Partners?
Draco was half-way through his essay on the significance of political extremism in challenging effective government during Hitler’s rise to power in Pre-Nazi Germany when all the lights in the exam hall went off.
Still in exam mode, he squinted his eyes to combat the decreased lighting and continued to write as fast as possible. There were only around thirty minutes left—he was behind schedule, as it was. His brain was running through dates, events and the underlying factors which consequently resulted in the breakdown of the Weimar. He flicked his eyes upwards, quickly, when he registered that something was wrong. The invigilators were gesturing to each other in panic. He flicked his gaze to the side. Half of the people around him had stopped writing. Draco didn’t pay attention to that half. To his mind—in that moment, vicious with stress—that half was the loser half. Draco paid particular attention to the people whose pens continued to fly off their exam papers in hurried stress. He frowned in concentration and threw his mind back to the growing support for extremist ideologies as post-WWI reparations continued to cripple the German public.
“Please remain calm and stop writing as we investigate the source of this power failure,” called one of the invigilators, loudly, from the front of the hall, “We will resume the examination in due time.”
Draco finished off the sentence he’d been writing and put his pen down. He shook the cramp out of his right hand, somewhat irritated with this interruption. Huffing imperceptibly, he slouched backwards in his chair, restless from increased cortisol and an aching brain.
For about ten minutes in relative darkness, Draco remained in exam mode. After about ten minutes in relative darkness—and despite his very best efforts—his mind wandered away from politics in Pre-Nazi Germany. He thought about how close Rosie’s delivery date was, and how he absolutely didn’t trust Jerry to come up with an appropriate name for their child. After maybe twenty minutes in relative darkness, he sighed and began brainstorming potential baby names on the side of his question paper. Colette? Fiona?— Draco was near certain Rosie’s baby was a girl, but just in case— Charles? Charlie for short. Draco thought Charles was a very refined name. And Charlie’s gender-neutral. Draco thought Charlotte was a very refined name, as well. He smiled to himself in satisfaction.
After thirty minutes in relative darkness, and perhaps half of Draco’s naming ability exhausted, the exam hall was full of hushed murmurs. Blaise turned around in his seat and caught Draco’s eye. Belatedly, Draco got a feeling that something was a tad off about this little interruption.
“Due to technical difficulties, we will have to reschedule the exam.” called an invigilator, in a more harried tone, “Please follow directions and make your way out of the exam hall. Do not speak until you have exited.”
My essay, Draco gazed in sorrow at his half-finished essay. His eyes then snapped towards the harried invigilator. He stared at her in a scathing manner, feeling quite considerably irritated with the entire situation.
A half-finished exam was just a waste of time. And Draco was running out of time. Finals were in just under five months—there was barely any time to breathe, and absolutely none to waste. As he tapped his fingers on the desk, he felt his stare take on a glarish quality.
He knew, of course, that this situation was out of the invigilator’s control. Nonetheless, he found externalising his anger far more satisfying than the alternative. Not that he had any idea what the alternative was. Optimism was to him a very foreign concept.
He honestly just wanted to get this exam over with. Dragging it all out was causing him endless stress. He awaited instructions and exited the hall with a sombre expression upon his face, sending a dark look towards anyone who dared to appear happy. Fools, he thought, You won’t be smiling when you fail your finals because you didn’t get the priceless practice you needed.
“You stayed up all night again, didn’t you.” Blaise asked, sending Draco a knowing look.
“I don’t see why that question is relevant.”
“You look like you’re going to bite Patel’s head off.”
Draco sent Patel a withering look. The idiot was beaming.
“She won’t be smiling when she—”
“—fails her finals because she didn’t get the priceless practice she needed.” Blaise finished, yawning, “I wish you were normal, Dracon.”
Draco scowled at him, fighting the yawn which threatened to break on his own face.
“Just kidding, my little draconian wanker.” Blaise threw an arm over his shoulder. “If you were normal you’d never be able to spend as much time with me as you do without hating yourself.”
“Very normal of you, hypocrite.”
Blaise grinned at him, “Normal’s boring, anyway.”
Against his very best efforts, Draco felt his scowl crack around the edges.
“Though it’s probably a happier place, currently.” Blaise added, as an after-thought. “If we were normal, we wouldn’t have studied for nothing.”
Draco’s scowl stopped cracking and cemented itself stronger than before. “We didn’t know it’d all be for nothing.” He sniffed, “And either way, I’d rather be successful than happy.” At Blaise’s wry smile, he added, “Shut up. Happiness is overrated.”
“Nothing in the world can ever kill the twelve-year-old emo inside of you.” Blaise laughed.
Draco looked at him, deadpan. “Better to have been an emo at twelve than a hussy.”
Blaise raised his eyebrows knowingly, “You’re just bitter because you’re sexually frigid.”
“Fuck you, Blaise.”
“Maybe the next time we’re both pissed,” Blaise replied, sporting a rather frightening smile.
Draco sent him a look of horror. “Did you just proposition me.”
“Sorry, were you fully present in the conversation we just had? You propositioned me. I just felt pity on you and rejected you kindly in response.”
Draco stared at him. “How the fuck was that a rejection.”
“A vague promise is always a rejection.” he answered, as they both made their way to where they’d left their belongings, in dim lighting. Picking up his bag, Blaise asked, “What’s all this about then, do you think?”
“For fuck’s sake,” Draco groaned. “I wasn’t propositioning you—”
“The power failure, Dracon.” the wanker rolled his eyes.
Draco shrugged, digging through his bag, “The power failed.”
“Wow, really? How did you know—”
Draco broke Blaise off with an irritated sigh, feeling his dam of self-restraint crack, “In case you haven’t noticed, Blaise, I’m not actually omnipotent and therefore don’t know and neither, frankly, give a single flying fuck, so I’d really rather not speak about this when I could instead be ruminating over the incompetence of the school administration over not possessing a single back-up electrical generator for emergencies such as—”
“You’re so pissy when you’re sleep-deprived,” Blaise grinned, fondly. “It makes me want to just kick you in the balls.”
Draco covered his heart with his hands, throwing a saccharine smile Blaise’s way, “And they say romance is dead.”
Blaise blew him a kiss. Draco flicked it away, retching and unlocked his phone.
Ugly Cow: If this is one of ur stupid fucking evil plans I’m going to kill u xx
Ugly Cow: I was in the middle of blow-drying my hair
Ugly Cow: If my hair dries frizzy, you’re dead <3 xxx
Draco frowned at his notifications.
“My mum says the power’s out at home as well,” Blaise furrowed his eyebrows at his own screen.
Draco got a very bad feeling. He dialled Pansy.
“You’re lucky it’s not humid today.” Pansy said, as soon as she picked up.
“Pansy.” said Draco. “I was in a history exam.”
“Wait, what?”
“Blaise, verify what I just said.”
Blaise took Draco’s phone. “Hi.”
Draco snatched his phone back, “The power’s out at school.”
“It’s out at home as well.” Pansy returned, a frown in her voice. “Put me on speaker.”
Draco put her on speaker and held the phone between Blaise and him.
“Blaise, how does Brown’s new hair look like in person—”
“Pansy.” snapped Draco. “Focus.”
“Ew, you’re being boring. You’re sleep deprived, aren’t you?”
“Particularly so.” Blaise confirmed, before Draco could open his mouth.
“You’re so fucking stupid, Draco. Surely you realise how counterproductive you’re being, in the long-run.”
“Maybe he enjoys the pain of it all.” Blaise suggested, “Perhaps all the years of being clobbered in the head by Potter awakened something inside of him— not my knob, you bellend.”
Blaise dodged being quite permanently harmed by Draco’s approaching knee.
“What does the news say?” Draco asked Pansy, simultaneously glaring at Blaise and steering the conversation, as he always did, back on topic.
“Dunno, haven’t checked.” she returned, “And won’t check either. I’ve nearly used up all my data for the month.”
“Pansy,” said Draco. “It’s the 7th.”
“It’s all the youtube I watched on my way to school.”
“You useless fuck—”
“Now, now, Dracon. No swearing before you fulfil your healthy sleeping requirements.” Blaise tutted, as he scrolled through his snapchat.
“What’ve people been posting.” Draco asked him, rubbing the bridge of his nose in mounting frustration.
“Seems like the whole city’s experiencing a power-outage.” Blaise tapped through snapchat stories, “Oh look, some people think Tacky-pillar’s done it.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “As if she’d ever do anything that crass.”
“I thought you’d done it too.” came Pansy’s voice from the phone.
“That’s only because you’re a raging bitch.” Draco returned.
“Oh?” said Blaise, frowning at his screen. “Wait, what the fuck?”
“Cut the hysterics and spit it out.”
Blaise turned his screen towards Draco. It was a video of some bald old-man on TV.
“What is it?” Pansy asked, impatiently.
“Check Daphne’s story.” Blaise answered. He then turned to Draco, “Read the caption,”
Crazy Tacky-pillar wannabe just shut off the entire fucking grid. Fab, guess I’ll just fail physics.
“That arsehole.” Draco seethed, the dam of his self-restraint crumbling rapidly, “My exams.”
“Pansy, is he on your TV as well?”
“Let me check.”
How dare this old man just inconvenience the entire fucking population like this. Peoples’ futures were on the line. Draco’s future was on the line. This wasn’t a fucking joke.
“Holy shit.” Pansy breathed. She called to her mum in the background, “Eomma! The TV!”
“What’s he saying?” Blaise asked.
This is unforgivable. Completely unforgivable. Draco felt his nostrils flare.
“He’s asking for Golden-boy—he—wait, what? Excuse me?— he’s talking about a revolution or something. Eomma, deul-euss-eo?”
“Revolution?” Blaise looked at Draco.
But Draco’s mind had caught on one word. He asked, impressively composed, “What did he say about Golden-boy?”
“He wants Golden-boy to join him.” came Pansy’s mum—Daisy Parkinson’s—voice.
“Hi, Ajumma.” said Blaise.
“Hello, Blaise.” Daisy—better known to them all as Ajumma—returned.
“He wants what.” asked Draco, deceptively mild for the flare of anger which raged within. Golden-boy was his rival. His. Draco’s. Nobody else’s. After a quick calming breath, Draco added, “Hi Ajumma.”
“Oh, Draco.” Ajumma sighed. “Always angry.”
“I’m not angry, Ajumma.”
“Ha!” Pansy laughed at Draco. And then, “Wait, what? What? What is happening. The old-man has powers?”
He wants a revolution. He wants Golden-boy. He has powers. Holy fucking shit, this arsehole. Draco grit his teeth as the revelation hit him.
“...Draco?” came Pansy’s voice.
“Does he want Tacky-pillar as well.” Draco asked her.
“Uh,” Pansy hesitated, “Well, no.”
The insult.
This man had fucked with Draco’s exams. He was trying to jeopardise Draco’s future. He wanted powers. He wanted Golden-boy—okay, fine, whatever, everyone wanted Golden-boy. But even if that was the case, why— why— why the fuck— why the ever-loving fuck—
“Draco, calm down.” Blaise said.
“I’m calm.” Draco returned, evenly. “Thanks Pansy, Bye Ajumma.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Wait, Draco!—” came Pansy’s frantic voice in the second before Draco cut the phone.
The super-idiot wanted powers? Draco had powers. Draco also had no exams tomorrow.
More importantly, Draco had a fervent determination to get the priceless practice he needed before finals. And beyond that, he was also a tad irritated. The super-idiot could find his own super-hero, thank you very much—Golden-boy was taken. And anyway, as nice as Golden-boy’s butt was, Draco didn’t trust him to deal with this super-idiot at all. If he wanted something done, he’d have to do it himself.
It wouldn’t hurt to smack the super-idiot upside the head while he was at it. Overlooking Tacky-Pillar, The Most Well-dressed Super-villain of The Twenty-first Century, was, simply speaking, an atrocity.
“Draco.” Blaise began, uncharacteristically nervous. “Don’t—”
Draco smiled at him.
As Draco hailed a passing taxi, he only really felt a little guilty.
Blaise had done a lot worse to him in the past. Like that one time last summer, when Draco had passed out at Theo’s house.
It was fine. It should be fine. Probably.
He’d just ripped Blaise’s school trousers and sprinted away. Blaise had loads of trousers. Draco would buy Blaise new trousers.
Anyway, Blaise probably had spare ones. And if he didn’t, he could borrow some from the lost and found. Or call home.
Blaise would forgive him. Eventually. Probably. It was fine, beggars can’t be choosy.
“Robinson hill,” Draco told the driver.
The driver, rather astute, glanced at him from the rear-view mirror, “The power-plant?”
“Oh no,” Draco smiled, insincerely, “I live behind the old shopping district, I’ll show you the way.”
Draco waved the taxi good-bye and made sure to walk towards where he’d said his house was located.
When he was certain the taxi had driven off and was far enough away that any actions of his were indiscernible, he scanned his surroundings for security cameras and civilians. He was surrounded by nothing but abandoned buildings. Ascertaining that he was most probably safe, he began stripping at lightning speed. Over the course of his super-bodied individual life, he’d gotten quite adept at speedy costume changes.
And so, perhaps five minutes later, there Tacky-pillar stood, wearing a mini-fortune. (Some inherent, snob quality in Draco prevented him from accepting department store clothing. Especially if he was being photographed. He’d much rather be fashionably villainized by the press if he was going to be villainized, all the same.)
And so Tacky stood there. Or rather, Draco stood there, wearing Tacky’s clothes, and feeling quite considerably foolish now that the initial adrenaline rush had worn off.
What had he been thinking, running off to meet some crazy old man with supposed powers? And without the slightest preparation or planning, as well! Perhaps the sleep deprivation really was damaging his brain. He lamented over the inevitable consequences of his impetuous behaviour.
And then he stopped lamenting, because it was a futile activity and there wasn’t time to waste, for fuck’s sake.
He gathered his thoughts for a while. The super-idiot was old, bald, and weird-looking—not so much because of his appearance, but rather his crazed mannerisms. He’d stated that he had powers in the video he broadcasted on TV. The extent of his powers, or even their existence, was unknown.
Best case scenario: The super-idiot was a no-life fraud.
Worst case scenario: The super-idiot wasn’t a no-life fraud, and was actually more powerful than both Tacky and Golden-boy combined.
Likely outcomes of the worst case scenario: Both Golden-boy and Tacky were brutally murdered, and their embarrassing defeat was caught on national television. Draco then spent the next eternity in purgatory being very slowly decimated by Golden-boy’s never-ending moral superiority. Cherry on top: Golden-boy’s ghost form did no justice to his mortal bum.
Draco pushed down a strong desire to continue lamenting. He approximated that the chances of the worst case scenario occurring were really quite low. So low, in fact, that basing his actions on the worse case scenario would be a logical fallacy.
Still though, just to be safe, Draco decided to observe things from afar before taking any decisive action. He wasn’t an idiot, after all. That was Golden-boy’s job.
Draco thanked the inventors of the internet a thousand times over as he used the blue-prints he’d downloaded online to find his way around the power-plant.
He entered using what he predicted the most obscure entrance would be. Then, he felt the strong urge to set himself on fire. No doubt the security cameras had caught his entry. Draco really wasn’t sure where he’d left his brain. If he were less composed, he would have punched himself in the face. As it was, he cursed at himself in his mind and prayed that the super-idiot had conducted his idiot-fucking-plan alone.
He sighed inaudibly and began walking towards the control-room—where he needed to be in order to gauge the situation accurately. He hoped dearly that fortune would be kind to him on his way.
“Hey!” came a startled voice from behind him.
“Fuck my life.” Draco muttered as he turned around. Tacky waved cheerfully, “Salut.”
“Who the fuck—” the pudgy man broke off and stared at Tacky. “Wait, you—you’re that transvestite, aren’t you?”
“That was rather rude of you.” Tacky put her hands on her hips.
The pudgy man stared some more. “You have powers, don’t you?”
“Yes, my darling idiot, I do.” Tacky used her powers to pull at the pudgy man’s pudgy ears.
“You have powers.” the pudgy man repeated.
Draco forced back Tacky’s rebuttal (“I also have a life. Something that I believe you’re lacking, currently.”) and nodded.
The pudgy-man began walking towards Draco. Draco moved his weight to the balls of his feet and eyed the pudgy-man’s movements very carefully, his heart hammering in his chest.
“You’re here for the revolution, aren’t you?” the pudgy man smiled, suddenly. “I’m Avery. I have powers too.”
Draco blinked. “Do you?”
Avery smiled again. “Yeah, look.” and a very solemn expression melted over his face as he spread his hands in front of himself.
And nothing happened.
Draco stared at Avery’s hands. Nothing was happening.
“Give it a moment,” Avery said.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Forcing patience, Draco gave it a moment.
“There!”
Draco stared at Avery’s hands. His finger-tips were now green. Draco felt a sudden, inappropriate urge to laugh.
“Your fingertips are green.” Draco remarked, instead of laughing.
“My fingertips are green.” Avery repeated, proudly.
What the fuck. “Is this your power?”
“I can also change them to pink, sometimes.” Avery divulged. “Sometimes, I can even change the colour of my whole hand.”
What the fuck. Draco stared at Avery.
And then Draco smiled, “That’s fascinating!”
Avery smiled back. “Isn’t it?”
“It is.” Draco assured. “Perhaps the most fascinating power I’ve ever seen. Better than mine, by miles.”
“Telekinesis, right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Draco replied, “But it’s really not as grand as the media portrays it,” It’s a thousand times better, “They really”— undermine— “over-exaggerate my powers.”
Avery nodded, “Yeah, I figured.”
Draco smiled at him. “How very dumb.”
“Sorry?” Avery frowned.
“Oh, did I get the wrong word?” Draco widened his eyes innocently, “English is my second language, I always get mixed-up.”
“Oh, okay. Try to be more careful in the future.”
“How very stupid of you.” Draco smiled, “Oh, sorry, that was the wrong word again, wasn’t it?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Sorry about that. I meant—how do you say—ah, yes—kind. I meant kind. How very kind of you.”
Avery blushed. He blushed. Draco’s smile widened.
“So,” Draco continued. “Where is everyone?”
“Oh, right. Everyone’s in the courtyard.” Avery lowered his voice, “Golden-boy’s here as well.”
“Is he.” Draco said.
“Yeah—uh—but honestly, between you and me, I don’t think he’s here for the revolution,”
“Well, now. What possibly gave you that idea?”
“He shouted ‘I’ll never join you!’ and tried to set everything on fire.” Avery frowned, “He seemed a bit angry, actually.”
“Wow, Avery, you’re so stupide!” Draco smiled. “That means smart in French, by the way.”
Avery blushed again. Draco simply adored idiot-people.
“I should actually,” Avery coughed, “um, be on my way to help The Dark Lord, right now.”
“Sorry?” said Draco, “The dark what-now.”
“The Dark Lord.” Avery repeated. “He’s the leader of the revolution. He was on television.”
“Oooh.” said Draco, suppressing the urge to laugh. “Right. Right, I remember now. The Dark Lord. Our supreme overlord.”
Avery nodded. “Our supreme overlord.”
Draco smiled at Avery. “But, you know, Avery, I don’t think The Dark Lord needs our help. He’s The Dark Lord, after all. Don’t you think it would be insulting if we took care of Golden-boy for him?”
Avery looked left and right before lowering his voice to a hush, “Golden-boy’s really strong.”
“Is he, now.”
“Yeah,” Avery whispered, “I think he might be stronger than The Dark Lord.”
“Surely not!” Draco exclaimed. “That was blasphemy, Avery!”
Avery looked at the floor, shame-faced, and muttered apologies.
“Don’t worry,” Draco patted him on the shoulder, “I won’t tell anyone. Especially not The Dark Lord.”
Avery shot him a scared, grateful look.
“But—and I hate to do this—I need something in return,” Draco continued.
“A—anything.” said Avery, frantically, “I’ll give you anything.”
“That was so stupid of you, Avery.” Draco patted him on the shoulder again.
“You mean kind,” Avery corrected, guilelessly.
“Ah, yes, yes, kind. That was so kind of you, Avery.” Draco took a shot in the dark and trailed his hand rather ambiguously off of Avery’s shoulder.
Avery flushed and looked downwards. Draco smirked.
“So, you’ll give me anything ?” Draco asked, his voice soft.
Avery nodded fervently.
Draco smiled in satisfaction.
Draco stared at the security cameras in the control room, rubbing his temples.
He had spent the last half hour watching Golden-boy defend himself from the most pathetic attacks Draco had ever seen. He hadn’t made even one offensive move. What the ever-loving fuck is he doing. Draco sighed irritably.
“Don’t worry, Tacky-pillar,” reassured Avery, “The Dark Lord will get him.”
Draco shot Avery a quick, fake smile.
“Would any of you like some biscuits?” asked Corban—a super-idiot with the power to create biscuits out of nothing. (Corban was here because he’d very unfortunately been granted the job of watching over the control room.)
“Yes, please.” Avery answered.
“No, thank you.” Draco said, his eyes focused on Golden-boy.
What was he doing? Draco strongly suspected his actions had roots in some sanctimonious, noble principle. Something like, No hurting the weak! or Only picking on people your own size! Draco suppressed a groan.
Like this passed another half-hour. Draco deliberated just going home.
But then: “I told you, Tacky-pillar!” exclaimed Avery, “I told you The Dark Lord would get him!”
Draco stared incredulously at the screen. One of the super-fuckers—this one with the power to shoot ropes out of her hand—had gotten Golden-boy by surprise from the back.
Draco narrowed his eyes at the screen. What is he playing at? In all the time he’d known Golden-boy, never had he gotten the impression that he was easily subdued. And yet here Golden-boy was. Being easily subdued, when he could just set the fucking ropes on fire or something. Draco wanted to hit him very badly.
Draco watched as The Fucker Overlord walked towards Golden-boy. He observed them engage in some sort of conversation. Then, he noted the telltale signs of Golden-boy’s rising temper. Draco wondered whether The Fucker Overlord was irritating Golden-boy on purpose. If he was, he was a more formidable opponent than Draco had initially believed.
“I wonder what they’re talking about.” Draco said, out-loud.
“The Dark Lord’s probably trying to convince Golden-boy to join the revolution.” Corban replied. “With Golden-boy on our side, we’d be invincible.”
He’ll never do it, Draco wanted to scoff. He’s too good to ever buy into this bigoted super-power bullshit.
“I wonder if he’ll agree?” said Avery.
Draco opened his mouth to reply and then shut it very rapidly when he observed The Fucker Overlord kick Golden-boy in the stomach. He suppressed a frown.
“That’s a no, then,” Corban sighed. “And I had such high hopes, as well.”
Draco felt his eyes widen as he noted a gigantic snake coming into view on the screen. “Is that a snake?”
“Yeah,” Avery answered, “The Dark Lord can control them.”
Fuck. “Right.” Draco stared at Golden-boy. Why isn’t he doing anything? The snake was getting closer. Fucking shit on a stick. “Avery, Corban, I need you to take me to The Dark Lord, now.”
“Sorry?” said Avery.
“I have something really urgent I need to tell him—I just remembered,” Draco faked desperation, “You have to take me to him! Now!”
Corban and Avery sported twin expressions of shock and confusion.
“Quickly!” Draco shouted. “His life’s in danger!”
“F— follow me!” and Corban began leading the way.
“My lord!” huffed Corban, red-faced, “My lord! We have an emergency!”
“My lord!” wheezed Avery, “Your life’s in danger!”
Draco barely glanced at The Fucker Overlord. His eyes fell almost immediately on Golden-boy. He suppressed the growing desire to wring Golden-boy’s neck. What the fuck was he doing? This was all his fault.
Golden-boy gaped back at Draco, “M— Tacky?”
“You look like shit.” Draco returned.
“What the fuck are you doing here?!”
Avery laughed triumphantly. “She’s here to join our revolution!”
Golden-boy stared at Avery. He then glanced questioningly at Draco. Draco’s face remained impassive.
“You’re here to join my revolution?” asked The Fucker Overlord.
“Yes, my lord!” Avery said, “She is!”
“Let the boy speak for himself.”
“Rude.” Draco said. “You’re misgendering me.”
The Fucker Overlord’s face darkened. Perhaps saying that out-loud had been unwise. Oh, well.
The Fucker Overlord walked slowly towards Draco. Draco noted with satisfaction that the fucker was shorter than him. And also extremely old.
“How are you alive?” Draco wondered, out-loud.
Golden-boy groaned.
“Stop being dramatic.” Draco rolled his eyes.
The Fucker Overlord glowered at Tacky.
Draco smiled at The Fucker Overlord ingratiatingly, “I do apologise if I’ve offended you. English is my second language. I get words mixed up sometimes.”
“Sh— She does, my lord,” Avery supported.
Draco shot Avery a slow smile. Avery blushed in response.
The Fucker Overlord stared at Draco. “Why are you here.”
“She has something urgent to tell you,” answered Corban.
“Speak for yourself.” The Fucker Overlord commanded Draco.
Draco wanted very dearly to push the fucker over. He imagined it would take quite a considerable amount of effort for the fucker to get back up. Draco sincerely believed that the scene would grant him endless pleasure.
“Speak!” The Fucker repeated.
“Before we begin, my lord,” Draco started, “I wanted to ask why you didn’t mention me in your message on TV,”
The Fucker looked at Draco cruelly. Draco suppressed the urge to kick him.
And then, after a very awkward silence, “I am after his support.” The Fucker said, pointing at Golden-boy.
“Right.” said Draco. “Okay. Uh, he’s really not that great but sure. You do you.”
“Tacky.” hissed Golden-boy, “Shut up.”
“What, did I hurt your feelings?” Draco asked, pleased.
“Why!” The Fucker shouted, “Are you here!”
“I!” answered Draco, “Can shout as well!”
“Oh my god.” Golden-boy whispered.
The Fucker gathered himself and glared at Draco. It really wasn’t that impressive. It was quite pathetic, actually.
“How dare you!” The Fucker shouted.
“God, are you always this loud?” Draco asked him.
Then, in the middle of all the chaos, The Fucker started hissing.
And Draco burst out laughing. Because what the fuck.
And then Draco stopped laughing because a huge fucking snake began making it’s way towards him.
“Oh, I see what you’re doing now.” Draco commented. “Right, well. No.” And Draco levitated the snake and threw it at the people behind The Fucker.
Draco smiled sweetly as a chorus of screams arose into the air.
“What are you doing,” Avery whispered, horrified.
“She’s being herself.” Golden-boy sighed.
Draco winked at Avery. Avery blanched in a very satisfying manner.
Strangely, however, The Fucker Overlord didn’t react in the way that Draco had expected him to. Rather, The Fucker Overlord simply gazed at Draco and said, “You are powerful.”
“And you are really very old.” Draco smiled back.
“I will forgive your comments if you join me.” The Fucker Overlord continued.
Am I being recruited right now? “Sorry?”
“Join me,” The Fucker said, “And we shall revolutionise the world.”
“Ah, yes,” said Draco, “Your ‘revolution.’ I trust you believe that people with super-powers should hold more power than those without?”
“No,” said The Fucker, his eyes shining. “I believe that those without powers should be purged.”
Draco felt a chill go down his spine. There was something very wrong with this person. “I won’t participate in a genocide.”
“I won’t make you kill if you dislike such things. I just need you to support me.”
What? Draco stared at The Fucker.
“I’ll give you power.” The Fucker continued. “When I have purged the world, I’ll give you as much power as you desire.”
And for a split second, Draco was tempted. But then he remembered Pansy, and Blaise, and Looney. And he looked at The Fucker, and he thought of a man who had wished for something very similar. Who had wished for the world to be purged of anyone he thought undesirable. Who was surrounded by a group of people who thought the same way he did.
And he remembered the suffering—a human catastrophe, one of the most heinous crimes to have ever been committed. He remembered the six million innocents. And he remembered other men, from different times, from different places, but all with the same, purist ideology; all the consequent pain they had inflicted, all the death, the fates perhaps worse than death. All of it, for being different.
He remembered his dreams.
And then he felt like absolute shit.
How could he have been tempted, for even a second?
He had wished for greatness and power for so long, and so fervently, that the simple promise of them—even if the promise was superficial, even if it wasn’t achieved on his own merit—was capable of swaying his determination. He’d chased so long after power and greatness—for himself, for his father’s love—that for a second he’d been willing to throw away the people who had granted him the greatest treasure in all the world: their love. He’d wanted power and greatness so desperately that he feared he’d lost part of his humanity along the way.
Draco felt sick with shame and disgust.
He still yearned for greatness, yes, but he had long since realised that ‘greatness,’ was really just an imagined concept. What did ‘greatness,’ even mean? To chase after greatness was to paint the face of an invisible person. To Draco, the quality of being great was really just the quality of wanting to be better, wanting to be something more than he was right now. He had realised that the achievement of greatness, for greatness’ sake, was empty, because one always believed that they could be better. And chasing ‘better,’ simply for the sake of being better, was a never-ending trap that would eat a person alive. Because if you weren’t better, you weren’t enough. And if you were always chasing better, then you were never enough. There was no satisfaction in chasing greatness, because one would never perceive having achieved it.
Great people are not created, they simply become, unwittingly.
His ambition still formed a major pillar of his identity. Rather than his goal, however, it was now one of his qualities. His new goal was to create a fairer, more just society. For his loved ones, for the sake of diversity. For the sake of himself, even. There was no joy in existing in a purely homogenous world.
And the reminder of all this filled him with such a potent rage that for a moment he found it difficult to breathe. For this rage was directed within, and it ate at his very soul.
Draco had never been one to weather pain silently. He wasn’t a candle, he was tinder. When he burned, he took down everything with him. And currently, he had his eyes set on the fucker who had instigated his self-deprecation.
“You desire power.” The Fucker continued, “Join me, and I’ll give it to you.”
Draco stared at him quietly.
“My name is Voldemort, and I will create a better world. Join me and we will create a better world together. You will be a part of the future.”
“What do you mean by a better world?” Draco asked.
“A world without undesirables—”
“So a world without you?” Draco interrupted, calmly. “If you’re on a suicide mission, I’d rather you keep the rest of us out of it. You’ve caused me quite a bit of stress by shutting off the power.”
“You—”
“In case it wasn’t clear before,” Draco interrupted, again, “I’m not joining your little play-group ‘revolution,’” blatant air-quotes, “Even if it is a suicide mission.”
“Tacky-pillar,” Avery squeaked.
“A world full of people like you makes me physically ill.” Draco continued, to a gaping Moldy-wart, or whatever his name was. “Now turn on the power before I push you on the ground, you disgusting old-man.”
Moldy-wart began hissing frantically. His gigantic snake began to slither it’s way towards Draco.
And that is when Golden-boy’s restraints set on instantaneous fire and he stood up.
“Have a nice rest?” Draco asked, his voice somewhat vicious with saccharine sweetness.
“Have fun making an old man cry?” Golden-boy returned, rubbing his wrists.
“That depends on whether he actually cried.” Draco eyed Moldy-wart.
“I saw him blinking back tears.”
“Then, yes.” said Draco, as he levitated the giant fucking snake into the air, “I had fun.”
“Nagini!” Moldy-wart shouted.
Golden-boy erupted a tall ring of fire around them both.
“Turn on the power.” Draco repeated.
“Nagini!” shouted Moldy-wart.
“My lord, be careful!” shouted Corban.
“You betrayed me, Tacky-pillar!” shouted Avery.
“I’m sorry, Avery.” lied Draco, “You were just too stupid for your own good.”
“You mean kind!” Avery returned.
“No.” smiled Draco. “I mean stupid, you fucking imbecile.”
“Nagini!” shrieked Moldy-wart.
“It’s so weird being on this side of things.” Golden-boy muttered, as he formed earthen barricades around Moldy-wart’s people.
“You’re all being too dramatic.” Draco sighed. “Just turn on the fucking power and then get arrested. It’s not that hard.”
“You!” Moldy-wart shrieked.
“Me!” Draco returned. “Don’t speak to me.”
“You!” Moldy-wart repeated.
Draco threw Moldy-wart’s snake at his body. “I told you not to speak to me. You’re contaminating the air I breathe.”
“I’m going to purge you!” Moldy-wart shrieked, on the floor, under his snake. And then he started coughing. Because he was an old man.
“I’m so scared.” Draco said as he watched Moldy-wart choke on his own spit.
“Bellatrix!” wheezed Moldy-wart, and Draco froze because what the fuck was his crazy aunt doing here?!
Bellatrix Lestrange was a certified psychopath who was currently admitted to some fancy psychiatric hospital. Or so Draco had believed, before he’d seen her standing a few places away from Moldy-wart.
Draco felt an incoming headache. What the fuck was his life.
“Make sure you trap her,” he whispered to Golden-boy as he levitated the gigantic snake to the inside of an earthen barricade.
Golden-boy glanced at him quickly before nodding, once.
“Bellatrix!” wheezed Moldy-wart. “Quickly!”
Draco levitated Bellatrix into the air to prevent her from reaching Moldy-wart—who was still, as predicted, on the floor.
“Surrender, now.” called Golden-boy.
Bellatrix turned in the air to make eye-contact with Draco. Draco felt a very uncomfortable shiver go down his spine. He was very grateful for the anonymity granted by his sock-mask.
And then, out of nowhere, a dozen fucking biscuits flew at Draco’s face, and as soon as Bellatrix left Draco’s vision, she fell to the floor. Rubbing the fucking crumbs out of his eyes, he yelled, “Fuck! Make sure you barricade her!”
“Where is she?!” Golden-boy shouted back.
“Shit!” cussed Draco, his eyes stinging. “Barricade Moldy-wart!”
“He— where is he?!”
“Fuck!” shouted Draco. “Barricade Corban!”
“O—okay, he’s there. Done.”
Draco opened his eyes against the sting to witness the aftermath of the fight. Earthen barricades every which way, but no sign of Moldy-wart or Bellatrix.
Draco cussed in French.
Golden-boy wanted to call the police. This, of course, was the appropriate decision to make. Or it would have been, if Tacky-pillar wasn’t a renowned ‘super-villain.’ Draco wished Golden-boy could think, for once.
“Can you think, for once?” Draco asked him. “How do you think the police are going to react if they storm in here and see me?”
Golden-boy’s paper-bag face stared at him blankly.
Draco sighed in frustration. “Can you please not be stupid, right now.”
“Can you please not be an arsehole.” Golden-boy shot back, hotly.
“It’s a bit difficult being sparkle-sunshine when you’re surrounded by imbeciles, you understand,” Draco rubbed his head. “Or you don’t. Because you’re the aforementioned imbecile.”
“Fuck you. I don’t know why I try.”
“Try what?” asked Draco, “To have a brain?”
Golden-boy’s voice held a glare, “Stop.”
Draco raised his hands in surrender. He was exhausted. “Well, whatever. I’m leaving. You can call the police if you want.” Draco was going to take a nice hot shower when he got back home. “Make sure to turn on the power.” He got up to leave. “Well, then. Your butt looked quite nice today, as well. Even though I didn’t get to see much of it.” And Draco made his way towards the exit.
Or he would have, if Golden-boy hadn’t grabbed his wrist.
“Wait.”
Draco stared at him. “E—”
“Shut up.” Golden-boy snapped.
Draco shut up.
“Moldy-wart’s going to be back.” he said.
“Okay.” Draco stared at him. “So?”
“He’s targeting you.”
Draco sighed. “He’s an old-man.”
“He has comrades.”
“Whatever, Goldie-bum.” Draco yawned.
“He’s targeting both of us.” Golden-boy grit out.
“Just set him on fire the next time you see him, what’s the fucking problem.”
Golden-boy sent him what Draco imagined was a dirty look. “I’m not going to kill him.”
“He tried to kill you first, but, okay, point.” Draco conceded. “Just make sure to isolate him before you barricade him.”
“I,” Golden-boy hesitated. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Excuse me?” said Draco. “Are you having an existential crisis, right now?”
“You’re—you can strategize well.”
What is he on about? Is he proposing what I think he’s proposing?
“I think we should partner up.” he finished.
Oh my god.
“No.” said Draco.
Golden-boy sighed. “He’s going to keep doing stuff like this.”
My exams, Draco remembered, suddenly.
“He’s dangerous. Even if he is an old-man.” Golden-boy added. And then Golden-boy’s tone changed slightly, “Why did you come here, anyway?”
“I—didn’t trust you to turn the power back on.” Draco was shocked into honesty, “I was going to just observe from a distance.”
“But you didn’t,” Golden-boy pressed, his hand around Draco’s wrist warm, “You didn’t just observe.”
“Circumstances occurred—” Draco tried.
“You were trying to save me, weren’t you?” a smile in his voice.
“I don’t know if I’d put it quite in that way.” Draco snatched his burning wrist away. “Seeing as how you were feigning even greater incompetence than usual, I assumed you had a death-wish of some sort.”
“So you came down here to save me.”
“Oh, you stupid boy. Is that what it looked like to you?” Draco mocked.
“Yes.”
Draco fought hard to keep hold of his composure. “I just wanted to see your death-wish fulfilled, first-hand—”
“You’re hiding behind your words. You were protecting me.”
“That’s embarrassingly presumptuous of you.” Draco drawled, coldly. “If you must know the truth, I didn’t want your death on my conscience. And that old-man got on my nerves.”
Golden-boy remained silent for a while. And then, “That makes two of us.”
Draco stared at him.
“I don’t want your death on my conscience, either. And from what that old man had been saying, he’s not going to stop. And if he keeps doing stuff like this, I’m not going to stop. And from what I know about you, you’re not going to stop, either.”
“What makes you think you know anything about me.” Draco stared at him, something fluttering dangerously around the back of his mind.
A moment passed in silence.
“You’re my super-villain.” said Golden-boy.
He was hiding something. Draco eyed him. “What are you not saying.”
Another charged silence.
“Let’s partner up. Just for now.” Golden-boy said, eventually. “Just until this ends.”
“I can take them all down by myself.” Draco returned, “So can you. Why are you so adamant on a partnership?”
“You saw him. The way he thinks is dangerous.”
“So?”
“I don’t want your death on my conscience.”
Draco scoffed, “Rest assured, playing hero is your job. The only reason I came here was because the power cut inconvenienced me personally.”
“You don’t want my death on your conscience, either.”
“It won’t be on my conscience if I’m not in immediate vicinity when it occurs.”
“He won’t leave you alone.”
“So I’ll deal with him if he targets me, and you'll deal with him all the other times.”
Golden-boy threw his hands into the air in frustration. “Why can’t you just cooperate—”
“Because you’re my superhero.” Draco said. “And wow that was so embarrassing. For both of us.” Draco cringed. “Oh, wow. Okay, I’m leaving. Remember to turn on the power.”
“Tacky.”
“Au-revoir!” Draco waved, cheerfully and began to turn away before Golden-boy took hold of his wrist and spun him back around. Draco looked at him, deadpan. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
Golden-boy pulled Draco dangerously closer. Several snapshots of dreamt sexy-times shot across Draco’s vision. His heart hammered in his chest.
“Draco Malfoy.” Golden-boy whispered.
Draco froze completely. That was his name. His personal identity had been compromised. But worse? Infinitely worse? On the level of the earth spontaneously exploding? That was Harry Potter’s voice. Draco knew it like the back of his hand. And no sound in the world was more familiar than Harry Potter saying his name.
Draco’s eyes snapped to the hand that encircled his wrist. The realisation hit him like a dozen bricks to the head. That was Harry Potter’s hand. The burgeoning heat chilled. He snatched his wrist away.
He stared at Potter, betrayed, angry, insulted, ashamed. How had he not realised?
And then the tinder caught fire and burnt down the entire forest.
Draco wordlessly punched Potter in the stomach and walked away.
“Hello, Draco.” said Ajumma, as soon as she had opened the door. “This is a surprise. You never visit during exam season.”
“There has been a bit of a situation.” Draco returned, feeling very much like the world around him was falling apart.
“Oh, dear. Pansy’s upstairs with Luna.”
“Thank you, Ajumma.” Draco said.
She eyed him. “Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, please.” Draco said.
“Oh, dear.” Ajumma repeated. “Best get upstairs, Draco.”
“Okay, Ajumma.” and Draco made his way upstairs. “Pansy.” he called. “Luna.”
“In here!” Pansy’s voice called back from her room.
Draco walked carefully into Pansy’s room. Luna was painting Pansy’s nails. Pansy was applying a clear second coating. Draco watched them in silence.
“Hello?” Pansy looked up at him inquisitively when he made no move to talk.
“What happened?” Luna frowned. “Sit down, your Wrackspurts—”
“Golden-boy is Harry Potter and I didn’t realise until after he revealed that he knew I was Draco Malfoy which means that not only is Golden-boy Potter but that Potter knew who I was before I knew who he was which means that Potter’s more observant than I am and now that I think about it, I think he’s known for a while, remember sixth year, when he used to stalk me?” The building words poured out of Draco’s mouth rapidly.
Luna and Pansy stared at him blankly for a moment.
“What?!” Pansy screeched.
“Yes, I believe he’s suspected since then.” Luna agreed. “It’s good that you’re both more honest with each other now.”
Draco took a breath and continued. “I don’t know how I didn’t realise that he was Golden-boy, it was so bloody obvious that the two most sanctimonious people I know are actually the same fucking person, and he’s not even good at hiding it! Remember that time he came to class with that huge fucking bruise on his arm? A piece of billboard fell on Golden-boy. Or Harry Potter. Because they’re the same person, apparently. How could I not have known. How could he have known before me? And wait, Luna—did you know that Potter was Golden-boy?”
“Yes,” Luna blinked in confirmation. “I did.”
“What?!” Pansy repeated.
“And you didn’t tell me?!” Draco demanded.
“We all have our secrets, Draco.”
“You’re my cousin!”
“It wasn’t my secret to tell. I didn’t tell him that you’re Tacky-pillar, either.”
“No.” said Draco, sourly. “He realised it all by himself. Something that I’m apparently incapable of doing.”
“I need some tea.” Pansy muttered.
“He’s always been particularly sensitive when it comes to you.” Luna commented. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Draco sent Luna a miserable look. “I’m a fool, Looney.”
A knock sounded on the door, “Tea?” came Ajumma’s voice.
“Thanks eomma, ” Pansy returned, faintly, as she opened the door.
They watched in silence as Ajumma calmly set down the tray.
“You.” Pansy pointed at Draco, once Ajumma had left. “Drink some tea.”
Draco drank some tea.
“You’re not a fool, Draco.” Luna said, kindly. “Sometimes, when we’re very busy, things that would have been obvious otherwise escape our notice.”
“You barely have time to breathe.” Pansy agreed. When he made no move to respond she added, “Drink your fucking tea, Draco.”
Draco drank his fucking tea.
All the power instantaneously returned. The lights turned on, Pansy’s blow-dryer began blowing.
“Oh look, Potter’s turned on the power.” Draco commented. “Because he’s Golden-boy. Did you know? Because I didn’t.”
“Draco, you’re being too hard on yourself.” Luna gazed at him. “Harry has less commitments than you do. He’s also particularly obsessive when he believes he’s on to something.”
“Or when it comes to you.” Pansy muttered.
Luna smiled at her.
Draco sipped his tea. They had a point. “You’re right.”
“And it goes both ways.” Pansy Bitch-face Parkinson added, for no other reason than because she was horrible, “You’re equally as obsessive when it comes to him. It’s not—”
“I know it’s not healthy.” Draco snapped.
“Oh, drink your tea.” Pansy returned. “I’m not having this conversation with you when you’re this high-strung.”
Draco glared at her as he sipped his tea.
“You promised me that you would sleep more,” Luna said.
“I—there was too much to memorise. I had a history exam today.”
“It’s the mock, Draco.” Pansy sighed in exasperation. “You’re not meant to kill yourself over it.”
Draco sniffed and sipped his tea.
“Oh, Draco.” said Luna.
“You fucking idiot.” muttered Pansy. “Take a nap on my bed after you’ve finished your tea.”
“I’ve got chem—”
“Take a nap on my bed after you’ve finished your tea or I’m telling Narcissa that you pulled another all-nighter.” Pansy repeated.
Draco grumbled into his tea-cup. And then he took a much-needed nap.
He awoke disoriented and feeling somehow more tired than before.
“Time?” he mumbled, blinking the bleariness out of his eyes.
“Quarter past nine,” Pansy replied, “I called Narcissa, you can sleep over.”
“Dinner?” Draco asked.
“Are you hungry?”
“No,” Draco grumbled, “I’m tired.”
“You should eat something, Draco,” came Luna’s voice.
Draco shot upwards. He stared at Luna. “What are you still doing here.”
“I’m sleeping over.”
Draco sent Pansy a piercing look. Pansy raised a bored eyebrow.
“Do you do that often.” Draco questioned Luna.
“Sleep over? Well—”
“What do you want to eat, Draco?” Pansy interrupted.
“What are you hiding!” Draco shot out of bed.
“Nothing!” Pansy replied. “Stop being neurotic!”
“You seem better,” remarked Looney, “Did you have a restful nap?”
“You’re hiding something!” Draco pointed accusingly at Pansy.
“You’re just paranoid because you didn’t know Golden-boy was Potter!”
Draco sat back down. Perhaps Pansy had a point.
“I think there’s some left-over pasta,” Looney said. “Do you want it?”
“Mmm.” Draco hummed, wrinkling his nose. “I want something sweet.”
“Of course you do,” Pansy muttered. She threw a pile of clothes at him. “Change your clothes.”
And so, slightly better tempered, Draco changed into Pansy’s giant hoody—which was really just normal sized on him—and her sweatpants—which fit around the waist but were rather comically short. And after he’d splashed some water on his face, Draco felt the weight of the long day dissipate, just a little.
“—and then he asked me to partner with him to take Moldy-wart down and I said no.” Draco said, around his ice-cream.
“And after you said no he told you he was Potter?”
Draco ate another spoonful of vanilla ice-cream and shrugged. “He never told me he was Potter, he just—don’t overreact—he just pulled me to whispering distance and said,” Draco cleared his throat and mimicked Potter, “Draco Malfoy.”
“What the fuck—” Pansy started.
“Don’t overreact.” Draco sent her a stern look.
Pansy took a breath. Luna pat her on the back. It looked like such a very practiced movement.
Draco narrowed his eyes and ate some more ice-cream.
“How do you know for certain that he’s Potter?” Pansy asked.
“I’d recognise his voice anywhere,” Draco continued, half-jokingly, “I hear it calling my name in my deepest, darkest—”
“—fantasies?” Pansy suggested.
“—nightmares.” Draco finished, glaring at her.
“Right.” Pansy looked at him knowingly.
Draco turned to Luna for help. Luna looked at him knowingly in return, as well.
“I hate you all.” Draco sulked into his ice-cream. “I just knew, okay. It was so obvious . I don’t know how it didn’t occur to me before.”
“Right.” Pansy sent him an incredulous look.
“And how did you respond after he’d told you?” Luna asked.
Draco ate another spoonful of ice-cream. He mumbled, “...I punched him in the stomach.”
“Oh my god.” Pansy burst out laughing, “You ran away, didn’t you?”
“Shut up, Pansy.” Draco grumbled.
“Oh, Draco.” sighed Luna.
“How was I meant to react?!” Draco defended.
“What the fuck did he expect would happen if he told you?” Pansy laughed, “That poor idiot boy.”
“Perhaps he was just desperate,” Luna suggested.
“Yeah, because he’s so desperate for my love and affection.” Draco rolled his eyes. “He’s just a knob-head on purpose because he’s awkward with his feelings.”
“No, no, Draco-darling,” Pansy shook her head, “That’s you, remember?”
“You’re funny, Pansy.” Draco returned, not a single trace of humour in his tone.
“I meant perhaps he was desperate about partnering up with you,” Luna smiled at Pansy’s laughter, “This Moldy-wart seems a bit frightening.”
“He was desperate about partnering up with Draco and so he told him that he was Potter?” Pansy laughed, mockingly. “When has Draco ever given anything other than the impression that he hates Potter’s very existence?”
Draco nodded in agreement towards Pansy. “Potter’s so very stupid.”
“He’s a bit single-minded when he’s determined,” Luna said. “I think calling him stupid is going a bit far, though.”
“Why,” Draco turned to her. “Are you defending him.”
Luna smiled faintly, “He’s my friend.”
“I’m you’re cousin. We share the same blood.”
“Blood has very little to do with the strength of relationships,” Luna said, simply, “Harry’s very kind. He was one of my first friends.”
Draco scowled, feeling a bit guilty for having punched Potter. Stupid Potter and his stupid little acts of kindness that no-one fucking asks for. “I’d be kind too if I was surrounding by as much admiration as he was.” he said, half-heartedly.
Luna smiled at him, “I think you should talk to him.”
“Can I be present?” Pansy raised a hand.
“No.” said Draco, “Fuck you.”
“But imagine,” Pansy tried, “Imagine the drama.”
“There will be no drama.” Draco promised himself, “I will reject his offer of partnership and maybe apologise for punching him in the stomach, depending on my mood.”
“You’ll apologise to Potter.” Pansy raised an eyebrow disbelievingly, “You. To Potter.”
“I said maybe, you horrible cow.” Draco drawled. “Depending on my mood.”
“So you won’t apologise.”
“Probably not, no.”
Pansy groaned. “There’s going to be so much drama.”
Draco glared at her, “There will be no drama.”
Two days later, as Draco got out of his car on his way to school for his chemistry exam, in order to determine what the fuck had been obstructing traffic for the last hour, he wasn’t thinking of Potter.
When he saw that the obstruction was in fact— surprise, surprise! —Moldy-wart, he still wasn’t thinking of Potter. He was thinking, instead, of very colourful swear-words. And then he was thinking of how the fuck he was going to get Moldy-wart to fuck off.
It was only really when Draco felt an incoming headache and caught a glimpse of Potter’s face in the crowd, that he thought of Potter.
He pondered briefly over Potter’s offer of partnership. Then, he glanced at Moldy-wart and felt such a strong throb of irritation that he almost had a physical response. And he thought of his exams.
His exams.
My exams.
And he made up his mind.
He walked through the crowd to where Potter was located and grabbed his arm to pull him backwards.
“Wha—?”
“I’ll do it.” Draco said, to Potter’s surprised face. “I’ll partner up with you.”
“Wh—I—okay.” Potter blinked, his hair all over the place. “Okay.”
“Do you have your clothes?” Draco asked, in a low voice.
Potter nodded.
“Hurry up.” Draco said, already on his way back towards his car.
“What’s the hold up?” Maximilian asked.
“Nothing much,” Draco replied, grabbing an emergency change of clothes he’d stashed inside his bag. “I’ll sort it out.”
“You’ll what?” Maximilian turned around to shoot Draco an incredulous look. “What are you—”
Draco rolled up the partition. He changed his clothes. He surveyed his surroundings through the tinted glass. Most people had abandoned their cars. He thought for a while. And then he unlocked the car door and fell out as if he’d been pushed.
“Thank you for the ride!” Tacky said to the empty backseat, in a French accent, “Sorry for hijacking your car on such short notice.” and then Tacky stood up and waved to the empty back-seat before closing the car door.
“Oh my god—” Maximilian gasped when he saw her.
“Sorry for hijacking,” Tacky smiled.
“Wha— Draco!” Maximilian turned around in his seat and rolled down the partition.
“The boy left while you were being hysterical,” Tacky said, picking dust off her sleeve.
“He’ll be the end of me,” Maximilian groaned.
“Teenagers,” Tacky shrugged. And then she ran off.
Potter—or, rather, Golden-boy—got there before Tacky did. Presumably, this was because he hadn’t taken any precautionary measures to ensure his identity wasn’t revealed. Draco sighed.
Moldy-wart was surrounded by his loser supporters. He pointed a wrinkled finger at Potter. “You will pay for the insult you—”
“Fuck’s sake, man.” Draco interrupted, loudly.
The crowd of civilians around him parted like the red-sea.
“So this is what Moses felt like,” Draco said, to a staring woman.
“You!” wheezed Moldy-wart.
Draco sighed and walked up to the heart of the conflict.
“How long has he been doing this.” he asked Potter.
“Since he first saw me.” Potter muttered back.
Draco groaned. He turned to Moldy-wart. “What do you want.”
“Your head!”
“I meant why have you inconvenienced us all.” Draco snapped, “Again.”
“We’re going to kill off innocent civilians!” yelled one of the loser supporters, waving a gun in the air.
The crowd of innocent civilians began moving backwards, screaming.
Potter moved forward and drew a huge earthen barricade before the civilians. He used a gush of wind to push back any approaching loser supporters.
“Send a gigantic flare of fire up into the air,” Draco whispered to him. “Make it flashy.”
Potter sent a very flashy flare of fire into the air. Moldy-wart and his crowd of loser-supporters began cowering.
“As you can see,” said Draco, smiling, “You’re all fucked.” and then Draco levitated all the firearms he could see into the air and bent them quite irreparably out of shape. He smiled again. “You can cry, now.”
“Surrender.” called Golden-boy/Potter. “You’ve done enough damage.”
A few loser supporters raised their arms tremulously.
“That’s the loser spirit!” Draco encouraged.
“Surrender.” Potter repeated. “Stop this.”
“Greyback!” Moldy-wart shouted, and a huge grey wolf leapt out in front of him, baring its teeth.
“What the fuck—” Draco cussed, as he took hold of it and flung it at Potter’s earthen wall.
“Bellatrix!”
“Stop them!” Draco yelled, “I’ll hold back the wolf—” the grey wolf turned into a man, “—man. I’ll hold back the feral wolf-man, holy fuck.”
“They’re— shit. ” Potter sent another group of loser supporters backwards with a strong gust of wind. “They’re gone.”
“Great going, Golden-boy!” Draco snarled. “Fantastic job, you did there!”
“I—where did they go?!”
“They escaped,” Draco snapped. “Again. Thanks for that, by the way. What would we ever do without you, you useless piece of fuck.”
“You were here too!”
“I was holding back the feral wolf-man!”
“And I was holding back literallyeveryone else!”
Draco glared at him. Then, he remembered the chemistry exam. He took a few calming breaths. “Freeze the feral wolf-man and lower the earthen barricade.” Draco listened for the sound of a police-siren as Potter froze the feral wolf-man. Sure enough, he could hear it. “From the sound of it, the police are here.”
“Great.” Potter sighed in frustration. “I’ll just clean up the mess, then. Like always.”
“Just make sure the road’s flat enough to drive on and then head to school.” Draco said, a tad irritably, his voice low. “I’ll talk to you after chemistry.”
Potter’s head snapped towards him.
“Lower the fucking barricade.” Draco snapped.
Potter lowered the barricade. Draco walked out. The police-men around him trained their guns on him.
“Oh, fuck off.” Draco snapped at them. “I saved your life. Ask Goldie-bum over there for confirmation.” And then Draco walked past them and sat on top of an empty police-car. “I’ll leave this under the high-way.” And then Draco levitated the police car—and himself—up, up, and to the underside of the high-way.
And then, finally alone, Draco put his head in his hands. “Fuck my life.”
And then Draco dug through his inner pockets and called Maximilian. “I’m waiting at the bottom of the high-way. Hurry up.”
And then Draco took off Tacky-pillar’s drag clothes and walked to the bottom of the highway in the school uniform that he’d been wearing underneath. He had a chemistry exam to get to.