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ethrosdemon ||| Harry Potter
Draco's Week
by ethrosdemon
naturallycalm@yahoo.com
Draco has enough free time to dedicate part of each day to tormenting his
subordinates. This category contains all students and even some faculty and
school personnel. He does this out of disdain, reflex, and a desire to spread
the pain.
**
Monday was routine. With so many Hufflepuffs lingering around the pitch after
practice, what would anyone else do but take the easy targets?
Their names weren't important. He knew the names of Gryffindors and Slytherins.
Enemy and ally. All peons, really.
Under the flapping flags, in the shadow of the grandstands, he shoved two
Hufflepuffs out of his way. As he kicked off to launch into the air, he aimed
directly for a straggler just making for the ground. She was fast, and he
missed, but she looked scandalized. When so little effort must be expended,
Draco feels hollow.
**
Tuesday Pansy heaped peas onto her plate. They rolled and traveled around the
white surface embedding themselves in her potatoes and annihilating themselves
beneath her roast. Draco detests peas. Pansy loves peas. Therefore Draco must
make Pansy pay. It's a syllogism of hate.
"Your mother was quite attractive in her day." Draco directed his comment at
Pansy by knocking his fork against her glass.
Pansy raised her eyes, startled by his pleasant tone. She studiously remained
placid, expecting him to turn particularly vile at any second. "Yes, some
people think she still is."
"What exactly happened to you, then?" No response. He sighed. "Were you a
changeling baby?"
Pansy blinked once, vindicated in her belief that Draco could not compliment
her in any way, and turned back to her dinner. This was not the reaction he
intended. Gone were the days that one or two rude remarks would send Parkinson
running out a room in tears. He decided he needed to hurry up and graduate so
he could get some fresh victims.
"Peas are disgusting." Not anything approaching a victory, Draco felt
emotionally constipated.
Later, he wreaked havoc amongst the second year Gryffindors by setting all of
their potions notes on fire.
**
Snape wore glower number six when Draco found him late on Wednesday evening.
His fingers steadily drummed on the desktop. The dungeons smelt of bergamot and
burnt hair, and Draco was chilled.
He cut to the chase. "Granger and Longbottom were cheating during lessons
today."
In moments like this, Snape managed to appear to not move his mouth biting back
a killing curse, most likely. "If this is so, why did you not declare it for
the world to hear earlier. We both know you like to crow over your prey."
"Because I was saving turning them over for an emergency." Draco had found
early on that Snape responded well to plots devised against Gryffindors.
"What sort of emergency?" He tilted his head so that his hair brushed his right
shoulder. Draco knew this meant genuine interest.
"I was too busy with my schoolwork to expend my energy today verbally sparring
with that lot, and I can't let the opportunity pass to do them one in another
fashion."
"I would be shocked by your brazenness, but I am too well acquainted with your
prime role model." Snape pulled a parchment out of his top desk drawer. Draco
could see it was the much-dreaded Detention Chart.
"Will they get detention?" Not only was he going to make the best mark in their
year in Transfiguration, but also at the same time, Granger and Longbottom
would have their records smudged.
"In what sort of cheating were they engaged? And if you attempt to lie, I will
know." Draco felt particularly self-satisfied because he actually wasn't lying
this time.
**
Thursdays meant double Transfiguration; which, even though presided over by
that insufferable harpy, was normally enjoyable for Draco. Not that week.
He was comforted slightly knowing McGonagall would pay. She was on the lists of
people more able to exact a bloody revenge than he. Although, he was finding
the idea of allowing others to execute what by rights should be his victories
more and more distasteful.
That repulsive Squib, Filch, was improved as a hedgehog. McGonagall was
punishing him for being the best transfiguration student in the class, he was
sure. It galled her, and she hardly bothered to hide it.
On top of that, he hadn't been given detention by anyone other than Dumbledore
since his fourth year.
**
Friday nights, the corridors of Hogwarts were always crawling with Hexed
students doing their best not to get caught. At whatever. It depended on the
year, younger students just up to mischief, older ones out for a snog.
Draco rested his forehead on his partner's heaving shoulder. Fingers threaded
through his hair, and he relaxed into the stroking, coasting in a bliss-out
bubble.
"I love you." Whispered, cracked, and sounding a very real declaration. Draco
disengaged, two steps back, and straightened his robes.
Before he strode away, he checked outside the door for other illicit
happenings, and turned back to the disheveled figure. "You should only say that
when you are sure you will hear it in return."
He decided, barking out the password to the common room, blowjobs only from
then on, no shagging. The discussions were too off-putting.
**
Saturday he lost Crabbe and Goyle in Dervish and Banges to get a few precious
daylight minutes to himself. Deepening autumn crisped around him on the leaf-
strewn sidewalk, and Draco watched fellow students and Hogsmeade residents
enjoying fresh air and camaraderie. He had many witty comments to make about
the state of Millicent's robes, about Potter's unflattering new spectacles,
about Ginny Weasley's disastrous cosmetics experiment. He had many
observations, but no one who would laugh at them because they were genuinely
funny, no one to make a clever rejoinder. He felt morose and weak for indulging
in the petty emotion.
Later, he insulted two Weasleys and knocked Parvati Patil's ice cream to the
ground. But before bed, he concluded the true taunting of the day had been
reflexively directed at himself.
**
Sunday half of Slytherin House resided in the infirmary from eating Slow Acting
Slugifying Powder sprayed on their food by an anonymous Gryffindor. Draco
hadn't had an appetite, so he was spared the humiliation of leaving a slime
trail in his wake.
Time alone was the last thing he needed, so he made his was to the library for
some distraction. Instead of immediately slipping into the chair opposite
Granger and lobbing free-floating aggression at her, he perused the shelves.
"Dragons of Distinction", "Transfiguration Ticklers", and "Quidditch Kafuffles"
all caught his attention, but he didn't pull them down. He just wove through
the stacks aimlessly, rubbing spines and dislodging dust as he traveled.
He was observing a spider spinning a web over the full set of "British Witches:
1500-?" when he was suddenly pitched against the case by a body knocking
against him.
Before he straightened, he heard a voice effusing apology, and then cutting off
short. Potter!
"What are you doing here?" Harry looked shocked. As though Draco really * did*
sleep with all his teachers to get his grades.
"Do you always walk backwards? Is that from whence all the mud and bruises
come?" Draco started knocking dust off his robes.
"From whence? You're not serious." Harry straightened his glasses and placed
his thumb in his book to markthe place.
"Have you ever been caned? If so, you would be far more articulate, I assure
you." Harry's face rode through several expressions in succession: shock,
sympathy, disbelief.
"What are you doing here, really? Are you playing a trick on someone?" Like
most occasions like this one, Harry chose not to pry as to whether Draco was
being literal.
"Your glasses are so hideous. You should go back to the old ones." He smoothed
his hair and flicked a cobweb he drew away with to the ground.
"I meant what I said, before. You know." Draco couldn't see Harry's face
anymore; he'd shifted out of the light. But that was how he liked him best,
just a voice and a body, and not always the voice so much.
"I hate you." But his heart wasn't in it, and the tone translated his words.
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