble to the ground. Draco's arms instinctively wrap around Potter's waist, grasping for stability as they fall. Their weight crashes against each other with painful force, limbs entangling and thrashing to gain control. Potter's fingernails dig into Draco's scalp, sending sharp jolts of pain through his body as he tries to break free and reach for his wand. But Draco is determined, his legs clamp tightly around Potter's waist as they pant and grunt. Neither one willing to give up, but neither making any progress either.
A shadow falls above them and they both freeze, expecting Madam Pince to give them a detention for fighting in the library.
"If you wanted Potter, I would have understood, Draco," Goldstein says with a low chuckle.
Draco growls and shoves Potter's bone-thin body off of him, accioing Potter's wand and tossing it to him with a careless flick of his fingers. Potter catches it out of the air with his seeker-nimble fingers, despite the frozen look of shock written across his face. How adorably innocent, to be so easily embarrassed Draco thinks. He supposes he used to be like that once upon a time but hearing the screams and pleas of terror and pain of their 'guests' chosen 'partners' every night, made his innocence the stuff of fairy tales. Draco glares at Potter and his big doe-like eyes. If Potter just minded his own business, if he just left Draco and his family alone none of this would have happened. They would still be safe and whole.
"Stay away from me, Potter, if you know what's good for you." Draco barks in warning, knowing the gormless pillock wouldn't be able to resist keeping close to him after a pronouncement like that.
Draco stalks away without a backwards glance.
Harry stares after Draco's form confused as to what just happened.
"I didn't know you fancied cock, Potter. I would have been the first to offer my services." Goldstein says in an oily voice.
Harry grimaces: he always thought that Goldstein was a slimy git, and now he has his proof.
"I don't," Harry says, in a tight voice as he stands up.
This is the problem with Ravenclaws he thinks, they never know how to mind their own business.
"So, you only want Draco's cock? Not that I can say I blame you, I rather like it myself."
Harry feels a blush burning across his face.
"No, I don't want anyone's c-ock." he says, forcing the word out past his embarrassment and Goldstein's knowing eyes,
"And you're with Malfoy, why would you be interested in me?"
Goldstein smirks at him, "Oh you are adorable, Potter, no wonder Malfoy's smitten."
He signs at Harry's confused expression.
"I'm not with Malfoy, we are just…letting off a little steam."
Goldstein laughs at the stunned expression on his face.
"I at least have an answer for why he wanted me to glamour my hair black and messy all those times last year," Goldstein says running a wistful hand through his blonde locks and waltzing out of the library.
Draco carefully looks around at the students around him. When he sees everyone focused on their work, he dumps a valve of clear liquid into the steaming potion. His eyes lost in thought, watch intently as thick pink clouds billow out of the mixture, swirling and churning until they dissipate. The liquid beneath takes on a pearly sheen, reflecting the dim candlelight in the dungeon lab. He inhales deeply, taking in the warm, comforting scents of broom oil, lilies, and golden syrup. A year ago, this familiar aroma would have brought visions of his Pureblood husband and their future children to his mind. But now, brewing potions feels like a tedious waste of time compared to his other responsibilities: fixing the vanishing cabinet in the Room of Requirement, carrying out his plan with the cursed opal necklace, and keeping his fellow Slytherins away from Potter. Each task monumental to the goal of saving his parents and he knows he must stay focused and determined if he wants to succeed.
"I don't know what I am doing wrong, I followed the instructions exactly," Pansy growls under her breath. Draco looks up from his potion, his white face feeling blotchy from the fumes and frowns into her cauldron.
"It looks fine to me." he says in a dismissive voice returning to his pointless work.
Pansy gives him an incredulous look. Draco imagines she is waiting for him to glance back at Potter, preparing to sneer as his potion turns a sickly shade of puke green or orange to match girl Weasel's hair. Maybe make a joke about how the troll blood smell of the potion means his future spouse is part troll or something equally droll.
"But Potter's is mauvelous and mine is carnation." Pansy hisses.
"So?" Draco says with a shrug.
Despite the tension brewing in the air from the war his classmates still seem to waste brain space to obsess over petty things like who did better than who on a class assignment. It drives Draco mental to listen to them. He wants to scream at them to look around them.
"There's a big difference between those two colours! Amortentia at its best is mauvelous." Pansy drawls in a superior voice.
She watches in irritation as Potter takes a vial of his potion to Slughorn, receiving a much higher grade than she ever managed in this class.
"If you say so," he says with a careless shrug not able to summon the interest of the old him at Potter miraculously getting good at potions.
This newfound skill will not prevent or help him kidnap Potter, therefore it doesn't matter.
He can tell Pansy wants to say something about his lacklustre attitude to his old favourite victim but dares not when she doesn't know where his family stands with the Dark Lord due to her own family's lack of importance.
"Feel free to bring a date to my little gathering next week." Draco hears Slughorn tell a blushing Potter.
Potter stutters something incomprehensible back at the bumbling idiot and makes his way back to his seat with a wary glance at Draco. Draco gives him a nasty smile, his sharp eyes noticing the piqued interest on the faces of the green-clad students around him. He resists the urge to grind his teeth in territorial irritation, something must be done about them. Draco waits until Slughorn wonders off, disappearing into the storeroom before saying,
"Good luck finding a date Potter. One has to wonder if you are capable of getting one after your performance at the Yule Ball and your supposed kiss with Chang last year."
Potter turns back to look at him with a triumphant expression on his face, which Draco is not expecting.
"Jokes on you Malfoy, I already have a date."
"A date with the mudblood or the Weasel doesn't count, Potter," Draco replies with a smirk.
"It's not Hermione or Ron. It's someone so unexpected your pea-sized brain would never think of them."
"Did you finally take pity on Weaslette and ask her out? She's been panting after you like a bitch in heat."
Potter's face spasms, looking awkward for a moment before transforming into anger.
Hmm, Draco thinks, so her feelings are finally returned by the great Saviour. Let the Weasels rejoice that they will finally get money in their empty coffers.
"Don't call her that," Potter growls.
"Ah, it is her. I can only imagine what your children will look like with her hair colour and your messy bird's nest of a hairstyle. A true match for the ages."
Potter surges forward with raised fists, only to be held back by the mudblood.
"Harry, it's not worth it." the mudblood says, putting a hand on Potter's shoulder.
"Yes, hide behind your little friends like you always do."
Draco knows that the only thing that saves him from a hex to the face is the return of Slughorn. Potter looks like he could kill him with a look alone and a bit of fear slides in his gut at the power in those green eyes. It's worth it though. Greengrass and Shinohara have lost the look of interest they developed when Slughorn mentioned Potter not having a date. He couldn't risk either one of them slithering up to Potter and stealing him away before Draco enacts his plan.