Excuse Me, Do You Fucking Mind?

The begrudging partnership was so.Fucking. Doomed.

It was so incredibly doomed. Nothing in the world had ever been more doomed.

Draco could say that he realised thirty seconds ago, when, during their brain-storming session, Potter searched up ‘Moldy-wart’ on Google Images and assaulted Draco’s senses with several rather explicit images of moldy warts. 

(“Potter, you half-wit.”

“How was I supposed to know?!”

“Oh, sorry. I forget sometimes that you don’t have a brain.”)

Draco could say that he realised half an hour ago, when Potter willingly sat next to him (what the fuck was wrong with him?) and then manspread his stupid twig legs.

It’d be the most accurate, though, to admit that Draco had realised from the very moment he’d laid eyes on the skinny, speccy monstrosity that any and all interactions between them were cursed.

And so Draco sat there, eyeing Potter disdainfully and wishing that he didn’t have the ability to convert traumatic events into vivid, long-lasting memories.

“It would’ve been faster to identify him by image than go through all the different links,” Potter muttered, in pathetic excuse.

Draco amped up the disdain in his gaze.

“It was a mistake!” Potter flushed, glaring at Draco.

“Why are you sitting next to me.” Draco asked him, disdainfully.

“There are no other seats!”

“The floor’s vacant.” Draco pointed out, with vitriol. “Stop manspreading your stupid, twig legs.”

“Stop whining just for the sake of it, Ferret.” Weasel said, because he was here and Draco’s life was horrible. “Harry isn’t going to sit on the floor.”

“Did anyone else notice how he didn’t say anything about Potter’s twig legs?” Pansy asked, because she was here as well and Draco hated his life.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about.” Weasel crossed his arms.

“My legs aren’t twiggy,” Potter flushed, turning his speccy glare on Weasel.

Granger patted him on the arm. “Oh, Harry,”

“They’re not twiggy!”

“I like your legs, Harry,” Luna said, taking a sip out of her hot chocolate.

“You’re still manspreading, Potter.” Draco remarked, with increasing irritation. Keeping his legs carefully angled so that they didn’t make contact with Potter’s was giving him a hip cramp.

“I like your legs too, Potter,” Blaise winked. “The twigginess is oddly catching.”

“Oh my god,” said Potter, faintly.

“Blaise, please, let’s not lower our standards,” Pansy said.

“Please,” Draco made a face. “Lets not imply that Blaise has standards.”

Blaise grinned in a manner that was disturbingly salacious. “Jealous?”

“Yeah, I cry myself to sleep every night over the fact that you prefer Potter’s twigginess over my perfect tone.”

“I’m not twiggy!” Potter whined, like a loser. “And you’re not—you’re one to talk, Malfoy.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “There are literal fandoms dedicated to my legs.” He would know, as well, he started them.

Pansy, Blaise and Luna, all of whom were privy to the knowledge that Draco was a narcissist and had started the Tumblr dedicated to Tacky-pillar’s legs, glanced at him. Pansy rolled her eyes, Blaise smirked.

“Run by perverts,” muttered Pansy.

You bitch. Draco smiled at her, “Perverts with good taste.”

“I,” Potter spoke up, “don’t have twig legs.”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Harry,” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Stop manspreading your twigginess,” Draco snided, wriggling the cramp out of his hip.

“There’s nothing wrong with his twigginess!” Weasel defended.

“Shut up, Ron,” Potter hissed, looking hilariously betrayed.

“Stop teasing him, Draco.” Granger shot Draco a warning look.

“I told you,” said Draco, putting a hand on Potter’s knee and pushing it away from his body, “to stop manspreading, you heathen.”

“Your legs aren’t toned.” said Potter.

Draco didn’t bother replying to that. He just glanced into Potter’s eyes, raised an eyebrow and smirked at Potter’s burgeoning scowl.

“Don’t be pathetic, Potter.” Pansy sighed. “It only gives Draco more ammunition.”

Potter, the widdle baby, scowled harder and crossed his arms. 

“Anyway,” said Granger, when Potter wouldn’t stop sulking, “we can’t find anything on Moldy-wart.”

“Well, then.” said Pansy, smiling. “This has been excruciatingly painful, let’s never do it again—”

“Sit down, Pansy,” Draco said, whilst admiring his cuticles. Pansy scowled at him and sat back down.

“Are you both sure his name’s Moldy-wart?” Granger asked.

“I did think…” Potter frowned.

Shocking, Draco mouthed to Pansy. Pansy grinned.

“Shut up, Malfoy—I did think that maybe we got his name wrong.” Potter shrugged at Granger’s questioning gaze.

Draco thought back to his first meeting with the super-twat. “Try Moldy-mort.”

Potter typed furiously. “Nothing.”

Draco slid back in his chair and let out a sigh of frustration.

“Mort means death in French,” observed Luna.

“Moldymort,” thought Draco out-loud, testing the name over his tongue, “Mol de la mort? That doesn’t make sense,”

“Vol de la mort,” said Luna, smiling, “Poetic, isn’t it?”

“I love it when you speak French,” Pansy murmured.

“No.” said Draco, horrified enough to throw-up. “No, no, no. Pansy, change seats with me. No. No, no. Luna, give me your phone—Pansy, change seats with me, get up, you bitch—”

“Vol de la mor?” muttered Potter, frowning.

“Pansy.” Draco grit.

“I’m not sitting next to Potter,”

“Voldy— voldemort?” Potter wondered.

“Idiocy isn’t contagious,” Draco lied.

“I’ll sit next to Potter,” Blaise offered.

“Ew, Blaise,” Pansy made a face.

“Hey!” Weasel defended.

“Blaise,” Draco smiled, charmingly. “What the fuck is wrong with you.”

“Harry’s quite handsome,” Luna added, “You’re not being fair, Draco.”

“Blehhh,” Pansy said.

“I’m handsomer.” Draco returned. And then he spent a solid second regretting all his decisions in life. He’d basically just agreed to Potter being handsome. Which he wasn’t. He wasn’t. People were blind. He was a solid six out of ten. It wasn’t—he wasn’t that good-looking. And his legs. Ugh.

“Blehhh,” Pansy repeated.

“Pansy,” Draco looked at her caustically, “You look like a literal pig, let’s not embarrass ourselves.”

“Fuck you, Draco.”

“I’m the handsomest.” Blaise remarked, into the chaos.

There was a moment of sudden silence.

“Fair enough.” Weasel muttered.

Blaise winked at him.

“Granger, your boyfriend’s cheating on you—”

“Found him!” Potter exclaimed.

“Took you long enough,” Draco insulted, turning back to the screen.

Potter rolled his eyes. “His name’s Voldemort.”

And there it was. Moldy-idiot-fuck’s website.

“Comic Sans.” Draco observed. “How gouache.”

“This entire afternoon has been an attack on my senses.” Pansy remarked.

“I love it when you speak Bitch, Pans,” Blaise murmured, making disturbing eyes at Pansy.

“Ignore them,” Draco muttered at Granger’s horrified expression, “They’re depraved.”

“Says you, Draco Malfoy — ”

“Good work, Potter, I’m proud of you!” Draco interrupted, sending Pansy death-eyes.

“You are?” frowned Potter, from beside Draco.

“Of-course not.” Draco scowled at him. “You should’ve had the website up half an hour ago. I have things to do.”

“Good to know you’re still sane.” Potter muttered.

Pansy sent Draco a knowing look across the table. “What things, Draco—”

“What if one of us dms Moldy-fucker?” Draco interrupted, again, sending Pansy double-death-eyes. (He had a thing with Theo in about an hour. It wasn’t depraved. Draco wasn’t a depraved individual. That was Pansy and Blaise’s job.) “Pretending to want to join him?”

“That’s a good idea,” Granger commented, her eyes lighting up, “If we do it right we could get a lot of information out of him.”

“We talking catfishing?” Blaise asked, his eyes lighting up as well.

“No.” said Potter, at the same time as Draco said, “Obviously.”

They looked at each other. Potter repeated “No.” at the same time as Draco said, “Yes.”

They appraised each other in silence, again. Potter had both cut himself and missed a spot while shaving. He was so very incompetent—it was amusing. And he was so good at maintaining eye-contact that it was unnerving. It occurred to Draco that they were just staring at each other.

“Not confident in your catfishing ability, Potter?” Draco asked. 

Potter cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve never had any need to.”

Fuck him. Of course he’d never had any need to. Saint Potty was the flame towards which all the garbage flies gravitated. Draco observed him and his irritating confidence.

“I think,” Draco smirked, “that’s an excuse for being bad at flirting.”

A flush of red, a flare of nostril. A heightened glare. And yet still he didn’t break eye-contact. A thrill went down Draco’s spine, at the challenge of it all. Sometimes I respect you, Potter.

“I think the appropriate term is ‘shots fired,’” Pansy said. “Is it not, Blaise, Luna?”

“It is, indeed.” Blaise agreed.

“Hey!” Weasel defended. “There’s nothing wrong with being bad at flirting!”

Draco grinned. Weasel was unintentionally awesome sometimes. 

“Ron.” hissed Potter, flaming. “Shut up.”

“What?” Weasel asked, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, not everyone’s like Zabini—”

“The boy speaks the truth.” Blaise nodded.

Granger elbowed Weasel. “Harry’s not— bad at flirting. He’s—he prefers other modes of courtship. ”

“Straight to fucking,” Pansy said. “Not bad, Potty.”

Potter choked on his coffee. Draco grinned at Pansy. Nicely played, Pans.

“Or maybe you’re more of a ‘awkward eye-contact and pining,’ sort of guy?” Draco suggested, revelling in Potter’s glare. Oh? Potter was silent. Bingo. Draco beamed.

“And you’re more of a ‘bully the one you like,’ kind of guy.” Granger said, dryly.

Pansy and Blaise burst out laughing.

“You like pulling on pigtails, don’t you, Draco?” Luna smiled.

“Uh,” said Draco, frowning, “No.”

“Hmmm,” murmured Looney, observing him. “Maybe you don’t.”

“Anyway,” said Potter, still blushing. “We’re not catfishing Voldemort.”

“Yes we are, idiot.” Draco returned. “It’s the best way to get information out of him.”

“I,” Granger sighed. “I have to say I agree. You don’t have to participate, Harry.”

“Wouldn’t want to offend Golden-boy’s delicate sensibilities,” Draco batted his eyelashes at Blaise, Pansy and Luna.

“I’m not—shut up, Malfoy.” Potter scowled. “I don’t care. Do whatever you want.”

And that is how they all began to catfish Voldemort.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Theo, a hair's breadth away from Draco.

“Nothing,” said Draco, recalling Potter’s blush. A virgin? Surely not. Surely with… Cho Chang, was it? Or if not her… the Weaselette, then. Surely.

…Right? Draco remembered Potter’s blush again. Or maybe not. A virgin, huh.

“Why do you keep smiling,” Theo asked.

“Hmm?” Draco blinked at him. “Your hair looks nice today,”

“Bullshit, Malfoy,” Theo laughed.

Draco smiled and closed the distance between them. “Hmmm…”

Draco was trying to work. He was trying to focus. He had shit to do, he was in his final year of school. And yet.

And yet.

“Malfoy, what’s nine times three?” Finnigan asked.

“Sixty-four.” Draco replied, deadpan.

“Thank you, Malfoy!” Finnigan smiled.

Draco turned to stare at Potter. He turned to stare at Potter in order to make him understand that he was on the brink of killing him.

“Wait, isn’t nine times three twenty-six?” Finnigan frowned. “Malfoy, you’re awful bad at maths for a nerd.”

Draco smiled at him, all teeth.

“He was taking the piss, Seamus.” Potter said. “It’s twenty-seven.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Finnigan nodded.

Draco pulled out his phone. 

Me: What the fuck are you doing

Potter’s phone pinged. He snapped his eyes to Draco’s placid gaze of utter fury and turned to his phone.

Bane of Existence: Homework

Potter thought he was so funny. 

Me: Can you fck off

A corner of Potter’s lip kicked up.

Bane of Existence: Something wrong?

Draco really didn’t have time for this.

Me: I’m working

Bane of Existence: So am i

Bane of Existence: So are seamus and dean

Me: Finnigan’s head is smoking from overuse.

Bane of Existence: Well, that’s rather rude, isn’t it?

He was smiling, the fucker.

Me: Fck off

He raised his eyes. Green met Draco’s grey. Another smirk.

Bane of Existence: Make me.

Draco lifted an eyebrow. Challenge accepted.

“So, Thomas, what are you working on again?” Draco asked.

Dean Thomas, who was incorrigibly and most definitely looking at female nudes on his phone under the table, started. “Huh?”

Draco smiled at him. “Your homework?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m doing Econs.”

“Econs,” said Draco. “The profitability of porn?”

“What?” Thomas frowned.

“Nothing, nothing.” Draco smiled. “And you? Finnigan?”

Finnigan was staring at Thomas, in a surly manner. Draco was almost certain that Finnigan had a thing for Thomas. It was genuinely tragic. A cursed love.

“Econs, as well.” Finnigan muttered.

“Right.” Draco turned to Potter, who was observing him. “And you.”

“Psych.” returned Potter, coolly.

My arse. “Fascinating.” Draco said, deadpan. “Right, so back to Thomas.”

“I—huh?” Thomas asked, starting to look a bit freaked (Draco’s reputation preceded him) “What are you on, Malfoy.”

“You wound me.” Draco said. “What’s your econs homework?”

“Macroeconomics.”

“Fascinating.” Draco smiled. “Did you know that the porn industry has been termed ‘recession proof?’”

“Well, yeah,” Thomas said. “You don’t stop being horny just because you lose your job.”

“Mhmmm.” said Draco. “An economic recession might actually increase profits for the porn industry, since people spend less time working, and economic instability often results in relationship breakdown.”

Finnigan was frowning at him.

“Less getting laid, more masterbating.” Draco elucidated.

“Ahhh,” Finnigan nodded.

“It’s interesting,” Draco continued, turning his eyes back to Thomas. “Because usually, work impedes sex drive.” At Finnigan’s frown, Draco added, “Overworked, under-sexed.”

“Ahhh,” Finnigan nodded. “Fair.”

“Couldn’t you just have sex on the job?” Thomas asked.

“You could.” Draco nodded. “You could also set yourself on fire, and piss on your boss’s head.”

Finnigan laughed, “He got you there,”

“You could have sex during your break-time.” Potter suggested.

“You could watch porn instead of working,” Draco added. “But that affects productivity. So you don’t.” 

“I wasn’t watching porn.” Thomas said, red-faced.

Draco feigned surprise. “I didn’t say you were. Were you?”

“You—you implied it.”

“I was just making conversation and asking about your homework.” Draco feigned innocence. “Were you watching porn?” 

“No.” Thomas flushed.

“Dean, what the fuck.” Finnigan scowled.

Draco tutted, “What would Ginevra say…”

“She—she doesn’t care.” Thomas flushed.

“Doesn’t she.” Potter said, stone cold.

The potty in shining armour, Draco thought, irritably. Why did Potter feel the need to always get involved?

“I’m sure she doesn’t care.” Draco smiled at Thomas. Thomas began to smile back. “But she might start caring if you fail your A-levels and can’t get into Uni.”

“Malfoy, you prick—”

Draco continued, “Though there are always other girls. Or boys.”

Thomas made a disgusted face. “I’m not gay.”

Finnigan’s face shuttered. Draco sent him a quick look of pity. 

“You don’t know that.” Draco said.

“I think I do, mate.” Thomas returned. “I was just watching—”

“So you were watching porn.” Draco said. “What would Ginevra say.”

“She— fuck. I’m leaving.” Thomas began to pack up his stuff. “Wanker.”

“He’s no fun,” Draco said to Finnigan, once Thomas had left.

“Not much, no.” Finnigan agreed.

Maybe Finnigan wasn’t so bad.

Draco commented, offhandedly, “Ginevra can do better.” and so can you.

Finnigan smiled back ruefully. “You’re not so bad when you’re not being a dick, Malfoy.”

Draco smiled, “Draco.”

“Seamus.”

“Going after him, Seamus?”

Seamus turned in the direction that Thomas had just gone. He sighed. “Yeah.”

‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’ thought Draco.

And then there were two.

Bane of Existence: Your a dick

Me: *you’re

“You’re a dick, Malfoy.” Potter repeated, out-loud.

“A productive dick.” Draco agreed. “Now if you’d kindly fuck off.” When Potter made no move to leave, Draco tilted his head at him. “Are you a masochist? Do you get off on me insulting you?”

“Yeah, what gave it away?” Potter returned.

Oh? Draco hid a smile. “Your lustful gaze.”

“That’s the footage of you getting punched in the face playing over my eyes,” Potter replied, his lips turning up.

“Talk dirty to me,” Draco said, dryly, and turned back to his annotated timeline.

And the hour in the library passed (strangely enough) peacefully.

It was so bloody convenient that Draco’s brain had (once again, conveniently) forgotten about Golden-boy’s butt. Because Golden-boy had a butt. And the butt was, for lack of a more poetic description, fit. And also, well (because Draco’s life was hell-fire in the deepest, darkest depths of Tartarus) Golden-boy was Harry Potter.

And if the Dog is nice and Toto is the dog, then by logical deduction, it follows that Toto is nice.

‘Tis simple logic. Logic enough that Draco couldn’t ignore it when faced with hard facts.

Which presented themselves in the form of… Harry Potter’s butt. Fuck my life.

That’s what Draco said out-loud. Emphasis on out-loud.

“Fuck my life.” Draco said, when Potter bent over to pick up the plastic funnel he had dropped at the front of the class.

“Language, Malfoy.” Snape snided, not missing a step of his classroom surveillance.

Fuck you, my life is falling apart, Draco would have said, if he had the balls, and also no brain, and if his eyes weren’t glued to Golden-boy— oops, Harry Potter’s arse.

Which was… 

Maybe Potter was a seven out of ten.

Draco wasn’t a pervert. He wasn’t.

He wasn’t.

Draco was simply an academic. And what do academics do? Academics question. They question and explore and contribute to the pool of shared knowledge. It’s the scientific method. Basically.

So that’s what Draco was doing. He was… he was questioning.

Because no way… no way did Harry-fucking-Potter have a nice butt. No, no.

No, no, no.

That was not fair. You can’t be fairly good-looking and have a nice butt at the same time. Draco was an exception. Blaise was also an exception.

And so, Draco questioned. 

Hypothesis: Potter does not have a nice butt.

He used his powers and pushed a pencil off the table as Potter walked by.

Results: The fabric over the specimen in the position investigated is so affected as to offer a comprehensive view of the—

Oh, fuck my arse. Fuck my arse with a cactus.

Results: Hypothesis rejected. The world is in ruins.

“The fuck is it this time.” Pansy rolled her eyes.

“Nothing.” Draco scowled.

Pansy rolled her eyes even harder. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“Draco,” said Luna. “Do you fancy Harry?”

Draco looked at Luna in utmost horror. “No?”

“Oh,” said Luna, “Not yet, then.”

“What?” Draco said, once again, in utmost horror. “I don’t think his arse is fit, shut up.”

Luna smiled.

“Twenty pounds, Pans,” Blaise called, from the back.

“Fuck you, Draco,” Pansy handed Blaise the twenty pounds.

“I hate all of you.” Draco moped.

Draco was having the time of his life. This was because he was at home. Alone. In peace. In his room. Where no-one could hurt him—namely, his so-called ‘friends’ (also read as: venomous snakes) and Harry Potter’s butt. And his smile. Mostly his butt. And maybe a little his eyes. But mostly his arse.

No, Draco, Draco told himself, Remember his twig legs. Remember his knobbly knees. No, no. Knobbly knees. We can’t do with knobbly knees.

“Disgusting.” Draco sneered.

“I agree, but let's keep our feelings to ourselves when your father’s home.” his mother said, from his door.

Draco lifted his head off his bed. “Mum.” and then he processed what she’d just said. “Father’s back?”

“Soon.”

Draco rolled his eyes and flung himself back on his bed. “God, I hate my life!”

“Cut the drama, darling.”

“Draco.” his father said.

“Father.” Draco returned.

They continued to eat their dinner in silence.

“I’m still gay, by the way,” Draco remarked, offhandedly.

His father put his fork down and turned to Draco’s mother. “Do you see the way he speaks to me?”

“I have eyes, honey.” she returned, cutting her steak impeccably.

Draco loved his mum. His mum was awesome.

“Ironically, I think I might actually be gayer now than I was before.” Draco commented, into the silence, while his father’s face got progressively redder. “So, how was your trip.”

“You are ill-behaved.” his father hissed.

Draco didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a close thing.

“I apologise,” Draco said, instead. And he was so good at maintaining decorum that it didn’t even sound sarcastic.

“It is inappropriate, to say the least, to speak of such things over the dinner table.” his father said. “You can follow your homosexual proclivities in your own time.”

“Okay, father.” Draco nodded. “I’ll turn off my gay for now.”

“Draco!” his father roared.

“Sit down, Lucius.” his mother said, calmly. “He’s just teasing you.”

His father sat down. Draco thought he saw a vein in his temple throb.

“How was your trip,” Draco said, after a while. His mother shot him a dry look. “I mean it sincerely.” Draco added.

“I don’t wish to speak about my life to people who are ill-behaved.” his father, the five year old child in the forty-five year old’s body, said.

“I understand.” Draco replied. His mother shot him another dry look. “I mean that sincerely.” Draco added.

And they ate for a while in companionable silence.

“I quite like the asparagus.” Draco said. 

“As do I.” his mother agreed. “Roxana’s overdone herself today.”

His father sniffed. “There is too much garlic in the asparagus.”

Draco gasped. “A crime!”

“Do not be sarcastic with me.”

“She’s trying to kill you,” Draco continued. “I assure you, I am completely sincere in my worries.”

“Are you implying that I am a vampire.” Lucius Malfoy narrowed his eyes.

“I’m so glad we share this special relationship in which we can converse without words.”

“Narcissa, look at the way he talks to me!”

“Sit down, Lucius.” Narcissa said. “Dessert hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Aren’t I hilarious?” Draco asked his mum when his father had gone upstairs in order to sulk in his room.

His mum sent him an amused glance from her position on the couches.

“I know you were trying not to laugh.”

She turned back to her book. “It concerns me that your only conceivable talent is irritating your father.”

Draco grinned. “But you admit that it’s a talent.”

His mother laughed, then. Like the way a plant unfurls and grows when it’s finally allowed outside after spending all it’s time in a dark chamber. Like something that’s so lovely, everyone knows, intrinsically, that it’s natural; it’s something that’s always meant to be in the way that it is, right now, in this moment. Draco loved his mother’s laugh.

“I’ve had a horrid week.” Draco sat down next to her and sulked.

“I am aware.”

Draco sulked even harder. “And you didn’t think to inquire as to my state of being?”

“I assumed you would do what you are doing right now,”

“Divulge my private matters of my own free will,”

“Bitch, unsolicited, about your life.” his mother corrected.

“Thanks, mum.”

“You’re very welcome, darling.”

Draco smiled.

After maybe a chapter or so, his mother said, “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve invited Remus and Sirius over on Saturday.”

Draco was broken out of his near-slumber. “Saturday? You mean tomorrow?”

“I do, indeed.”

Everything was suddenly awesome. “For lunch?”

“For dinner.”

Draco looked at her. “With father?”

“Won’t that be fun? Sirius and you can have a ball.”

Draco beamed. “Can I invite Pansy?”

“Of course.”

“And Blaise,”

“Yes,”

“Oh, and Looney,”

His mother laughed again, “You can invite whoever you want.”

“That’s brilliant, mum.” 

“I know. You’re welcome.” she turned back to her book. “Oh, they’re bringing their child with them.”

“The one they’re taking care of?”

“Yes, that one.”

Draco looked back at his mum, “Are Sirius and Remus really coming over?” He felt like he couldn’t believe this little burst of goodness after the shitty week he’d had.

His mum looked back at him. “Yes, Draco, they are.”

Draco smiled again.

“I’ve brought the goods.” Pansy announced, as soon as she had entered his room.

“Pansy,” said Draco, “why the fuck don’t you knock.”

“Pah.” said Pansy. “Your underwear looks awfully tacky, you should change it.”

Draco glared at Pansy in his near-naked state. “No-one’s going to see my underwear.”

“I’ve seen your underwear.”

“No-one else is going to see my underwear.”

“It’s offending me. Why is it so orange.”

Draco pulled his track-suit bottoms up. “Fuck you.”

Pansy sat down and spread the Korean face-mask packs she had brought with her on Draco’s bed.

“For that comment, you get the unscented one.”

“So you want to fuck Potter.” Pansy said, giving Draco a million heart-attacks.

“Wha— no.” Draco denied, vehemently. At Pansy’s look he repeated, “No. No?”

“Half the year wants to fuck Potter, it’s not a big deal.”

“I don’t want to fuck P—him.” Draco said, feeling his face heat. “What is wrong with you?”

“Many things, but we digress.” Pansy began her second coat of nail polish. “He has a nice arse, I get it.”

“Do you, Pansy,” Draco asked, deadpan. “Do you, really.”

“Of-course not. I have standards.”

“I have standards!”

Pansy gave him a look. “Clearly.”

“Eat my shit, Pansy.”

“Sounds kinky, but I’ll pass.”

Draco readjusted his headband (also Pansy’s—as was immediately evident from the fact that it had bunny ears. Draco didn’t like to think about when else Pansy had put this headband to use.) “I don’t want to fuck Potter. I just think that his arse is objectively, a little bit, fit.”

Pansy shot him another look. “What’s the difference?”

“You can admire a shirt without wanting to buy it.”

“I usually try on the shirts that I admire in the changing room.”

“Uh, but you don’t always buy them.”

“I buy most of them, after trying them on in the changing room.”

“Pansy, what the fuck relevance does the changing room have in this analogy.”

Pansy tutted. “So naive.”

Draco crossed his arms. “I’ve done things!”

“You’ve kissed and played footsie with Theo.”

“I—I’ve done other things.” Draco argued, feeling himself go red.

“You’ve at most given each other hand-jobs.”

Draco hated Pansy. Especially because she was usually always right.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why you’ve never gone further?” Pansy asked.

“We’re going at our own pace. I’ve got things to do. So does he.”

“If you really wanted to fuck him,” Pansy looked at him, “You’d have fucked him.”

“That’s not true.” Draco denied. “I think Theo’s fit.”

“You can admire a shirt without wanting to buy it, but still end up buying it because you didn’t actually want it as much as you thought you did but you had this weird self-denial thing going on and this analogy is dead now, we can’t use it anymore.” Pansy shook her head. “I’m going to straighten my hair. Call Blaise and ask him where he is.”

“Shall I polish your shoes—”

“Yes, please do.” 

Draco rolled his eyes and called Blaise.

“Dracon.” Blaise picked up.

“Where are you?”

“Almost there.”

“Okay.” and then Draco hung up.

Pansy turned to him.

“He’s almost here—” the door-bell rung, “—he’s here.”

Pansy snorted, “Why’s he ringing the door-bell.”

“He knows father’s home and he thinks it’s amusing to announce his presence.” and then Draco was taking the steps down two at a time.

The evening was coming together, Remus and Sirius would be here soon, and despite the fact that he was pretty much fully grown, Draco couldn’t deny that he was getting butterflies in his stomach out of excitement.

He threw the door open, “Get in—” and stopped dead at the sight of Remus’s smile, “—Remus!” and then threw himself at Remus.

“I like your headband,” Remus laughed.

“It’s Pansy’s.” Draco replied, beaming. “She uses it in her weird sex-games.”

“Stop talking to my husband about sex-games.” Sirius said.

“Sorry, who are you?” Draco asked. “Have we met?”

“Fuck off,” Sirius grinned. “What’s that on your face.”

“It’s a Korean fa—Potter.” said Draco, shuttering off any and all emotion at the sight of Harry-fucking-bane-of-my-life-Potter dawdling around awkwardly behind Sirius.

Potter had his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. “Malfoy.” he said, awkwardly.

And that is when Pansy came running down the stairs, “Draco, the fuck is taking you— Remus! Sirius!” she flung herself into Sirius’s arms.

“You’ve gotten so big, Pansy,” Remus smiled, when it was his turn to be hugged.

“I’ve gotten bigger.” Draco sniffed, in an instinctual response to always be Remus’s favourite.

“You have,” Remus agreed. “You’re almost my height now.”

Draco gave him a small smile because he loved Remus and Remus was awesome, but he didn’t have it in him to smile wider because Harry Potter was at his front door and Draco was wearing a Korean face-mask and Pansy’s weird bunny sex-headband and his old T-shirt and grey joggers and this was not okay, why was Harry Potter here, and why did he look so—bloody—UGH!

“What’s wrong with Draco?” Pansy asked Remus and Sirius. And then she noticed Potter, “Oh my god, this is hilarious.”

Potter was standing to the side awkwardly.

And it struck Draco. “Is this the kid you’re taking care of?”

Remus winced and then continued, apologetically, “We just recently connected the dots, as well.”

Draco wanted to die. 

Remus handed Draco a bag. “We brought you chocolate.”

Draco wanted to die slightly less.

And that is when Blaise showed up, looking like a sex-god. “Holy shit. This is hilarious.”

Fuck my life.