Excuse Me, Do You Fucking Mind?

“This is wrong.” Potter announced, looking absolutely horrified. 

thats sooooo funny! Draco typed into the chat box. ur relly funny, voldy ;)

“This is wrong.” Potter repeated.

“Draco, you suck at this.” Pansy scowled. 

“I’m better than Potter.” Draco returned. wut r u doing rn??? Draco typed in.

‘Voldy’ started to type, stopped typing, and then started to type again. Draco leant away from his laptop and smirked.

“The only reason this is working,” Pansy said, “Is because I’m a double-D.”

“This is so wrong.” Potter muttered, looking adorably scandalised.

“Are you really alright with us using your—um, your photo as the profile picture?” Granger asked Pansy, her brow wrinkled in concern.

“You’re so cute, Grangey,” Blaise cooed.

“Grangey?” Weasel scowled.

“Don’t waste your concern, Granger, Pansy has no shame.” Draco intoned, watching the ‘typing…’ on the screen flicker on and off.

“This—Parkinson.” Potter stood up, righteousness dripping out of his arse. “This is—” 

“—wrong.” Draco finished, in falsetto. “Sit down, Potter.”

Potter sat back down. “I don’t understand why—”

“Leave the understanding to the people with the mental capacity to understand.” Draco drawled. “Just sit there and be golden, Golden-boy.”

“Has he still not responded?” Pansy asked, peering at the screen and the flickering ‘typing…’ “Draco, you suck.”

“He’s nervous.” Draco argued. “It’s going well.”

“Maybe we should have used another photo of Pansy,” Looney offered.

“The photo’s too good to be true.” Weasel agreed. At Granger’s glare, he added, quickly, “It looks too much like a catfish.”

“If you use your singular brain cell, Weasel, you’ll realise,” Draco explained, patiently, “that that’s rather the point.”

“If the catfishing’s too obvious, it’s not going to work,” Weasel shot back. “This is why you’ve never won in a chess game against me.”

“Low blow, Weasel.”

“I’m sorry for being too hot,” Pansy grinned, reclining back on Draco’s bed.

Draco looked at her scathingly. Pansy blew him a kiss.

“It’s not your fault, Pansy,” Looney said, “We should have chosen a less flattering photo.”

“Stop overthinking it.” Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s working.”

Potter started, indignantly, “This is—”

“Oh my god,” Draco snapped. “Shut up, Potter.”

Potter scowled at the floor.

Draco scowled at Potter scowling at the floor. What a child. 

And then, unable to help his weak, weak heart, he sighed, loudly, “Have you done the Chemistry homework?”

“No.” Potter told his feet.

“Do it now.” Draco said. “Leave the catfishing to the depraved ones in the group.”

Potter muttered indecipherably and got his homework out of his bag. And then, like the good boy he was, Potter began to do his homework in the corner. Damn it, why was he so—ugh. Focus, Draco. Draco forced his eyes back to the screen.

“Still hasn’t replied?” Blaise asked, lying down next to Pansy.

“No.” Draco admitted, begrudgingly. “But it’s working, I swear, he’s still typing.”

“We should have used a photo of me—” Looney started.

““No.”” said Draco and Pansy at the same time. Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Pansy.

“I’ve got the biggest boobs in the group.” Pansy said. “It had to be me.”

“You’re a martyr now, Pans,” Blaise grinned. “It’s going to be soboring up in heaven.”

“Not if Luna’s there with me,”

“Can you not?” Draco gave her a withering look, shoving her feet away from him. 

“Maybe,” Granger bit her lip. “Maybe we should have—”

“We’re not fighting over which one of you should have been objectified.” Draco commanded.

“All I’m saying,” said Blaise, “is that if you’d used me, instead of Pansy—”

“How are you all so self-obsessed?” Weasel interrupted, disgusted, and yet unable to hide his awe.

“It’s second-nature to be a narcissist if you’re worth obsessing over,”

“Blaise, stop seducing Granger’s boyfriend.” Draco frowned at the laptop screen. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the flaw in Blaise’s reasoning continue to pout handsomely in the corner. 

“What are we going to do if this doesn’t work.” Potter demanded, exploding with repressed morality.

“We’ll get Draco to wear pantyhose and take a photo of his legs,” Pansy answered, “Duh.”

Reply, Moldy-fuck, come on, Draco dragged the cursor over the ‘typing…’

“What, Potter?” Pansy asked, sweetly. “Don’t like the sound of that?”

Draco looked up from his screen just in time to catch Potter’s impressive glower. He felt himself bristle. “I’ll have you know, Potter, that there are literal fandoms dedicated to my legs.”

“As well as subpar pornos,” Blaise added.

Reaching behind him, in one fluid movement, Draco took hold of a pillow and threw it at Blaise’s face as hard as he could. He caught a glimpse of Luna’s wide-eyed stare. “Ignore the wanton hoozy, Looney.”

“Are you talking about ‘Bite me, Tacky,’ or ‘Villainous Bath-time’?” came Luna’s heart-stopping response.

Draco felt his soul leave his body. He looked in horror at his beautiful, and once upon a time, innocent, baby cousin, cursing the world and its corrupting ways. He then turned to Blaise and snarled, “This is your fault.”

“Lu—na.” hushed Blaise, gleefully dodging Draco’s second torpedo pillow throw.

(“There was a fashion-show in Tokyo dedicated to Draco’s legs,” Pansy said, somewhere in the irrelevant background.)

“This happened because you wouldn’t shut up about the fake blonde who played me in the porno,” Draco hissed, leaping across his bed to catch a rapidly fleeing Blaise.

“Not in front of an audience, Dracon,” Blaise teased, batting his eyelashes.

“I’m going to hurt you, Blaise.”

“Promise?” Blaise returned, eagerly.

“Exhibitionists.” Pansy muttered.

“Has Voldemort replied yet!” Potter yelled, making his way over.

“This was a bad idea,” Granger muttered.

“This was a fantasticidea,” Draco returned, feeling for some reason that his personal pride was tied to a successful catfishing. “Stay in your corner, Potter.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Potter snapped.

Draco gave him a look. He hadn’t minded all that much before, what the fuck was wrong with him now?

Granger groaned and put her head in her hands.

“This was a fantastic idea.” Pansy proclaimed.

Draco turned to her suspiciously. “Why are you being so supportive.”

“Because I am a supportive person, darling,”

Draco smiled and gave her the finger.

“People shouldn’t use other people without their permission.” Potter said, tightly.

Draco turned to him, biting back the withering response on his tongue—control, Draco, control—“Pansy practically beggedto be used,”

“The photo’s too obvious.”Weasel groaned. “It’s not going to work.”

Potter glared at the pillow on the floor next to his foot and threw it viciously at Draco’s bed. “This shouldn’t happen.”

Draco lost his temper. “Stop being so annoying, Potter!”

“Sto—you, stop!” Potter shouted back.

“Wow.” Draco widened his eyes. “Great comeback. I am destroyed.”

“Why did we agree to this, Ron,” Granger whispered.

“Trust in the double-D’s, all of you,” called Pansy, playing on her phone.

“Stop being sarcastic!” Potter roared, anger collecting in the air around him like he was the centre of some metaphysical vortex. 

“Only because you’re asking so nicely,”Draco replied, so very sweetly—like frosting, or honey, or (if he stopped being sarcastic) ethylene glycol.

Potter snarled and ran his hands through his hair. “You—you—”

“Luna, have you seen ‘Naughty Tacky,’?” Draco heard Blaise say.

All Draco did was look at Blaise. He was gratified to observe him flinch in response.

“Everybody shut up about the porn!” shouted the unnecessarily loud vortex of anger.

Draco clapped his hands. “Hear ye, hear ye, King Potter hath passeth a decree,”

“Mal—”

“Oh,” said Luna, “Voldy replied.”

Everybody turned to Luna.

In two strides Draco was at his laptop screen. He began grinning irrepressibly when he read the words, talking to a beutiful girl ;)

“I told you fools it would work.”

“He’s never going to shut up about this now,” he heard Pansy tell Granger. “You brought this on yourselves.”

The way Draco dealt with his unfortunate feelings for Potter was through Theo. That made him a horrible person, of course, but it made him a horrible person who was aware that he was a horrible person. Draco was many, many things, but he wasn’t a hypocrite. Well, okay, he was a hypocrite, but not in this very specific scenario.

Theo, a worthy companion, was well aware of how horrible a person Draco was.

“Remind me, again, why I tolerate you?” Theo asked.

Draco smirked at Theo. “I don’t think I need to.”

Theo sighed and took a cigarette pack and lighter out of his pocket. “Overconfidence isn’t sexy.”

“You know what really isn’t sexy?” Draco asked him, leaning his head back on the brick wall. “Willingly destroying your lungs.”

(Hi there, Evidence of Maximilian’s Never-Ending Sermons.)

Theo glanced at him from below his dark blond lashes. “You say that,”

“I do say that.” Draco agreed. “All the time. Because it’s true.”

“You say that,” Theo repeated, starting to smirk, putting his lit cigarette between his lips. “But then you look at me like that.”

“Like what,” Draco asked, trying desperately not to focus on the smoke leaving that perfect, parted cupid’s bow—those lips that were turning into a slow smirk right in front of Draco’s eyes. 

Okay, Draco admitted: Horny was Draco and Draco was Horny.

“Like you want my dick in your mouth.” Theo said, still smirking, his tie loosened.

Draco eyed him, all blond hair, blue eyes and elegant insouciance. Hold onto that bravado, Theodore.

Moving in front of Theo, Draco placed his arms on either side of his body and effectively trapped him against the wall before moving closer. Theo’s pupils dilated, his eyes flickered to Draco’s mouth. “Looks to me like you’re the one desperate for my mouth on your dick,”

Theo let out a slow exhale of smoke. “Not at school.”

Draco wrinkled his nose at the second-hand smoke, moving away from repulsion rather than complaisance.

“You don’t like the smell, do you?” Theo smiled with the next exhale.

“I don’t like the fact that it’s killing you, either.”

Snaking an arm around Draco’s waist and pulling him closer, “Stop pretending that you care,”

Draco felt a throb of guilt. He moved away enough to see Theo’s face. “I docare.”

Theo’s scoff was half a laugh, but it seemed to Draco, somehow, that there was discomfort hiding behind all that bravado. The sight was so familiar it hurt to look at. ‘I couldn’t give less of a fuck what someone at the calibre of Potter thinks of me.’

“Theo, I do care.” Draco said, sincerely. He was aware that the words could never sound sincere out of his mouth. He felt himself frowning at the thought. “Whatever my countless flaws and—insufficiencies, I do care.”

Theo took another drag of his cigarette, a breath too long to be natural. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

Draco’s conscience reared its severely mal-nutritioned head. He bit back another frown. 

He wasn’t going to apologise—that just wasn’t who he was.And… if Draco was in Theo’s position, he’d rather die before feel like he was being pitied. And so, pretending he believed Theo’s lie, Draco slid a hand up his neck and placed an open mouthed kiss on the other side. Above him, Theo let out a shuddering exhale.

Draco moved upwards with his kisses, putting extra care on the spot just below Theo’s ear, moving his body until there was no space between them, biting Theo’s earlobe and earning a repressed moan.

“I do care, Theodore.” Draco said softly into Theo’s ear.

“Don’t.” came the returning hiss, despite his full-body shiver.

Draco bit his ear, again.

Theo pulled Draco’s face to his own and kissed him. Draco licked his bottom lip slowly. The smell of smoke, Draco hated. The taste of tobacco, on the other hand, had been made appetising by association.

Almost to himself, Theo asked, “Why do I let you do this,”

Draco kissed him harder, swallowing his words, grinding him against the wall. Theo groaned and bit his lip as Draco moved his hands up and down his sides, pushing harder and harder against him, his movements growing more frantic, his mind fogging enough that it almost seemed blond hair turned black, and blue eyes turned green.

“Do you think,” Theo asked, as if through a haze, with Draco kissing his collarbone, “you could ever—feel anything for me,” 

It took a while for the words to register, but when they did Draco froze. He couldn’t quite keep the expression off his face.

“Fuck.” Theo cussed, more panicked than Draco had ever seen him. “Ignore that—”

The sound of the back-door opening made them both jump and tear away from each other.

“Malfoy?—” and of course it was Harry fucking Potter.

Theo hissed and turned away to button up his shirt. Draco, more appropriately clothed, stepped in front of him as cover. The crisis had been averted with a larger crisis, as was typical of Draco’s life.

Why do things like this happen to me, thought Draco, sadly. Karma, why must you be such a sanctimonious bitch?

“Malfoy?” Potter frowned at him, glancing behind him at Theo, (now really wasn’t the time, but Draco couldn’t help noticing that Potter’s hair was wet. He hated himself for the sudden premonition he got about his dreams that night: annoying boys, water, and much nakedness.) “Parkinson told me…” Potter trailed off. “What were you doing.”

Feeling Theo stiffen behind him, Draco just barely bit back a wince. If Draco was in the closet, Theo was in Narnia. 

“Smoking.” Draco lied, moving to cover Theo more completely.

Potter glanced at Draco’s lips. Fuck, Draco thought, They must be swollen. He pursed them.

“Smoking.” repeated Potter, coldly.

“Spare me.” Draco attempted, in half sincerity.

“You were smoking.” Potter said, in growing anger.

“Go inside, I’ll take care of this,” Draco told Theo. Theo gave him a quick grateful glance before running indoors.

Draco looked at Potter, so incredibly tired in so many different ways. He could barely believe the words that were going to leave his mouth.

“Do me a favour, Potter, and pretend that you didn’t see anything.”

“What exactly are you asking me to forget.” Potter asked, clenching his jaw. “You were smoking.”

Draco rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. How the fuck was he meant to answer? (God, Potter’s wet hair really wasn’t helping.) “Let me be, I wasn’t the one smoking.”

Potter scowled. “So whatexactly am I meant to be forgetting, Malfoy.”

Of course Potter wasn’t going to let this go. When had he ever made anything easy for Draco? Draco looked at the grey sky in irritation and exhaled, loudly. “Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

“Yes.”

Draco looked back at Potter, at the way his glasses rested on his nose. At the way his brows were pulled low and his lips were half-pouted, and how he was everything Draco could never have. The dull ache in his chest reminded him of its existence. He hated so much what Potter did to him, what Potter had always done to him. When he felt himself sneering, he forced himself to clear his expression.

Draco thought of Theo, then. It was so stupid to have done something in school. They’d both been desperate—Draco for escape, Theo for… whatever he’d deluded himself into feeling. ‘Do you think,’ he had asked, ‘you could ever—feel anything for me.’ After all the ways Draco had hurt him, he couldn’t hurt him like this, as well. He conceded that it was time to be honourable for once. He owed Theo Potter’s silence. 

“We were kissing.” Draco told Potter, catching him off-guard with uncharacteristic candidness. “I’d really appreciate it,” oh, how the words burned as they left his mouth, “if you didn’t tell anyone.”

Potter spluttered indecipherably for a while. Eventually, “He smokes.” 

“A crime, I know.”

Potter gave Draco’s sarcasm a look of pure disgust. Not that Draco had been expecting a laugh or anything. Not that Potter and Draco were friends, or anything. Not that Potter had been the one to bloody beg for Draco’s friendship, or any-fucking-thing. Draco noticed himself growing a tad too irritated. He forced a deep breath. Control, you idiot.

“Leave him alone.” he sighed, after a moment.

When Potter didn’t answer, a spark of irritation led Draco to clench his jaw and repeat, “Leave him alone.”

“You—I’m not going to hurt him.” Potter retorted, fiercely.

Make your mother proud, Draco, calm the fuck down. Draco forced another few breaths and then looked at Potter, carefully. How the fuck was he meant to get him to understand the severity of the situation? “Don’t tell anyone, please.”

“I—” Potter blinked. The ‘please’must have thrown him. “I won’t.”

“Not even Granger, or Weasel.”

“Ashamed of your boyfriend?” Potter sneered, having recovered all too fast from the ‘please’.

Draco stiffened. How easily they melted back into their usual roles.

Animosity shouldn’t have looked so foreign on Potter’s face. Potter had been sneering at Draco for seven years. A few weeks of ceasefire shouldn’t have broken that cornerstone. Draco asked him, coldly, “Will you or will you not forget this ever happened?”

Potter glared back at him, livid for being forced into dishonesty. And yet, even through his anger and his perpetual, instinctive hatred for Draco (in spite of all that rubbish he’d insisted about wanting to be friends) he answered, as Draco had always known he would, “I will.” 

You never change, came the bittersweet thought. Draco stared at him for a single, decadent moment. And then he nodded. The ceasefire continued. 

“Why were you looking for me?”

Potter paused. “The police contacted me.”

Draco moved away from the wall, noticing in the process that Theo’s cigarette was still lit. It must have fallen sometime during the kissing. He snubbed it with his shoe and asked, “Golden-boy?”

Potter nodded, tightly. “They asked if I want to come in to—watch the interrogations.”

Draco frowned. It had been almost three weeks since Moldy-fucker’s pathetic followers had been apprehended. “They haven’t been interrogated?”

“They have.”

Draco sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Explain yourself Potter, don’t make this more exhausting for me.”

“Excuse me for being exhausting.”

And then, in a move that really shouldn’t have surprised Draco as much as it did, Potter turned on the spot and walked back inside, slamming the door behind him.

“What did you say to Harry?” Granger asked him during English, later that week.

“Nothing.” Draco insisted. “Why is he being so pissy?”

Granger made a complicated expression for a few moments before sighing. “He...‘s under a lot of stress.”

Draco scowled. “Under a lot of stress, my arse. He’s acting like I killed his family.”

Granger looked at him distrustingly. Which, okay, fair. “You must have said something.”

Draco’s scowl deepened. “I say things to him all the time, he’s never behaved like this before.”

“Touché.” Granger winced. “I’ll speak to him.”

Draco grit his teeth and focused back on the poem he’d been annotating.

And neither the angels in Heaven above

Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

Draco thought blandly that everything was horrible and that everyone (especially people whose names began with the letter P) needed to calm the fuck down. 

It was two days before Draco’s patience ran out.

He caught Potter by the elbow and dragged him to the disabilities bathroom after Chemistry finished. Ignoring Potter’s protests, Draco shut them both inside and locked the door.

“What is wrong with you.” Draco demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Stop lying.”

“Says the person who forced me to lie.”

“So, that’s it?” Draco asked, eyeing Potter. “You’ve been acting like this because I asked you to lie for me?”

Potter clenched his jaw and looked at the floor with such anger that Draco half expected it to burst into flames.

“We can’t have a conversation if you don’t talk, Potter.”

Potter shrugged, ineffectively attempting nonchalance like a loser. Emphasis on loser.

“Potter.” No response. “Oi.” No response. “Potter.” A furious glance.The thread of Draco’s patience snapped. “Why are you so angry?” he demanded.

“I don’t know!” Potter shouted at the floor.

“Are you,” Draco inhaled, “crazy?”

“Says the bloke who locked me in a bathroom with him!”

“Says the coward who’s been avoiding me.”

“I’m not a coward!” Potter flushed.

“Coward.” Draco hissed. “Coward, coward, coward.”

Despite his blush, Potter glared. “Name-calling won’t intimidate me.”

“Presumptuous of you to assume my observations were meant as anything other than sincere observations.” Draco returned, the week-long hurt and betrayal fuelling his rage.

Potter narrowed his eyes at him. “Duplicitous of you to say your words were mere observations when you went out of your way to lock me in a bathroom with you.”

Draco was stunned out of his anger for a second. He stared at Potter. “That was quite possibly the most eloquent sentence that has ever left your mouth.”

Potter sniffed and glanced at Draco, a new bashfulness in his expression. Oh god, Potter, don’t do that. 

Draco looked away, feeling his cheeks heat.

Potter cleared his throat.

Draco observed Potter glancing at him from the corner of his vision. He stopped observing Potter from the corner of his vision when he felt it was getting too much for his heart.

“You…” Potter started, before clearing his throat again. “Are you…” and he trailed off into silence. Draco watched him struggle for words.

“The eloquence was nice while it lasted.”

“Fuck off,” Potter returned, trying not to smile.

It was absurd that Draco had missed this. He hadn’t had it long enough to grow familiar with it, and yet still… still, the mere vision of Potter looking at him with detached fondness rather than anger calmed his fretting heart. It was like feeling at home in an apartment that he’d stepped in for the first time. It didn’t make any sense. Nothing about Potter ever made any sense. What have you done to me? he was tempted to ask.

“Are you going to stop avoiding me now?” he asked instead, trying to be as non-accusatory as possible, and probably failing just because of who he was as a person.

“I wasn’t—avoiding you.” Potter muttered.

Draco rolled his eyes and didn’t deign to answer.

“Are you….” Potter started.

Draco looked at him in irritation when he didn’t bother to finish his sentence. “Am I what?”

“Nothing.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Draco scowled at his surly disposition “Fine.” he spat. “I’m sorry.”

Potter blinked at him. “What.”

“Are you deaf?” Draco repeated, furiously, “I’m sorry.”

Potter’s lips twitched. “That was the most aggressive apology I’ve ever gotten.”

Draco scowled at him until he stopped trying to hold back a laugh. It kills me to say it, but, “I’m sorry that I made you lie to your best friends for Theo’s sake.”

Potter’s eyebrows shot up. Draco knew, then, that Potter was an idiot. It was an unfortunate reality that he had admitted to himself (and only to himself) that Potter being normal again was worth more than upholding his pride. As loath as he was to draw out his capitulation, he knew what needed to be done. He took in a deep breath in order to explain himself as best he could.

“It’s—difficult to be—gay, or different, in any way, really, in school. Theo isn’t… he comes from a conservative family.” Draco felt his voice soften with sympathy. “His parents would kill him. And he—the decision to come out is entirely his. Nothing should ever take that power away from him. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“Huh.”

Draco felt his face sour with the words,“I’m sorry that I made you lie to Granger and Weasel. It can’t have been easy. ” He paused to suppress a grimace. The words were like shards of glass making their way up his throat, “But it’s not just me. It’s Theo. I wouldn’t have made you lie if it was just me.” He bit back a wince at Potter’s disbelieving expression and continued, “I know it’s hard to believe, but I—look, you’ve been to my house. My mum accepts me. Pansy, Blaise and Luna accept me. Remus and Sirius accept me. I don’t really care about anyone else.” Draco wondered if any of this was getting through Potter’s skull. “Theo hasn’t told anyone.” Potter’s face was impassive. God, how the fuck was Draco going to appeal to him? “You shouldn’t have found out,” Maybe it was time to play the martyr card. “It was my fault, I jumped him. I—” Draco winced at how lame he was going to sound. “I was too horny to care about where we were.” He took another deep breath. “I’m sorry for making you lie but I need you to keep your promise.” When Potter didn’t say anything, Draco swallowed the bile which came with willingly lowering himself to this degree and added, “Please, Potter.”

“You must care about him a lot.”

Oh, thank god, Draco looked up expecting forgiveness, only to see a violent rage on Potter’s face.

“I said sorry!” he snapped, his patience evaporating.

“I heard.” Potter snapped back. And in a step he pushed Draco out of the way and was gone.

Fine then, thought Draco, with building anger in his stomach. He’d laid all his cards and still been judged inadequate. This was familiar, though. This anger. Draco was donewith lowering himself. Fuck that.

Fine then, Potter. Two can play at that game.

YOU ARE SO FUNNY VOLDY HAHAHAHAH, Draco typed with an impassive face. He hit send.

Voldy sent back a heart emoji. Draco sneered at it.

“What was the point of this again?” asked Blaise, shoving peanuts into his mouth. “Not that I’m not having fun.” 

“Methinks Draco’s fallen in lurve.” Pansy batted her eyelashes.

Scrolling over the old messages, Draco felt inclined to admit (but only to himself) that Blaise had a point. What was the point of this again? Draco glared at his laptop screen and the flickering typing… 

He felt, after a while, that someone was staring at him. Looking up, he noticed Luna eyeing him. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“You haven’t been drinking your tea.” she said. The tea she was referring to was the ginger infused one that she had made for his ubiquitous Wrackspurt problem. 

It amused Draco the way that she accused him. “Innocent until proven guilty, Looney.”

Luna frowned at him.

“Great.” Pansy intoned. “You’ve upset Luna. You ruin everything.”

Any other time, Draco would have let loose a string of cutting repartees. At that moment, however, he simply couldn’t be bothered. He gave Pansy the finger and continued staring at the typing… on the screen.

“Wanker.” Pansy said, fondly.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Has Voldy replied?” Luna asked, bringing a thermos over to Draco.

Draco took a begrudging sip of his anti-Wrackspurt syrup and decided that not replying was a better choice than admitting that his mind was a tad too pre-occupied to be brilliant right now.

And then he took another sip of his anti-Wrackspurt syrup and decided that his mind was always brilliant regardless of how pre-occupied it was, and that Potter could go eat his own shit.

He scrolled through all his messages with Voldy and then announced, “He’s going to invite me to his next loser scheme.”

Blaise missed the peanut he was trying to catch with his mouth. He turned to Draco with lazy movements, “Rather optimistic of you,”

“He’s alluded to it before, I just pretended to not understand.”

“I’ll never understand the obsession you have for making things harder for yourself,” Pansy said.

“They’re called masochistic tendencies, Pans.” Blaise returned, “We’ve been over this.”

Draco smiled at them. Let them think what they want. The new Draco was a mature Draco.

“He did it on purpose,” Luna eyed him, “Didn’t you, Draco?”

Pansy and Blaise turned to Draco. The new Draco, however more mature, wasn’t above his braggart tendencies.

“Of course I did.” Draco drawled. When the curiosity on Pansy’s face turned, delightfully, into annoyance, he elucidated, “By pretending that I didn’t catch his insinuation, I made myself less threatening to him. I made myself out to be slow, and this led him to lower his guard. He’s been spending a shorter time typing.”

“What about the invitation that hasn’t arrived yet, my little conniving Dracon?” Blaise teased.

“He’s never outright invited me to anything before, he’s just shy.”

“Confidence killed the cat,” Pansy said.

“Curiosity killed the cat, you moron.”

“Keep drinking your tea, Draco.” Luna said.

Draco drank his tea and drummed his fingers against his desk. He’d said all that bullshit out loud, but if he was honest… 

“You are so full of shit, Draco Malfoy.” Pansy announced. “You have no idea whether this is going to work.”

Draco hated how well she knew him. He scowled at her. “I work in probabilities not absolutes.”

“Oooh, I’m Draco Malfoy, I use big words to confuse the people around me into thinking I know what I’m talking about,”

Draco took a long sip of his anti-Wrackspurt syrup and said, “At least my middle name isn’t Prudence.”

“Please, darling.” Pansy gave him a bored look. “Leroy?”

“Le Roy,” Luna said, tilting her head and making the beetles in her ears twinkle. “I think it’s rather fitting.”

“Thank you, cousin.” Draco said, immensely gratified that someone in this room saw sense. And then he saw the way Pansy was looking at Luna and continued, “But never speak French again. It is forbidden.”

“Probability, huh,” Blaise walked over to stare at the laptop screen. Throwing another peanut to catch in his mouth, he grinned. “I’ll take that.” 

“This is going to work.” Draco announced. “He’s old. I’m hot. He likes me.”

“I’m the one who’s hot,” Pansy argued, “And he doesn’t like you, he likes my catfish alter-ego.”

“Details,” Draco waved a hand. “He’s already told me about his tragic childhood and that bunion he developed the other week. He trusts me.”

“How do you know what he told you was the truth?” Luna asked.

Draco gave her a silent look which said, I don’t, but don’t make me admit to it in front of Prudence over there.

“You don’t know, do you?” Pansy narrowed her eyes.

Blaise threw a peanut at Draco’s head. “Confidence killed the dragon, babes.”

Let them think what they wanted to think, the new Draco was a mature mofo.

“God, stop scowling, we’re not trying to antagonise you,” Pansy rolled her eyes. “We’re just worried.”

For that, she got another finger. The typing… continued to type.

“You know about his childhood,” said Blaise, after a while, “And about his bunion.”

Draco was aware of what he had left unsaid. But what about all the important stuff? What about the way he recruits his recruits, and Aunty Bellatrix’s weakness?

“Everybody shut up.” Draco commanded.

“Nobody was speaking.” Pansy returned.

“Shut up.”

“Draco,” Luna started, “Have you spoken to Ha—”

“We do not speak his name within my premises.” Draco said to her, dangerously.

Luna smiled at him indulgently and held her tongue.

“Harry Potter,” said Pansy, the idiot with no fear. “He’s been eating lunch with Weasley jr these days,”

Draco turned his chair towards his desk, so that he was facing his laptop screen and Pansy couldn’t see his expression.

“Ginevra Weasley,” Blaise whistled. “The finest Weasley to walk the halls of Hogwarts.”

“They make a pretty picture,” Pansy continued, “Potter and Weasley Jr.”

Ginevra Potter, thought Draco, bitterly. Harry Potter, Ginevra Potter, their seven children, five dogs, three cats and mansion upon the hills. 

“Isn’t she dating that bloke?”

“The one with the overbite?”

“No, the one with the—he bites his nails,”

“Ah, yeah. What’s his name? Daniel Thompson?”

“Dean Thomas.” Luna said, “And they broke up.”

Draco whipped his head towards Luna. “They what?”

“They broke up.”

A thousand separate images flashed across Draco’s eyes. A heartbroken Weaselette must have been irresistible for Potter, with his—his saviour-complex and his bloody protectiveness. What must the conversation have gone like? Maybe Weaselette had pretended to be all strong, playing into Potter’s martyr kink. Not that the martyr card had worked when Draco had played it. Weaselette, though, she had everything Draco didn’t: red hair, a moral compass, boobs. God, Potter wouldn’t have been able to resist. He’s been waiting for this moment, Draco realised, recalling the hostility Potter had shown Thomas in the library. Potter, despite all his talk about morality and honour, was a fucking fiend to have taken advantage of a girl in the throes of heartbreak—

“Stop pacing, it’s giving me a headache.” Pansy snapped.

Without realising, Draco had gotten up from his seat and begun pacing back and forth. He stopped.

Looking calmly at his audience, he said, “I was stretching my legs.”

“Uh huh,” said Pansy, deadpan.

“Never any doubt,” Blaise smirked.

“She doesn’t like him in that way, Draco,” Luna said.

“Fascinating as though your observations are, I haven’t any clue who you refer to when you use impersonal pronouns, and find it quite insulting, actually, that you assume I would care, either way.”

Luna bit her lip in an attempt to hide her smile. “If you haven’t any clue who I’m talking about, why would you then go on to insist that you don’t care?”

“Oh, dear,” Pansy said, “Would you like some cream for that burn, Draco?”

“Bravo, Looney, resident dragon-slayer,” Blaise applauded.

“I hate you all.” Draco said.

“You’re awfully cute sometimes, Draco,” Luna smiled. “Voldy replied, by the way,”

Draco trudged back to his laptop as Blaise and Pansy sniggered in the background.

i am organising a shopping mall takeover next sunday. u can come if u want.

“Well gambled,” Blaise complimented.

Draco was somehow beyond bragging at that moment.

It was fucking awkward to sit next to Potter in Chemistry three times a week. Even before their partnership, they’d never really ignored the other’s existence to this extent.

This is so lame, thought Draco. I feel like I’m in the middle of some cheesy American high-school movie.

They were currently correcting their homework using the mark-scheme Snape had emailed them. Draco had surprisingly done pretty alright. He had little enough trust in his own abilities in Chemistry that he was focused entirely on correcting his mistakes and not Potter beside him (who had rolled his sleeves up to his forearms and was therefore breaking school rules, the barbarian).

It was only after he’d reinterpreted the NMR graph he’d gotten wrong that ignoring Potter became a more purposeful task. Draco looked first around the classroom to find a comrade. Determining that he had none, he then decided to just be a nerd and do some extra work.

It was while he was doing some spectroscopy exam questions and wishing death upon himself that Potter broke his silence.

“Where did you find the extra questions?”

“The learning platform.” was Draco’s succinct reply.

“Ah. Thanks.”

It was another fifteen minutes of wishing death upon himself before Potter said, “I hate spectroscopy.”

Draco didn’t reply. He and Potter were not friends. They did not converse casually about how hard life was.

Potter was relentless. “It’s like, I signed up for Chemistry, not Maths, you know?”

Draco put on his earphones and played white noise to shut Potter out. It worked a little too well, as was evident when a tap on his shoulder revealed Snape standing behind him, unimpressed.

“I was doing exam questions.” Draco defended, before Snape had any chance to accuse him.

“I have eyes, Malfoy.” Snape snided. “I thought I made clear that I dislike students listening to music during class-time.”

“I was listening to white noise, Sir, not music.” Draco said. When Snape continued to give him an unimpressed look, he continued, “Potter wouldn’t shut up.”

Potter winced when Snape glanced at him. Draco knew, however, what was coming. He held out his earphones for Snape to take.

Snape took them blandly. “Arguments between you two are not of interest to me. In my classroom you will follow my rules.”

“Yes, Sir.” said Draco, bored with it all.

Snape looked at him for a second longer before turning to Potter. “Potter.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, what.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Stop annoying Malfoy.”

Potter flushed, “That would require me to stop existing, Sir.”

Snape looked as if he might have laughed for just a second. “Rather a predicament,” he commented—the shadow of humour gone from his face—before leaving with Draco’s earphones in his hands.

“I tried to warn you that he was coming.” Potter muttered. “But you were ignoring me.”

Draco ignored him.

“Malfoy!” Potter called after him.

Draco began to speed walk down the hallway. When he heard Potter run to catch up to him, he turned on the spot. His pride disallowed him to run from Potter.

“I…” Potter began. “You—Are…”

“What do you want.” Draco snapped.

“Don’t be mad at me.” Potter rushed out.

“Don’t be mad at you?” Draco repeated, dangerously.

“I—I’m sorry I was—listen, I wasn’t avoiding you. I just needed—um—space.”

“I need my space, as well,” Draco nodded, beginning to turn away.

Potter took hold of his arm and stopped him. Draco shook his hand off.

“I wasn’t avoiding you, Malfoy.” Potter said, holding his hands awkwardly. “I was—I don’t know what I was doing. Can’t you just blame my teenage hormones and—and stop being mad at me?”

Draco gave him a scathing look.

“Didn’t expect it to be that easy,” Potter sighed. He made a face at the floor before looking up, “Okay, how ‘bout you keep being mad at me, but you stop ignoring me.”

“What made you think it’d be easier to get me to stop ignoring you,” Draco asked, disdainfully.

Potter’s eye contact was the worst thing in the world—the way it felt like it saw past all of Draco’s bullshit, the way it felt like it pierced right into his soul.

“We’re frie—”

“We are not friends, Potter.” Draco hissed. “If you think I tolerate being treated like that by a friend, you are sorely mistaken.” 

Potter looked at Draco with guilt on his face. “We’re partners, then. We shook on it.”

“Maybe I want to discontinue the partnership.”

“You don’t.”

When Draco sneered at him, he shrugged. “Your reasons for entering the partnership haven’t changed, no matter how angry you—no matter how angry I’ve made you—stop glaring at me, I changed the wording, didn’t I?”

Draco looked away. “You’re underestimating my anger.”

Potter stared at him for a second. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re—”

“Presumptuous, I know.” he smiled.

Draco looked away again.

“Can’t you give me another chance?” Potter asked. “At friendship, I mean.”

“I’m not a kid, Potter.” Draco said, frustrated.

“Um, what?”

“I don’t have the time and energy to make and break friendships on a whim, like you apparently do.” 

“Malfoy, that’s not—you know what, okay. We’ll put a pause on the friendship thing for now.” Potter bit his lip. “Though I did really like being friends with you.”

Draco hated him so much. He hated so much how he didn’t hate him at all. Looking at him properly from this proximity, Draco noticed faint eye bags under his eyes.

“You haven’t been sleeping, have you?” Potter asked.

“I could say the same of you.”

Potter smiled a little wryly. “Would it piss you off if I said it almost makes me glad our argument is affecting you like this?”

“You know what I’m going to say to that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Potter bit back a smile, “Presumptuous of me to assume that it was our argument that caused you to lose sleep.”

“Perhaps you're not beyond hope, after all,” it was far too late a realisation, but Draco noticed the acidity had left his tone. 

Potter was more formidable an opponent than Moldy-fuck could ever wish to be.

“Draco, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but are you sure?” Pansy asked him, before they walked through the doors of the café.

“Your concern’s a little last-minute, isn’t it?” Draco hissed back, loosening his school tie. “You should’ve asked me a half hour ago. We could’ve gone shopping instead.”

“A half hour ago I wanted to see the drama unfold,” Pansy said, “I didn’t realise you’d be so scared to meet Potter over a little rendezvous.”

“Why do you have to make everything sound so dirty?” Draco glared at her. “Voldy’s shopping mall takeover happens this weekend, all we’re doing is sharing information.”

“Then why are you so scared?”

“Because Potter makes me—you know why, Pansy.” Draco accused. “Stop making things more uncomfortable for me because you’re bored.”

“I only do it because I love you,”

“Fuck off.” Draco muttered, hit with a sudden shock of nerves when he noticed the back of Potter’s messy mug.

“You have to admit,” Pansy giggled, “If you were me, you’d be delighting in this schadenfreude just as much, if not more.”

“Doubtlessly.” Draco admitted, sadly.

“Okay.” said Granger, once Draco—with the help of Pansy and Luna (Blaise had been asked out on a date by his tutor, of all people, and was consequently not present)—had finished divulging all the information he had. “That’s actually really useful, good job, Draco.”

Draco leant back on his chair, “Did you expect anything less of me?”

Granger smiled, “Of course, not.”

Draco smiled back at her. As he picked up his latte, he caught Potter staring at him. The moment their eyes met, Potter glanced away. Draco had a sudden one second fantasy featuring himself flipping over the table between them and showering Potter with profanity. He then had another one second fantasy featuring less clothes and just as much profanity. He hated his mind.

This time, they were seated as far away as possible from each other. Not that that dissuaded Potter’s creepy hobby. Draco wondered whether Potter stared at everyone this way, and if Draco’s subconscious mind had caused him to interpret things optimistically. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

The next time he caught Potter staring at him, he sent him a ‘the fuck do you want?’ face. That put an end to that.

For ten minutes, that is. Potter was nothing if not relentless.

Just as Draco had been busy catfishing Voldy, Potter—or rather, Golden-boy—had been gathering his own information. He’d been invited by the police to watch the recorded interrogations of Moldy-fucker’s loser followers.

“Did they reveal anything about how they were recruited?” Draco asked.

“The, um, less dangerous ones saw ads—”

Something occurred to Draco, “Where?” 

Potter looked at him weirdly. “On, like, youtube and stuff.”

Draco tried very hard to calm the fuck down. Right. Break-time. He got out of his seat. “I’m going to order another coffee.” Turning to Luna, he asked, “Do you want anything?”

Luna considered his offer for a moment. “A sandwich?”

Draco nodded. As he turned to leave, Pansy called, “I want a hot chocolate!”

Without turning around, Draco gave her the finger. 

All the same, when he came back to the table, he arrived with a tray that held both a sandwich as well as a hot chocolate.

“Would you like a cookie, Granger?” he asked, politely.

Granger blinked and then nodded, “That’s very kind of you, thanks.” She reached over to take a cookie.

Draco sipped his coffee. For a moment, he could almost pretend that he had no problems in life. 

“Malfoy.” said Potter. “You’re freaking me out. What the fuck is wrong with you.”

How expected for Potter to be the one to break the farcical peace.

Draco asked him, quietly, “Did you not think to question how Moldy-fucker managed to pay for all those ads?”

“Money?” Potter answered. “He’s…” Frowning, he seemed to realise, “Wait, he must have—”

“Financial backing.” finished Draco. “Enough to post ads on youtube.”

“I wonder why he hasn’t managed to make anything bigger of himself, with all those resources.” Pansy commented.

Granger frowned. “Maybe he only recently became acquainted with all those resources.”

“We’ve only seen the beginning,” Potter muttered.

Draco sighed. He really hadn’t realised what he was signing up for when he’d promised himself he’d take down the idiot. 

“He’s going to keep attracting more followers,” Granger frowned. “Some who might be on the calibre of Bellatrix or Greyback.”

“Who’s Greyback?” Pansy asked Potter. They were now friendly, Draco remembered with disdain.

“The Wolf-man that was apprehended the last time Malfoy and I met Voldemort.”

“Did you watch his interrogation as well?” Draco asked him. “How was he recruited?”

Granger leant down into her bag and exposed yet another monstrous pile of papers.

“Stop grinning, you’re embarrassing me.” she blushed, placing her notes on the table between them.

“Why would you be embarrassed about being brilliant?” Draco returned, grinning. He took the papers in hand. The weight of them—the reminder that they had someone so intelligent and hard working on their side—was a comfort.

He couldn’t say the same for the contribution his infernal best friend made to the proceedings.

Pansy looked between Granger and him, and then raised an eyebrow salaciously, “Another homewrecker on our hands.”

“Draco’s gay.” Potter announced.

“Say it louder, why don’t you,” Draco responded, scathingly. He glanced around them to ensure no one of significance had heard, and then took a long sip of his coffee in an effort to calm his frantic heartbeat.

“Draco doesn’t care that she’s a girl.” Pansy ran her hands through his hair. “Do you?”

Draco sent her his most withering look, moving his face away. “Don’t touch my hair.”

“He’s kissed girls before,” Pansy, undeterred, continued running her hands through Draco’s hair.

“Don’t touch my hair.” Draco repeated, moving his face the other way. 

“Astoria Greengrass,” Pansy revealed, still running her grubby hands all over Draco’s perfect hair, “You know her don’t you? The one in fifth year?”

“Fuck’s sake,” Draco muttered, giving up. He asked Granger, “What were we talking about?”

Granger was trying not to laugh, “Turn to the ‘Unrelated Incidents,’ section,”

Draco complied. It was a miscellaneous collection of newspaper clippings. He frowned in concentration and skimmed the headings. A few caught his eye: ‘Unexplained beast aloose?’; ‘Serial killer, or night-beast?’

“These are talking about the wolf-man?” Draco asked, as Pansy tucked his hair behind his ears.

“Greyback, yeah.” 

“You think Voldy recruits the people he seeds out in the media?” Draco considered this for a moment. “Sounds tedious. He’s an old man.”

Granger looked at him intently, “He’s also crazy.”

“Fair enough.” Draco thought it over. “How does he contact them, though? How does he find their personal details?”

Granger gave him a look.

“Oh, fuck me.” Draco groaned. This entire ordeal was one headache after the other.

“Augustus Rookwood.” Potter said. “That was the name Greyback revealed.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. ‘Revealed,’ sounded like a rather cheerful interpretation of the events.“Would I be wrong in assuming that the interrogation wasn’t a pleasant one.”

Potter’s face darkened. “No.”

“Right.” Draco ran a hand over his face. He looked at Potter through his fingers, wondering what it must have felt like to have to watch that. He felt a sudden anger towards the police, despite the fact that they couldn’t have known that Golden-boy was a seventeen year old. He felt, also, a sudden hit of common sense. Looking at Potter as he said it, “Have any of you considered that this is perhaps a tad—beyond our abilities?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Potter asked, annoyed.

“That you’re seventeen years old.” Draco replied, calmly. “And no seventeen year old should be subjected to the footage of a criminal being violently interrogated.” 

Potter looked at Draco’s hands, resting on the table. Draco held them perfectly still, quelling the instinct to twitch under scrutinisation. It was disconcerting to feel so self-conscious about his hands.

It was as Draco was observing Potter’s gaze, in hopes that he would direct it elsewhere, that he noticed the beginnings of a troubling, heroic light dawning in his eyes.

“If you bring up Spiderman right now I’ll throw my coffee at your face.” Draco remarked, offhandedly.

Potter’s lips twitched. The annoying, heroic light faded. He glanced upwards, and his direct attention set Draco’s heart running. “Worried?”

“About myself.”

“Playing hero’s my job, remember?” he smiled, “You wouldn’t ever be subjected to footage like that.”

Nothing satisfied Potter more than throwing Draco’s words back at him. Draco scrutinised Potter, carefully, “How many times did you play that conversation over your head?”

“Who’s the one being presumptuous, now?”

Draco leaned back and smirked. That was basically a confession. “Think about me a lot, do you?”

Potter flushed. “Hardly.”

“Self-delusion is an art,”

“You would know."

“Not as well as you—”

“‘How many times did you play that convers—’” The sound of Draco’s recorded voice left Pansy’s direction.

“Whoops.” she smiled, turning her phone on silent.

Draco wasn’t religious in the least. Even then, he knew, instinctively, that the day Pansy arrived in Hell was the day Satan lost his job.

“Did you—is that snapchat?” Potter blinked, incredulously.

“What’s snapchat?” Pansy got out of her seat to avoid Draco's hands.

“Rather draconian—” 

“Shut up.” Draco commanded, pocketing Pansy’s turned off phone. He turned to Potter and Granger. “How did Moldy-fuck convince Greyback to join him?”

“He didn’t need much convincing.”

Neither presumably did Bellatrix, Draco thought. He asked Potter, “Do you know what Rookwood looks like?”

“Yeah, the police pulled up some photos.”

“Do you remember if he was present the last time?”

“I think so,”

“Right.” a plan was formulating in Draco’s head. “Make sure to isolate Rookwood on Sunday.”

“What about Voldemort and Bellatrix?”

“Just make sure you isolate Rookwood.”

Potter eyed him. “What are you planning?”

“He’s trying to understand whether Voldy can continue as effectively without his means of purposeful recruitment.” said Luna.

Draco turned to her, pleased, “How did you figure it out?”

Luna shrugged, “It was obvious.”

“Smart girl,” Pansy purred, reaching out a hand towards Luna which was very quickly intercepted by Draco. In response to Draco’s quelling look, Pansy interlocked their fingers and pulled their hands into her lap, “I’ll behave, Mummy.”

“What about Bellatrix?” Granger asked, delightfully on topic as always, “Did you ask your mum about her weakness?”

Draco winced. “No.” It was difficult to approach the topic. With Potter’s presence nearby, he remembered, at that moment, his leverage—how his mum had secretly invited Potter over for dinner. “I’ll ask her today and text you.”

“I’ll make a group chat,” Granger said, pulling out her phone. “Text on there.”

“Let’s have a sleepover next,” Pansy delighted, waving her and Draco’s interlocked hands all over the place. “Potter, I’ll paint your nails,”

Draco couldn’t help smiling at the image. He waggled his eyebrows at Potter, “Hotter Than You Pink or My Very First Knockwurst, Golden-boy?”

Potter tried desperately to blink away the terrified confusion in his eyes, “What.”

He was so bloody irresistible. “Let’s go with My Very First Knockwurst, Pans,”

Potter flushed and glanced at Draco.

“It’s nude,” Draco explained, smirking.

Potter flushed, impossibly, harder.

Pansy grinned, enjoying Potter’s alarm almost as much as Draco. “While I paint his hands, you can brush My Very First Knockwurst all over his toes.”

Draco might have blushed, himself, but amusing in Potter’s reaction kept him calm. He grinned at Potter suggestively, “Well?”

Potter cleared his throat. He looked like a terrified grape, it was hilarious. “I—I have, um—I don’t think it’s—well, Malfoy, you—Parkinso—”

“If I’m going to Knockwurst your hands, you may as well call me Pansy, Potter.”

“But—you still call me Potter?”

“Naturally.”

Potter looked at Draco in confusion. Draco winked at him, just to draw out his flustered state. Potter covered his face with his hands and looked away. The action was an arrow through Draco’s heart. The hellish thought crossed his mind, as he glimpsed Potter’s ears, of what it would feel like to bite them, of the sound Potter would make in response.

“We can invite Theo to Knockwurst your hands, Draco,” Pansy continued, breaking Draco’s trance.

Fuck. Draco dug his fingernails into her hand to shut her up. On second thought, maybe Pansy was too stupid to be the high-ruler of Hell.

“Theodore Nott?” Granger raised her eyebrows, “I hadn’t realised he was—oh, sorry, I didn’t mean...”

Draco was just opening his mouth to diffuse the situation, when Potter said, “They’re taking the piss, ‘Mione. It’s not like Malfoy wants—” he coughed awkwardly, “—my feet.”

Granger looked at Draco knowingly, too intelligent for her own good. Draco refused to admit to anything. He smiled at her blandly. “Pansy likes to tease me about Theodore because I think he’s fit,”

Pansy let out a choked laugh.

“He is very refined,” Luna commented, “You look nice together,”

It was nice to know he had at least one comrade. Draco put a hand over his heart, “If only,”

“What’s the plan, then.” Potter asked.

“Fantasise and mope,” Draco joked, “Maybe download Tinder and let off some steam,”

“I’m talking about Voldemort,” Potter snapped, scowling. “Why aren’t any of you focusing?”

Pansy burst out laughing.

“I thought we’d killed the Saint in you,” Draco commented, teasingly. “Apparently not,”

“I just don’t understand why we’re not focusing on what’s actually important.” Potter scowled. “None of you are taking this seriously.”

Draco set his jaw. He smiled, just slightly tighter than was probably natural, and drawled, “I can’t say I’ve missed this side of you.”

Potter sneered, “I can’t say I’m sorry for constantly disappointing you.”

What happened to wanting to be my friend, liar? Draco wondered, harshly, what the fuck gave Potter the right to play with his feelings like this, even just unknowingly. How dare he make Draco feel so incredibly mushy with his stupid blushes, and then so incredibly stung with his inevitable judgement and disdain. You piece of ungrateful cow shit, I gave up my emotional stability to fall in love with you.

“Well?” Potter demanded, his arms crossed and a put-off expression on his face.

“I’ll talk to my mum,” Draco said, in clipped tones. He turned to Luna, “Have you finished?”

Luna looked at him for a second and finished the rest of her sandwich in three bites before nodding.

Draco smiled at her, filled with soft affection in response to her consideration, “Lets go, then,”

“I haven’t finished my hot chocolate,” Pansy started, watching them pack up in panic.

“Oh, no,” Draco returned, smiling. Serves you right, crazy bint.

“Don’t forget to text on the group chat,” Granger said.

“If I feel like it,” Draco drawled. At her consternation, he grinned, “See you in English, Granger.”

She rolled her eyes with what Draco swore was begrudging fondness, “Bye, Draco,”

“Wait, Draco, my phone—” Pansy called, frantically downing her hot chocolate.

Draco bared his teeth at her in a smile and waved cheerfully, making sure not to look at Potter even once before leaving with Luna and Pansy’s phone in his pocket.

“Mother.” said Draco.

Narcissa scrutinised him. She was Mum on a normal day, Mummy when Draco was in trouble, and Mother when the reverse was true. “Draco.”

“You betrayed me.” Draco remarked, calmly.

They were both sitting on the couches in the living room, post-dinner. The accusation was a very civilised one.

“Care to elaborate?” Narcissa took a sip of tea.

She always waited for her opponent to reveal the extent of their information before revealing anything of her own. It was a trick Draco was familiar with.

“Harry Potter wasn’t exactly who I had in mind when you told me Remus and Sirius were bringing their child to dinner.”

The way she looked at him made Draco certain that she knew what he was doing. Still, he kept his face impassive.

Cradling her tea cup in her hands, she said, “I’m afraid I can’t accept culpability for Harry Potter’s existence,”

“You deliberately concealed information.”

She sipped her tea, “Was it of great significance to you?”

Draco smiled, refusing to offer an answer as corroborating evidence. “I know that you personally invited him.”

She sipped some more of her tea. Her lack of answer was a confirmation in itself.

Draco felt a sting of hurt that he hadn’t let himself explore before. This was his mother. She was meant to always, without exception, be on his side.“I can’t believe you would do something like that to me.”

She dropped her mask, then. “Draco—”

“Was it fun for you to see me upset?”

“It seems I’ve severely overestimated your talents if you think I did it for trivial amusement.” she said, blandly.

Draco looked away from her. He’d guessed, of course, her intention. He knew his mother as well as vice versa. Still, “You used me as a means to an end.”

“A means to your end.”

“You betrayed me.” Draco repeated. “I know that you know what he is to me.”

She paused, “I didn’t know with any certainty until the dinner.”

“See?” Draco accused. “It wasn’t a means to my end, after all.”

“Draco.” she said, her brow furrowing. “I—suspected, of course, but you wouldn’t admit anything to even yourself,”

“Don’t use that as an excuse. You could have asked me.”

“You’re my son. I recognise my own traits in you.” she looked at him affectionately, “You wouldn’t have given me an honest answer.”

“That’s still no excuse. You went behind my back when there were easier, more honourable, means.”

“Look at you, talking about honour,” she smiled.

“Stop changing the subject,”

“I’m happy for you.”

“I don’t care.”

She hesitated. “The means I used…”

Draco refused to show anything in his expression.

Her voice softened, “I had to know who he was for myself. You were so taken with him,” her expression took on a more embarrassed light, “I was ready to have him disappear if he didn’t meet my standards.”

Draco tried not to smile at the knowledge that his mother would have had someone potentially assassinated for his sake.

She continued, “I spoke to him.”

“I know.”

“He’s a difficult person,”

“Yeah,” Draco hated how bloody fond he sounded just then.

“At the start, I didn’t like him,” she admitted. “I kept asking myself what on earth...” she gazed at Draco as she continued, “my child, who I raised so preciously, what could he ever see in this completely mediocre boy,”

“He’s not awful looking.”

“Please, Draco.” Narcissa gave him a look, “If that was all it took, you’d be looking at Blaise the way you look at Harry.”

Draco blushed.

“I was prepared to lose Remus’s friendship for your sake,” his mother admitted. “The only thing that stopped me was the realisation that if anything were to happen to that boy, you would inadvertently be hurt.” She looked at him sheepishly, “And so I forced myself to keep talking to him, and—well, I stilldidn’t like him, I couldn’t help it.”

Draco tried very hard not to burst into laughter.

“His incompetence made me doubt my instincts,” she revealed. “I wondered whether I had just imagined your obsession—don’t deny it, darling—was romantic in nature,”

Draco waited for her to finish her sentence patiently.

Chagrined, she continued, “And so I invited him to dinner, in order to discern the nature of your feelings.”

“A means to your end.” Draco said, triumphantly.

“A means to my end is ultimately a means to yours,” Narcissa returned, “You must know by now that everything I ever do is for your sake.”

Draco really did love his mother an awful amount.

“I have to admit,” Narcissa continued, “it physically hurt me when I saw what he was wearing.”

“I know.” Draco agreed. “How could Sirius let him dress himself?”

She shook her head, smiling, “It hurt me more when I saw the way you looked at him, in spite of his clothes.”

She had a point. Draco tried not to feel ashamed by how low his standards were.

“But then I saw…” she paused, looking at Draco carefully. “He’s a good boy.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, quietly. He cleared his throat. “It doesn’t change the fact that you betrayed me.”

“Draco,” she sighed. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Accusing you of betrayal.”

She smiled at him. “Don’t try to pull this crap on your own mother, sweetheart.”

“I’m unsure what you’re talking about,”

She looked at him coolly.

“You just—Mum, why do you never tell me anything?” It was time to make the segue, “You’ve never even told me about Aunty Bellatrix.”

Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she sighed, loudly, “I suppose it’s my own fault that you’re so good at covering up your tracks.”

“As long as you’re self-aware.”

“Draco?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay, Mummy.”

She rolled her eyes. “I suppose you’re old enou—” she stopped speaking and frowned, “Why the sudden interest, by the way?”

Draco had to be very careful. If his mum got any whiff of the reality of the situation, Voldemort would be the least of his troubles.

“I was just angry at you about Potter and it reminded me of all the other things that you’ve done that made me angry.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

It was Draco’s turn to sigh. “Can’t you just trust me?”

She looked at him coolly, again.

“Okay, fine,” Draco acquiesced, “Can’t you just feel mildly guilty and indulge me? I was genuinely upset.”

“Not unless you tell me why you’ve developed this interest.”

“I’ve always been curious and I finally had leverage,” Draco shrugged. “She’s my psychopathic aunt.”

It took awhile for Narcissa to answer, presumably because she was scanning Draco for a lie (the trick, Draco had realised, was to tell the truth, but out of context) “...I assume you know enough about her already.”

“Only about her husband.”

It was disconcerting to observe shock on his mother’s face. Faintly, she said, “Draco.”

“Mum, I’m eighteen.” he tried emulating maturity. “I can’t grow up unless you let me.”

She seemed to struggle with herself for a while. Eventually, “You’re seventeen.” And then, after a sigh, “What is it that you’re curious about,”

Draco smiled. Mission accomplished. “What was she like as a child?”

Narcissa sighed again, “She liked tormenting people weaker than her. This often translated to Andromeda and I.” 

“She hurt you?”

“Not exactly,” Narcissa frowned, “She liked manipulating us into ruining ourselves—she drove a wedge between Dromeda and our parents.”

This surprised him, “I hadn’t realised that she was smart enough to do something like that,”

“No?” she smiled. “Did you never wonder why I am the way that I am?”

Oh, shit, Draco realised. The world around him shifted slightly.

“Fire must be fought with fire,” she said, simply.

“I—just don’t see how someone that smart could have been caught,” Draco continued.

“She wasn’t caught at first.” was Narcissa’s quiet reply.

“At first?”

“I broke all ties with her after coming of age and can’t say anything with absolute certainty, but I suspect her arrogance was her downfall.” Narcissa paused to gather her thoughts, “She had a tendency of getting—careless after repeated victories.”

“But even after being caught, how was she apprehended?” Draco questioned, “How on earth did anyone manage to prevent her from teleporting?”

Narcissa eyed him. “Who told you about her power?”

“Grand-uncle Alphard got drunk one day and wouldn’t shut up.”

Narcissa made a disdaining face and shook her head before explaining,“Her power requires an inordinate amount of energy. She can’t use it continuously.”

Ah. “The time required for recuperation is proportional to the distance she’s travelled?”

Narcissa nodded approvingly, “The police set up tight surveillance within a ten kilometre radius and waited for her to teleport out of their grasp.”

“Her threshold is ten kilometres?” Narcissa nodded. Draco’s mind was running, “They let her think she had gotten away… how long did they have to find her before she could use her powers again?”

Narcissa shrugged a one shouldered shrug. “I’ve never been much interested in her powers. My battle was always against her mind.”

Draco frowned. He couldn’t ask his mother more questions without arousing her suspicion. He said, instead, “I can’t reconcile that image in my mind.”

Narcissa laughed, “She was smart, but not as smart as she thought she was.”

Draco frowned in thought.

He finished typing everything into the group chat Granger had made and hit send.

A few minutes later:

Ron Weasley: ur family is so fucked up Malfoy

Ugly Cow: At least they’re hot @RonWeasley

Granger: Shut up, Ron.

Granger: Would Sirius know how long it takes Bellatrix to use her teleportation again? @DracoMalfoy @HarryPotter

Bane of My Existence: He hates her I doubt it

Bane of My Existence: If he figures out what I’m doing he’ll tell Moony

Bane of My Existence: d o  n o t  m a k e  m e  a s k  h i m

Draco rolled his eyes. He tried recalling the name of Bellatrix’s dead husband. It was something Christmassy... ah. 

Me: Try searching up Rodolphus Lestrange on Google

Blazey Bun: Google. Genius.

Me: Fck off

Me: ^it’s the name of her husband. There’s a line or two about her on his Wikipedia page, but I can’t remember exactly what it says

Me: It mentions the day his corpse was discovered, and some details about the culprit

Me: If any of you (@HermioneGranger) find the difference between the dates of when the police first attempted to arrest the culprit and the day they were actually arrested we could get a rough estimate

Ugly Cow: She’s on Wikipedia? Damn.

Blazey Bun: Goalz

Ron Weasley: I’m confused

Granger: !!!

Granger: Not bad, Draco

Ron Weasley: Someone pls

Ron Weasley: wtf is happening

Ron Weasley: And also why isn’t Malfoy searching it up himself

Draco was watching netflix. He deserved a break.

Ugly Cow: Welcome to our world, Weasel

Blazey Bun: Speak for yourself

Ron Weasley: If u know wtf is happening fckg explain

Blazey Bun: oh i have no idea

Blazey Bun: I j have no desire to know

Ron Weasley: wtf

Ugly Cow: lolol

Blazey Bun: I am content having no idea what's going on

Ugly Cow: #isheenlightenedorstoned

Me: Both

Blazey Bun: It’s called having chill

Blazey Bun: You should try it sometime @PansyParkinson @DracoMalfoy

Ron Weasley: @HermioneGranger @HarryPotter where tf are u two how could u abandon me

Granger: It took the police 8 days to arrest her @DracoMalfoy

Looney: Would anyone know where I can find fresh lemongrass?

Ron Weasley: wtaf

Bane Of My Existence: @LunaLovegood Have you asked Neville?

Looney: Oh, right! Thanks, Harry! :)

Bane Of My Existence: :)

Ugly Cow: What are you using the lemongrass for Luna?

Looney: Nothing, why?

Ugly Cow: LOL

Blazey Bun: LOL

Ron Weasley: Luna.

Granger: @DracoMalfoy ?? Where are you ???

Ron Weasley: @HarryPotter where tf are YOU

Bane Of My Existence: hi

Looney: Hi, Harry :)

Bane Of My Existence: Hi, Luna :)

Granger: @DracoMalfoy ????

Ugly Cow: Don’t bother Granger he’s probably jerking off

At that notification, Draco opened the group chat.

Me: How did you know @PansyParkinson

Ugly Cow:SexyWink.gif

Me: yum

Blazey Bun: UR yum Dracon

Ron Weasley: why am i even part of this group chat

Me: @Granger Thanks for confirming, sorry about being so useless, I’m used to working with these two losers: @PansyParkinson @BlaiseZabini

Blazey Bun: Love you too, babes

Me: @Granger Her recuperation time depends on the extent she’s used her powers i.e. how far she teleported + (I assume) if she teleported alone vs if she teleported someone with her

Me: But we can assume 8 days is her minimum requirement

Looney: hmmm...

Looney: Aunty Bellatrix teleported Voldy away on the day of your History exam and then again two days later, on the day of your Chemistry exam

Me: fml you're right

Me: What would I do without you? @LunaLovegood

Ugly Cow: That’s my girl hearteyes.gif

Draco Malfoy removed Pansy Parkinson from ‘What Are The Odds’

Blazey Bun: LMAOOOOOOO

Blazey Bun:savage.

Granger:So do we assume her minimum limit is three days? @DracoMalfoy

Me: Yeah

Me: Either Moldy-fucker’s headquarters are located close to where he’s planned all his takeovers

Me: Or she overdid herself and that’s why he’s waited so long to plan something else

Me: Or she’s suddenly become omnipotent during her time in custody and we’re all fucked

Blazey Bun: ^Last one

Ron Weasley: @HarryPotter save me.

Granger: Let’s just assume that it takes her a minimum of 3 days to recuperate.

Granger: For my sanity.

Luna Lovegood added Pansy Parkinson to ‘What Are The Odds’

Ugly Cow: What did I miss?

Blazey Bun: Draco sent us a dick pic

Blazey Bun: LOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL POTTER I SEE YOU

Ugly Cow: LOOOOLLLLL EXPOSED

Ron Weasley: Disappointed

Ron Weasley: But not surprised

Bane Of My Existence: It was a coincidence calm down!

Blazey Bun: I love read receipts

Ugly Cow: TEA.gif

Looney: Harry, you’re so cute :)

Bane Of My Existence: I was in the bathroom!

Ugly Cow:raisessuggestiveeyebrow.gif

Me: Luna why tf did you add her to the group chat again

Ugly Cow: ^he loves me you guys. He just pretends not to.

Draco and Potter were not on a date.

It was not a date.

It wasn’t!

It was Sunday and they were waiting for Moldy-fucker to put his plan in action in Goldplex shopping mall (Draco had gotten the minutiae of the details after accepting Voldy’s invitation). It wasn’t a date. Draco had only spent his usual three hours in the bathroom this morning. 

He wasn’t even dressed nicely. He was wearing a hoodie, for fuck’s sake, and jeans.

So it was not a date.

It is not a date, stop getting ahead of yourself. Draco stared at the display of a passing store and tried, desperately, to calm the fuck down.

It didn’t help that Potter, with his black button down, looked partially presentable today. It also didn’t help that the capricious bastard was being friendly again. It also, also didn’t help that secretly, Draco knew that even if Potter looked like a homeless person and was being a prick, nothing about Draco’s wishful nature would change.

Maybe Blaise was onto something with the whole ‘masochistic tendencies,’ thing.

“Are you hungry?” Potter asked.

Draco stuck his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie and scowled. “We’re not here on a date, Potter.”

Potter grinned. “I didn’t say we were.”

“Then stop talking about useless things and focus.” Draco snapped.

They spent a few minutes in silence, focusing.

“I like your hoodie.” Potter muttered, hesitantly.

Stop it. Stop it, now.

“Thank you.” Draco answered, prim enough to make his mother proud.

“Are you mad at me, again?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Draco looked at him incredulously. “You? Do you not realise how unpredictable you’ve been recently?”

Potter was silent for a while. Eventually, he coughed, “One less reason to hate me.”

“What?”

Potter blushed. “You said I was predictable.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. He was talking about that—that cursed afternoon.

“How many times do you replay these moments in your head?” Draco asked him. “And why the fuck are you wearing a button down.”

Potter latched onto the second question desperately. “‘Mione told me to dress differently to—” he lowered his voice, looking around to make sure no-one had heard, “—you know. It’s less suspicious.” He nodded towards Draco, “Isn’t that what you’re doing as well?”

It was, but Draco wasn’t going to admit to it. He glanced down at his watch. Any second, now.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Potter asked, again.

Draco scowled. They were on a stake out and all Potter could think of was food. Typical. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m just asking…”

“Don’t.”

Another moment passed in silence.

“I thought maybe we could have a meal together.” he said it so quietly that for a second Draco thought that his wishful thinking had turned into wishful hallucinations.

Draco stared at Potter. He was holding himself so rigidly, almost as if he was—scared. Of what, though? Draco’s rejection? Wishful thinking, Draco reminded himself. Looking at Potter, however, looking at his despondency, it seemed the only conceivable answer. It was such a strange concept to think that Potter could be vying for Draco’s attention, and not vice versa.

“I’m not hungry,” said Draco. When Potter’s shoulders began wilting, he bit back a smile, “But I like ice cream, and there’s an ice cream place over there.”

Potter beamed at him—“I like ice cream, too,”—as if the common interest between them was evidence for how they were always meant to be friends.

There was a time, during the throes of his self-denial, that Draco had convinced himself he hated Potter because of how pleased Potter’s anger made him. It was true, still, that making Potter angry satisfied some perverse desire within him, but the more accurate truth was that eliciting any response from Potter, seeing the expressions dance across his face and feeling, hopelessly, of significance to him, was what brought him pleasure. A sudden possessive instinct gave way to the inconceivable fantasy of hiding Potter away in his pocket, so that no one else could see him like this—so blithe and young. To Draco, the vision he made could have tempted a saint out of celibacy.

And it was wishful thinking, again, which made Draco classify the eye contact between them as lingering. As if Potter might also be holding himself back, as if those green eyes—emerald and hazel, all at once—could ever hold desire greater than friendship for Draco.

Ten minutes, Draco told himself, I’ll indulge myself for ten minutes. He would let his gaze linger and his expression soften, just for ten minutes. He could do that and not let things get weird. He could indulge himself and still satisfy Potter’s odd desire to be friends.

“Alright, then, Potter,” Draco drawled, “I’ll grant you the privilege of my presence.”

“I’m honoured,”

“Obviously,” Draco articulated. He raised an eyebrow, “Let’s get some ice cream, loser.” and with those words, began walking towards the ice cream stand without looking back to check if Potter was following.

There was something extremely distinctive about Potter’s presence. Even with his head turned the other way, Draco could feel him by his side a second later.

So they walked, side by side, to the ice cream stand.

“When’s Voldy coming?” Potter asked him, as they joined the queue. Voldy was Moldy-fuck’s unanimous code-name within the rather slapdash What Are The Odds squad.

Draco glanced at his watch. “Anytime from—now, to three hours from now.”

“Brilliant.”

“Just so we’re clear, if he arrives while I’m eating my ice cream, you’re on your own.”

“Shocking.”

“I’m not discarding my ice cream to fight him.”

“What a surprise.”

Draco eyed him. “I don’t know if I appreciate the way you express your gratitude, Potter.”

Potter scrunched his nose, a laugh hiding somewhere in the lines of his face, “But I’m being so sincere?”

“That’s the problem.” Draco sighed, dramatically, “You’re obsequious.”

“I thought you’d like all my grovelling, Malfoy,”

Ten minutes, Draco had promised himself. Glancing down at his watch, he noted only one of those minutes was left.

“Grovelling? That’s boring.” Draco looked at Potter and smirked slowly, lowering his voice and moving closer to his ear, “But the things I’d do to see you on your knees,”

Potter flinched away from Draco’s breath. That didn’t stop him, however, from seeking out eye contact and saying, in response, “Think about that image a lot, do you?”

“You on your knees?” Draco asked, revelling in their proximity and the intoxication that came with being stupidly, stupidly honest, “More often than is probably healthy,”

Potter opened his mouth to say something while frowning, but visibly stopped himself. Draco glanced back at his watch. His ten minutes of indulgence were up.

“Apparently,” continued Draco, the dangerous tilt hidden from his voice, again, “I have a domineering personality and relish in the surrender of my enemies.”

“Enemies,” muttered Potter.

“I notice how you didn’t disagree with the comment about my personality being domineering.”

Potter shook his head, and looked away, smiling, “It’s ridiculous. You’re the most compliant person I’ve ever met.”

“Exactly.” Draco agreed, “I’m being unfairly accused, Potter. Go beat up the bullies for me.”

They had reached the front of the line. While Draco scanned their surroundings, Potter asked to try five different flavours before settling for blackforest cheesecake. Voldy was still nowhere to be seen.

“Malfoy?” Potter said, “Your order?”

“The usual, please,” Draco told the person behind the vats of ice cream.

They paid and walked back to where they had been standing initially. The stake out continued, with the only difference being the cone of strawberry ice cream in Draco’s hands.

“The usual,” Potter said, amused. “Why am I not surprised that it’s strawberry.’

Draco took a slow lick of his ice cream, “I like the things that I like.”

Potter glanced at his ice cream. “Strawberry.”

“Do you have a problem,” Draco licked his ice cream, savouring the flavour, “with my tastes?”

Potter glanced again at his ice cream, “Yeah,”

“The fuck, Potter.”

Potter blinked, “Huh? Wait, what did you just say?”

Draco eyed him, incredulously. “I asked if you have a problem with my tastes and you said yes, so now we’re apparently beefing.”

“Wha—you’re such a twat.” Potter rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to waste my time judging you on your favourite ice cream flavour,”

“What would I do without your enormous capacity for benevolence, my hero,”

“I’ve got better things to judge you on,” Potter took a few quick licks of his own ice cream, “Like your absurd coffee intake.”

“Excuse yourself, Potter.” Draco responded, indignant. “I have a completely normal coffee intake.”

Potter looked at him seriously, “You drank five cups in the span of two hours.”

“And?”

Potter bit into his cone, “I also like to judge you on your highly skewed perspective of the world.”

“Why must you destroy your golden persona like this?” Draco accused, dramatically, “Why are you disillusioning me?”

“I don’t believe you’ve been illusioned with me even one second of your entire life.”

Draco grinned and bit into his cone. “That’s a surprisingly not-stupid observation.”

Potter glanced at Draco’s ice cream cone, “Yeah,”

“I just complimented you, Potter.” Draco noticed a smear of strawberry ice cream on his thumb. He licked it off. “You’re disappointing me with your response.”

“Yeah,” Potter swallowed.

Draco wondered what the fuck was wrong with Potter this time. He raised a bored eyebrow, “Was the blackforest not good or something?”

“Ye—huh? Oh, yeah.” Potter paused. “I mean, no, it was fine. Malfoy, can I ask you something?”

Draco took in a breath, knowing that Potter hadn’t been listening to anything he had said for the past few minutes, “The fucking audacity—”

“You ordered ‘the usual,” Potter interrupted, “Did you ever come here with Nott?”

Draco looked at him in disbelief. “Why is that any of your business?”

“I just wondered whether you brought your boyfriend here with you.”

“Again,” Draco repeated, increasingly befuddled and irritated, “Why the fuck is that any of your business?”

“I’m just curious, Malfoy.” Potter returned, “You don’t have to protect your boyfriend,” he said the word like a normal person would say anal warts. 

“First of all,” Draco looked at him as witheringly as he could. (Not that Potter was ever withered.) “he’s not my boyfriend, so stop—”

“He’s not your boyfriend?”

“Why—”

“What about the younger Greengrass sister?”

Draco couldn’t help his scowl. “You're awfully curious today, mother-in-law.”

Potter opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a handsome, gaping fish. After a while, Draco’s patience died—perhaps irrevocably, this time.

“Spit it out.” he commanded, in utter fury.

“Are you dating Parkinson and/or Zabini.” Potter blurted.

“Yes, Potter,” Draco drawled, caustically, “Pansy, Blaise and I are in a very kinky polygamous relationshi—stop giving me that look, you idiot, it was a joke, what the fuckis wrong with you—”

“So you’re not—”

“If you interrupt me again I’ll cut out your tongue and feed it to Blaise’s pet fish.” Draco said, calmly.

“Malfoy.” said Potter, completely unperturbed by Draco’s completely valid threat because he was an incorrigible buffoon, “Are you single.”

“Why?” Draco spat, maliciously and without thinking, “Interested?”

Potter’s answering expression made Draco dizzy. He’d broken eye contact and moved backwards, flushing furiously while he pursed his lips. His silence was heavy with—fatal implication. All of it screamed, ‘busted!’ 

“You can’t be serious,” Draco croaked faintly, feeling the world around him falling to pieces.

And that is when the sound of a scream entered his ears and the world around him began, quite literally, falling to pieces. Draco looked over the railing he was standing by to the ground floor.

“Scream!” bellowed some rando in black, sending sparks of glitter into the air. Draco noticed Moldy-fuck nodding approvingly behind him.

“Scream!” the rando repeated maniacally, pointing his fucking glitter at a pregnant woman. Draco noticed a conveniently discarded flip-flop lying in the middle of all the commotion. He levitated it above the glitter-emitting bastard, “Screa—ow!—OW!” Draco began to beat him mercilessly with the floating flip flop. Glitter-bastard put his arms over his head in order to protect himself to no avail.

“I’m going to change,” Potter murmured into Draco’s ear, putting a hand on his shoulder, “Finish your ice cream,” and then he left to where they had stored their clothes, leaving Draco with nothing but a burning earlobe, a screaming subconscious, a half-melted ice cream, and a dozen wankers to take his frustration out on.

Draco rested his forearms casually on the railing and took a bite out of his ice cream cone. When he noticed Bellatrix behind Moldy-fuck, he put up his hood and continued to fuck shit up from his vantage point, hidden within the growing crowd of people around him.

Draco had broken the water fountain, effectively cornered the entire entourage minus Moldy-fuck and his guard dog, Aunty-Bellatrix, and brought one and a half grown men to tears by the time Potter emerged wearing his paper bag.

“Stop this,” Draco murmured, inaudibly.

“Stop this.” Potter called, predictably. Draco grinned into the back of his hand.

“Golden-boy!” came the cheers of adulation.

Moldy-fuck pointed accusingly to Potter, “You!”

Potter sent a flare of fire towards a loser-follower who was trying to escape from where he’d been cornered by Draco. The flare was harmless, but it was flashy enough to send the loser-follower cowering. “Surrender, Voldemort.”

“Golden-boy.” Moldy-fuck shouted. He must have overdone himself, because he then had to pause and hack for a while. He was so pathetic. Draco eyed him with disdain. Eventually, Moldy-fuck glared with moist, mucousy eyes, and continued, “You’ve made a dangerous enemy.”

Potter sighed and held his arms out. He pushed the civilians behind him backwards with a gentle rush of wind. “I tried to warn you.”

A girlish squeal arose into the air. Draco rolled his eyes. 

And then he pushed away from the railing and through the crowd behind him to change into his own clothes, lest Golden-boy let things get too boring.

“Where’s your snake, Moldy-wart?” Tacky drawled. Her voice carried through the crowd, the people around her parted. Draco had to admit, the feeling was delectable.

“You!” Moldy-fuck shrieked. Draco sent a dirty look to Potter's direction when he processed how untouched all the criminalistic idiots around him appeared.

“The power-plant,” Tacky counted on her fingers, “a high-way, and now a shopping mall.” She crossed her arms, “Have you finally realised your calibre?”

Bellatrix stood behind Moldy-fuck, eyeing Draco. Draco broke into a sweat and automatically entered his ‘pretend nothing is wrong and continue as always,’ state.

Bellatrix moved closer to Moldy-fuck. Draco suppressed a gag at the adoration clearly expressed on her face. Maybe having no-one to talk to for years in the psychiatric hospital had destroyed any sense of standards she’d had.

Draco moved toward Potter. Surreptitiously, he whispered, “Spotted?”

Potter—no, Golden-boy nodded silently. Rookwood was accounted for, then. So far, things were going accordingly.

Tacky started, “Before we continue, Moldy-wart—”

“That’s not his name,” some loser-follower interrupted.

Tacky flicked a finger and the man who’d interrupted her was flung into the stagnant water fountain. She continued, irrefragably, as her audience gaped on, “As I was saying, Moldy-fuck—before we continue, I need you to know that I think you’re extremely pathetic and if you continue doing what you’re doing I will destroy you utterly, comprendre?”

Moldy-fuck’s expression darkened, “I will make you regret the day you crossed me, transvestite.”

Tacky smiled. “Now.”

Golden-boy erected a sudden cage of fire around the rest of Moldy-fucker’s followers. And then, without giving Draco any warning, he twisted his hand and the potted plants around Moldy-fuck exploded. The exposed earth within them flew towards Moldy-fuck and Bellatrix and began condensing around their feet, locking them to the spot. What is he doing? Draco snarled. The plan had been to leave Voldemort and Bellatrix alone. Draco glanced towards the loser-followers. The fire cage around them was beginning to dissipate due to Potter's divided attention.

Tacky turned and lifted her hands theatrically before clicking her fingers. The glass displays of all the surrounding shops shattered. The loser-followers moved closer into themselves within their almost non-existent fire cage. “If you move even a step away from where you’re standing right now,” Tacky threatened, relishing in all their trembling, “I’ll do the same to your internal organs.”

One of the loser-follower’s fell to the floor. For a second, Draco thought he was prostrating himself, but then he realised, with a macabre humour, that he had just fainted. Or possibly had a heart attack. On second thought, maybe that lie about the internal organs had gone a tad overboard.

The sound of Potter’s surprised “Shit,” caught Draco’s attention. Draco turned just in time to see Potter set something flying towards his face on fire. Draco then watched in horror as the unidentified object combusted in a small explosion and Potter was sent flying backwards.

Draco thought, blankly, that someone might be screaming. Maybe a lot of people were screaming.

Numbly, he began walking, and then running, towards Potter’s still form. All Draco could think, in panic, was how he would ever be able to breath again if Potter had—if he had…

Potter stirred, weakly. Something in Draco started working again. He skidded to a stop.

And it occurred to him to look back at where Voldemort and Bellatrix had been standing.

There was nothing there.

In dawning panic, he turned back to where the loser-followers were still cowering and managed, somehow, to snarl, “Stay.”

Behind him, on the floor, Potter had readjusted his paper-bag and with his head down, was clutching his side. 

Draco was going to kill him.

“Um.” said the policeman. “Golden-boy?”

Draco pursed his lips and glared viciously at Potter, who was standing off-centre and had most certainly hurt himself, and yet had still insisted on waiting until the police got here. Draco turned his glare on the policeman.

“Um,” said the policeman, beginning to fidget on the spot.

“Sorry about her,” Potter said, gesturing towards Draco, or rather, Tacky-pillar, “We’re working together, now.”

Draco drew himself to his full six feet and one inch and glowered harder at the policeman, daring him to try and arrest him.

“Ah…” the policeman said, uncomfortably, “Um, but—well—legally speaking, she’s still…” he trailed off awkwardly. “What exactly happened here.” he said, instead.

Potter explained meticulously how he had gone against the fucking plan and ruined everything like always. Nobody approached Draco, but at one point he made eye contact with one of Moldy-fuck’s loser-followers. Draco watched placidly as the woman first started and then deliberately aided in her own handcuffing while visibly holding back tears.

“Are we done?” Draco said, irritably.

The policeman that had been talking to Potter glanced at him nervously, “No?” At Draco’s stare, he corrected himself, “I mean, yes. Yes, we’re done. Thanks for the help, Golden-boy.” and then the policeman walked away pretty fast-like.

“Tacky,” said Potter, amused.

“Don’t you dare Tacky me,” Draco returned, coldly. He took hold of Potter’s arm and pulled him away from the crowd. He pulled him out of the mall and then around it to the back, through a door into the fire escape where they had left their clothes.

“Malfoy.” Potter croaked, faintly. 

Draco turned to him, a shout on his tongue which was only flamed when he saw that Potter had taken off his paper-bag, and was pale-faced and grimacing, “Are you crazy?”

“Sorry,” Potter said, quietly.

“We had a plan!” Draco shouted.

“Sorry,” there was sweat collecting on his forehead. “Malfoy, I need to sit down.”

Draco took off his wig and sock mask, threw them on the floor and backed Potter against the wall.

“Malfoy,” said Potter, his eyes widening.

Draco took hold of Potter’s hoodie and pulled it off his body.

“M—Malfoy,”

He pulled Potter’s t-shirt upwards and stared at the redness all over one side of his torso that indicated the beginning of a new bruise. “You fucking fool,” Draco snarled.

When all Potter did was stare back at him with dilated pupils, Draco pressed into the bruise. Potter hissed.

“We had a plan.” Draco repeated, livid. “Why didn’t you follow it.”

“I— this really isn’t the best way to keep me focused,” Potter breathed.

Draco pressed into Potter’s side again. “Why didn’t you follow the fucking plan.”

Potter groaned. “Jesus.”

And that is when Draco began getting just a teensy, weensy bit turned on. He glanced down at where his hand was in contact with Potter’s skin, and noticed that if he moved his thumb just that little bit to the right he would brush Potter’s nipple.

“We caught Rookwood,” Potter muttered. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

Draco stared into Potter’s eyes. Softly, dangerously, “You think I wanted to see you lying like a corpse on the floor?”

Potter glanced downwards, at Draco’s lips. “No.”

“No?”

“I wasn’t on my knees,”

For that, Draco pressed into his bruise again. Potter clenched his jaw against the groan and maintained eye contact through the pain. A thrill went down Draco’s spine. He let his thumb swipe carelessly to the right. Potter’s hair was wet around the edges from his sweat.

“If you ever do anything like that again, I’ll kill you,” 

“Yeah?” Potter murmured, definitely not paying any attention, and definitely staring at Draco’s lips.

“Just do it, you coward.” Draco snarled.

And it turns out Potter was paying attention, because he took Draco’s head into his hands and kissed him. The contact between them was the breakdown of a dam. Draco closed his eyes and pulled Potter closer.

And then he was lost. Lost in the desire to consume Potter on the spot and be consumed in return. He opened his mouth and parted Potter’s lips with his tongue. Potter tightened his hands into Draco’s hair and pressed into him harder. They were fighting, and Draco never wanted to stop. He’d been waiting, it seemed, his entire life just to feel Potter like this. To have him desperate under his hands, and be completely undone by the sensation. All the systems of control within Draco broke upon hearing the sounds Potter was making, feeling the warmth of his tongue, its slipperiness. The softness of his lips, the pebbling of his nipple. The ghost of his breath. Him.

Him. Harry Potter.

Potter’s hands were firm and covetous. They broke Draco from the outside in, wreaking disaster in their path. There was fire in his fingertips, and Draco, kamikaze, was gunpowder.

They were fighting, even in this. Their bodies never stopped squirming for the upper hand, screaming in pants and groans and the wet language of tongues. And Draco thought, How can I live now that I know.

Now that I know what you taste like.

Like skin, and salt, and sin.

Like all the sin that ever was. You’ve tempted the devil, Potter.

Draco broke the kiss, panting. He gazed in wonder at the blank desire on Potter’s face, and ran a thumb over his reddened bottom lip. The darkness of Potter’s eyes and the emotion they evoked within Draco terrified him. Potter opened his mouth against Draco’s thumb and it was with madness—liberating and ghastly—that Draco kissed him again. It carried on like this for a while. Anytime one of them would break away for breath, the other would follow his lips like a magnet, and together, they would continue to drown and drown and drown.

By the time they pulled away, Draco was in such a haze that he couldn’t have known when they stopped, or why. Or even which one of them had been the one to break away first.

Potter took in a shaky breath, looking like a wet-dream, “I told you I wasn’t a coward.”

Draco couldn’t do anything but laugh and wonder, still intoxicated, what the ever-loving fuck had just happened.