The Boy Who Lived was not happy. In fact, you could honestly say that Harry Potter was, at that very moment, far from pleased. The several-times-saviour-of-the-world was miles from contented, hours away from blissful and could not even see relaxed on the horizon. Or, to put it in layman’s terms, you could just say the kid was pissed right off. Running a hand through his messy black hair in frustration, the bespectacled wizard kicked irritably at the stone wall of the corridor, almost reprimanding it for failing to lead him to Ron, the person he had been unsuccessfully searching for throughout the duration of the last half hour. Turning around and slamming his back against the already abused wall, Harry squeezed his green eyes tightly shut and leant his head back against the cold stone; attempting to reclaim his already tried composure. It was not as though he was usually this frustrated when he couldn’t find his redheaded best friend but then again, it was not everyday that Harry knew how much the youngest Weasley boy rejoiced in being physically entwined with Draco Bloody Malfoy… He clenched his teeth as tightly as he screwed up his eyes, his mind playing out a cruel image of Draco Malfoy grinning maliciously and slithering his thin, snake-like tongue between his pinned-down and struggling friend’s lips… Ron doesn’t struggle though, does he? And he doesn’t mind being pinned down by that slimy, sadistic and pale little…

Harry groaned as he banged the back of his head sharply and purposely against the wall in aggravation. He then blinked away the immediate stars that began to dance at his eyeballs. Why couldn’t he just deal with it? So his best friend wanted to shag Draco ‘Death Eater’ Malfoy and even ‘liked’ him somewhat… what was the problem? The black-haired wizard knew he had to be supportive. He knew he had to not freak out. He knew if he yelled, stomped his feet, flailed his arms a lot and declared Ron an idiot that he would lose his best friend. Harry knew, especially after his fourth year, how much he needed Ron and how important he was to him. And he especially knew how short Ron’s temper could be if you scolded him for something that meant a lot to him. And for some reason, Draco Bloody Malfoy seemed to mean a lot to him. It was all just fucked up. The Boy Who Lived would have to force a smile when Ron talked all dreamily about Malfoy and even bloody well nod and ask for details like a true friend would… And talking about Malfoy…. What the hell was he doing back at Hogwarts?! Why was he even there in the first place? Didn’t Dumbledore expel him? Wouldn’t Dumbledore have to hex him into a thousand pieces once he saw him back on the grounds? Harry inwardly grinned at this but this good humour was soon cut short when he remembered something Hermione had once told him. Confusion took hold as he recalled that once a student was expelled, they could no longer enter the grounds. Magical restrictive barriers would refuse to admit them unless Dumbledore or the Governors personally stepped in and overruled the law for a particular reason…

“For example, Hagrid being allowed within Hogwarts by Dumbledore so he can be Gameskeeper...” he remembered her telling him. “It’s all in Hogwarts: A History, if you and Ron ever bother to open it and read…”

To own the truth, it wasn’t as though he usually listened to Hermione rant on and on and quote paragraph after paragraph of Hogwarts: A History but he sure remembered that conversation. It had primarily started with the three of them happily celebrating the fact that they’d never see Malfoy again. How wrong he was…

The cogs in his mind were beginning to turn. Harry furrowed his dark eyebrows. That meant that Malfoy was allowed on the grounds… didn’t it? After what he did, Dumbledore was still paying him sympathy? But why…? Why would the wise Headmaster let an obvious, prospective Death Eater into the school? Harry let out a dejected sigh as he slumped back against the wall. If Ron wasn’t so intent on buggering him at the current moment, the bespectacled wizard was sure that his friend wouldn’t have been too happy either.

“Harry!”

He raised his head up to be greeted by the sight of a wheezing, round and chubby figure approaching him. Harry managed a weak smile as a breathless Neville looked at him in relief, panting and wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his podgy hand. Harry studied his expression concernedly.

“Hey, Neville. What is it? You look like you’ve seen a…” The Boy Who Lived thought about his sentence for a minute then smiled dryly. It didn’t really work as well out of the Muggle world. “…I mean, you just look shaken.”

And Neville did look shaken. In fact, Neville steadying breaths seemed to be more induced to some unknown fear than his exerting run. The chubbier boy paled slightly and a shiver crossed over his face, as though he were recalling something awful. The dark-haired wizard knew three people who usually caused a reaction like this from Neville Longbottom. His Grandmother, bloody Malfoy and…

“…Professor Snape just told me to go and fetch you and Hermione and said we had to go to Professor Dumbledore’s Office like… um, now. He said if I didn’t do it fast he’d poison me…” He bit his lip and gulped as he squeaked on. “…Repeatedly.” Harry felt a swear just begging to be released from his throat. Instead, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut again.

“Snape’s back?” he asked with a grimace. He had hoped that his least favourite teacher’s absence was due to his falling into a cauldron during his potion brewing or something. But then again, Harry Potter had had enough luck, besides the whole threat on his life thing hanging over his head. And on the subject of problems hanging over his head… “Say, Neville, you haven’t seen Ron, have you?” In the middle of rubbing his heaving chest in a mission to calm down his heart, Neville let out a guilty smile and blushed quite deeply at Harry’s question.

“Well, err… I kinda overheard Professor Snape tell Professor McGonagall that he was going to pick up their ‘little guest’ at the shack.” From his uncomfortable expression, Harry supposed that his fellow Gryffindor was thinking about the other night and about the same pale and pointed-faced Slytherin. Damn, why didn’t he guess?

“Malfoy,” Harry scowled. He then paused to repeat Neville’s sentence in his head. He bit his lip contemplatively. “But what do they mean by Shack?” Realisation began to slowly etch over his features. “Wait… do they mean the Shrieking Shack? Is that where he’s hiding out?” Harry seemed to be talking more to himself than to the other boy, who bit his lip nervously as he watched his famous friend. Neville was silent for a while before he merely stated, with Harry still in deep thought,

“I’m confused.”

Harry sighed, though smiled weakly at Neville as he pulled himself out of yet another image of Ron and Malfoy doing lewd things to one another and dressed in ‘Rocky Horror Show’ fashion. Poor Neville. He was pretty much always confused, though Harry did reason that he had good reason to be this time.

“Me too, Neville. And slightly peeved off, too. We better be off soon. Have you seen Her…?”

“Harry! Neville!” Hermione cried out breathlessly from down the corridor as she ran towards the two boys, a giant book held in her arms. The clever witch’s bushy hair was billowing behind her with her robes as the two boys turned, suddenly afraid that maybe they had spoken too loudly. And it was also then, as Hermione puffed her way towards them, that Harry felt the horrible feeling of guilt kick at his stomach. Keeping a secret about his best friend from his other best friend just seemed… well, wrong. And terribly deceitful. And he was also pretty sure this painful feeling was clear on his face. Her own face was red when she reached them, gulping down a couple of unruly and uncontrollable breaths. She let out a self-conscious smile. She never was the best at sports, which she knew all too well. They were never really something that Hermione was significantly interested in. To be honest, she would prefer reading a book on sports than endeavour in the actual practice. She pushed a damp strand of hair from her eyes behind her ear, still blushing at her lack of stamina. “I’ve been looking for you two everywhere… Ron, too. He isn’t riding that infernal broom again, is he?” She had a stern look in her eye, although it did peter on fond. Harry bit his lip. No, Hermione. Well, not a broom anyway… He forced himself to squeeze out a smile, which he was convinced looked guilty.

“You really do have the best timed entrances, ‘Mione.” His laugh sounded terribly lame and fake and to make matters worse, Neville joined in to make it sound even more artificial. It ended with an uncomfortable cough, supplied by the pudgier boy. Hermione, however, simply smiled, still recuperating as she held a stitch in her side.

“I just saw Professor McGonagall in the Library. She said…”

“Yeah, we know,” Harry cut off before he did something else with stupid awkwardness. Besides, Snape demanding their presences in Dumbledore’s office was intriguing. He just wondered, with slight dread, what had happened now… “Come on guys, we better go before Snape takes points off us just for the heck of it.”

***

In all the times that Harry had visited the Headmaster’s office, which he had done quite a significant amount in his years at Hogwarts, he had never seen so many people crammed into it. Wizards of every size, shape and robe colour were chattering to one another, gesticulating madly with their arms and all wearing looks of frustration and anxiety, their voices buzzing indistinguishably due to the many overlapping conversations. And he didn’t just see old Warlocks sitting in the corner, blowing bubbles through their long pipes. To his surprise, there were an assortment of strange creatures among the humans, including the odd merman flapping his tail in a bath of water and even a centaur munching on the refreshments. Damn, even Filch and his satanic cat were there. The three friends tried to make their way through the swarms, Neville frequently losing himself within the crowd and having to be saved on six separate occasions by either Harry or Hermione before they found a seat. There seemed to be rows of seats faced towards Dumbledore’s desk, almost like a paying audience waiting for a show. He had a feeling that this wouldn’t be half as much fun though. Harry squeezed himself passed a vicious looking Goblin who, to Harry’s relief, actually smiled at him when the boy wizard apologised profusely for stepping on his gnarled foot. And even Hermione looked a bit flustered as she landed gratefully into a chair, the two boys immediately collapsing beside her.

“What do you think all this is about?” Harry whispered, eying the strange patrons. Neville shrugged unhelpfully as Hermione, looking almost pained that she hadn’t a clue what was going on, looked to the front where stood Dumbledore’s desk and to her surprise, Dumbledore, too. As Dumbledore’s arrival was perceived by the rest of the room, the other chattering occupants quickly found themselves a seat and eventually mellowed their chatter to soft whispers. It was uncannily quiet as Dumbledore stood, influential as ever. But there was something different in his eyes. He looked… guarded? Harry gulped inwardly. He had a feeling that whatever this meeting was about, it was about to start pretty soon. Dumbledore nodded to his guests with a polite nod.

“Thank you all for the promptness of your arrivals. It is greatly appreciated.” The old headmaster was still not smiling. The silent tension in the room was extreme, especially with so many hushed occupants. They all just watched with expectant expressions. Hermione threw Harry a troubled look. “Now, I shall not beat about the proverbial Muggle bush, so to speak, in view of the fact that we are all intelligent beings. I called this meeting since there is a traitor amongst us, if not presently in this room but seemingly on our side.”

There were the appropriate gasps as everyone began to mutter and turn to their neighbours with suspicious looks. Hermione was wringing her hands with anxiety. Neville dropped his gaze to his lap. Harry just focused almost painfully hard on the headmaster, clenching his back teeth. For a few moments, Dumbledore allowed the chatter to run strong before raising his hand authoritatively. The noise didn’t take long to die away.

“As much as I myself trust you all, it must be understood that certain precautions must be taken. As well as security tightening on the school grounds, with the support of Mr Filch…” Here Filch nodded determinably. Even Mrs Norris seemed to meow in agreement. Dumbledore let the smallest of smiles slip out. “… Steps must be taken to ensure loyalty. It has been decided amongst the Order that all allies, including those within the Order itself, must work in assigned groups. Any traitorous activity should be easily detected.”

There seemed to be instant tumult at his words. Some people just shook their heads. Others complained loudly. Some even jumped off their chairs, shaking their fists in indignation. Harry understood it. People did not like being forced with a group of people when they worked better alone. They did not like the insulting accusation of being a traitor. And most importantly, they did not like being dictated to like a child.

“Honestly, Albus! Do you think that’s necessary?”

“What else do you need to believe us? Veritaserum?”

“How do we even know there is a traitor?”

As usual, Dumbledore was equably dealing with the outrage. He was probably used to it, from Cornelius Fudge to even Madam Pomfrey. But Dumbledore always did what he knew was the best for everyone, despite who it was that questioned or criticised him. However, Harry noticed that the last question seemed to stir him enough to get him to answer it. He seemed to give the speaker a very emotive look.

“We know there is a traitor since they tried to kill an extremely protected student.” All eyes immediately turned to Harry. He found himself smiling awkwardly, turning red and sinking lower into his chair. Dumbledore obviously noticed Harry’s discomfort because he gave The Boy Who Lived a small smile.

“And a student who is not Mr Potter here. I can assure you all, though, that there is something afoot. If you trust me, you will merely see these precautions as necessary and not as a personal insult. And I ask you to trust me.”

Harry couldn’t help but let out a smile. Dumbledore sure knew how to talk. And he knew how to gain people’s faith. You could tell from the majority of nodding heads in the crowd. Even the few reluctant looking members sighed with a resigned concurrence. Dumbledore looked satisfied.

“Thank you. Can you all please stay behind so we can organise ourselves accordingly. I shall be with you in a moment. Now, Minerva, Severus and Misters Potter and Longbottom…” Harry looked up, quite startled to hear his name. What was this about? Dumbledore caught his eye and gave him an almost reassuring look.

“Could you all please accompany me to my study.”

Hermione, who was ready to get to her feet when she heard her friends’ names, stopped mid-rise when she realised her own wasn’t mentioned. She seemed to look up at Dumbledore, to remind him of her presence, but the Headmaster merely smiled softly at her before turning his attention to the others. The bushy-haired witch, besides looking slightly suspicious, looked clearly hurt as she bit her lower lip. However, she brightened slightly as Harry threw her a faint smile, although, he himself couldn’t quite refrain from feeling more than just a little suspicious about all this as he obediently followed his Head of House towards the room. Neville just looked pale, sweaty and trembling, especially with Snape behind him, breathing down his neck and growling through his long hooked nose as he escorted them to the next room. The Head of Slytherin threw Harry an especially hated look as he opened the door for both the two teachers and, surprisingly, the two students, too. Neville tripped over his feet and into the room in his astonishment as Harry ducked into the study, avoiding Snape’s glittering eyes as much as he could. To his surprise though, there were already two students inside.

The loud slam of the door from the Potions Master, indicating to all that it was firmly closed, made the two other occupants of the room jump. Harry didn’t know why he wasn’t surprised to see Malfoy and Ron sitting there. Ron had his back to the door as blond looked up sharply at the newcomers. Though the git had retreated it fast, Harry didn’t miss the two seconds that Malfoy’s pale hand had rested comfortably on the redhead’s thigh. Harry also didn’t miss the playful look on his sharp features. However, this soon turned into sneers of extreme abhorrence as he caught sight of the other two boys. Ron turned around on noting the blond’s expression and caught Harry’s eye. His flushed face immediately broke into a somewhat shaky and almost guilty smile. Harry could only force a grin back, not wanting to think about what exactly they’d interrupted. The small gesture between the friends didn’t seem to fair too well with Malfoy, who was far from happy to see Ron diverted… and by Harry of all people. For some strangely perverse reason, Harry felt very smug about the look of pure hatred the pale-faced boy was directing at him. Yes, Malfoy. I’m still his best friend. So deal. This time, the grin was far from forced. Malfoy was practically growling at him, eying Neville with similar dislike.

“Oh look. The Boy Who Refuses to Die and the Lump that Unfortunately Lived.” Before Harry could open his mouth to say something witty, he was interrupted by his best friend, who just dropped his head in his hands.

“Malfoy…” Ron groaned exasperatedly, not at all his usually fuming countenance.

“Now that the formalities are over, can we proceed to more important things?” Snape asked in his usual curt tone, though he was eying Ron and Malfoy with a little smirk on his face. Harry blinked in surprise before coming to a conclusion.

He knew.

Now, why did Harry have a feeling that the greasy git had accidentally caught them in the act, too? The Boy Who Lived shuddered. Talk about an immediate turn off. Though having Malfoy as your other half was hardly uplifting anyway…

“Alas, Severus is right,” Dumbledore said, though did look engrossed by the ‘friendly’ repartee. “Please sit.”

And they all did, except Snape, of course, who preferred to hover around like the overgrown bat he was often compared to. McGonagall placed herself between Harry and Ron, with Neville and Malfoy respectively on the boys’ sides. The Transfiguration teacher, even at times like these, could smell the danger brewing between the blond and… well, everyone else.

“What is this about, sir?” Harry asked politely, rather preferring to get this over and done with. Automatically he heard a hiss from his far left.

“Wait for your fucking turn to speak, Saint Potter.”

“Language, Mr Malfoy,” McGonagall warned, placed safely between the boys. Harry smirked.

“Yeah, Blondie. Watch it. You don’t want to get expelled. Oh wait, too late.”

“Harry!” Ron’s eyes were wide but he actually looked as though he was going to laugh as their gazes met

“Blondie!” Malfoy spat out in outrage. Dumbledore, seated behind his desk, was actually biting his bottom lip while Snape, with his thin lips curled up slightly, looked thoroughly entertained. McGonagall silenced the heated Malfoy with a look and then turned to Harry.

“Mr Potter, don’t force me take points from Gryffindor. Now, can we begin?” Harry grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. He was very glad he got to squeeze out the ‘Blondie’ thing though. That had been rolling around in his head for months. McGonagall was now eying Dumbledore with a stern look.

“Albus, can we begin now? Please?” Dumbledore coughed out his chuckle.

“Why yes, of course, Minerva. Excellent idea.” The Transfiguration teacher shook her head, mumbling something like ‘males’ under her breath as Dumbledore put on his most professional look. “Well, yes. To answer Mr Potter’s question…” (Harry could not help but throw Malfoy a self-satisfied look) “… This chat is about the Christmas holidays.”

Now that was one thing Harry was not expecting. He’d been guessing it was either Voldemort or… well, pretty much Voldemort again. Maybe Dumbledore wanted to give them all a present? How about getting rid of Malfoy? That would be as good as a promise of World Peace.

“Now, I called both Mr Longbottom and yourself Mr Potter since you both, before now, knew of Mr Malfoy’s presence here…” the Headmaster gave Malfoy an undecipherable look as Harry just gaped. Damn it, Dumbledore did know everything! “And I am presuming that you both have deduced that Mr Malfoy here was the student I mentioned in the previous room?”

Harry nodded. He pretty much guessed if it wasn’t him, it would have been Malfoy. Neville nodded truthfully, too, trying not to catch Malfoy’s slit-like eye or Snape’s piercing black gaze as he did. Seeing this, Dumbledore leant slightly forward and continued.

“Now, since Misters Finnigan and Thomas are both returning home for the holidays with the rest of Gryffindor House, the safest course of action would be to place Draco in Gryffindor Tower until further notice. He is too exposed in the shack. It is a mistake that I will not make again.”

Malfoy looked as though he was going to complain because his face had been overtaken by a pink shade but something seemed to be stopping him. After a minute, Harry saw Ron’s hand placed almost supportively on top of the Slytherin’s. The Boy Who Lived turned away quickly.

“We are relying upon your support and secrecy. Can you both guarantee it?”

It was practically a rhetorical question. Both Harry and Neville nodded silently again at Dumbledore, who looked truly appreciative for their help, beamed at them both as though they’d just agreed to slay a dragon bare-handed. After insisting that Malfoy stay behind a while, Dumbledore dismissed the other three boys, who walked out dejectedly. Neville looked as though he didn’t know what to feel as Harry felt that odd pit in his stomach again.

Now, why did he feel as though he had just signed his life away? And from the pale look on Ron’s face as they descended the moving stairs, he felt the same.

“Sickle for your thoughts,” Harry whispered with a shaky smile as the gargoyle hopped back into place. Ron just shook his head, releasing a pained laugh and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I have the worst timed sex life ever.”

Harry tried not to grimace. Now, that was one thing he didn’t want to know. He wanted his virtual sickle back and with interest.

And that was when the gargoyle hopped back again and Malfoy swaggered into the hallway, his invisibility cloak clutched in his fist. Harry instantly felt a slight childish anger within him. After all, he was the one who was infamous for the cloak, not Malfoy. The Slytherin flickered his eyes immediately over the redhead (looking very pleased with his findings) and Harry mentally kicked himself for never seeing how obviously he was trying to undress the Gryffindor with his eyes. And he still couldn’t believe that Ron actually liked it! For a minute the blond looked between the two of them, his scheming grey eyes far from pleased at their intimacy. However, he soon forced them to take on a bored looking expression as he turned to Ron, completely ignoring Harry’s presence.

“Are you coming or what, Weasley?” he asked with a bored drawl. God, how could Ron stand it? He didn’t even act as though he gave two shits about him. However, Harry knew the answer that would be given as the sheepish looking redhead turned to him.

“Err… Harry, you don’t mind if I go with Malfoy, do you?”

Dammit, he even called him Malfoy. How serious a relationship could it be if they couldn’t even use each other’s given names? The pleading look in Ron’s blue eyes was practically begging him for permission. Harry forced a smile.

“No, of course not. I’ll see you later.”

The dark-haired boy tried not to scowl as the pointy-faced git gave him a triumphant smile and slithered his arm like the snake he was around Ron’s waist. Before they both disappeared beneath his invisibility cloak, Harry saw a small smile from Ron and a mute mouth of “It’s Ok”. Stepping back, Harry could only watch helplessly as the invisible Slytherin escorted his equally as invisible best friend out of the hallway, their footsteps slowly dying away.

It was only when they were out of earshot did Harry kick irritably at the wall again.

He wanted to laugh at the situation. And not just laugh, but giggle. Shit, he wanted to giggle like a bloody schoolgirl at how McGonagall kept darting looks of pale, wide-eyed disbelief at Weasley as she escorted both the invisible Slytherin and very visible and blushing Gryffindor through the corridors of Hogwarts. He even wished to titter with immense amusement at the expressions that played on and off the Potions Master’s sallow, sardonic face. However, it was severely out of character for Draco Malfoy to even think of doing things as depraved as giggling and tittering. So he merely bit his lip and looked straight ahead. And although he had the added advantage of being under the cloak, to prevent his being seen by the students, Draco disciplined the twitching muscles aching to run amok on his face. Jesus, when did he lose all his fucking control? And why was everyone speeding ahead of him? Scowling irritably to himself, the Slytherin quickened his pace, inwardly insulting his redhead for having such long legs. But then again, mile-length legs weren’t such a bad thing, especially from this very flattering angle…

Draco didn’t even have to look at Weasley’s sexy ‘glow-in-the-dark’ eared self (although he did it liberally whenever he could) to know the redhead was watching his tattered Weasley trainers again, very aware of McGonagall’s searching gaze. She was probably wondering where she had gone wrong as his Head of House. After all, Snape had given Draco the exact same look. He could almost hear the Potions Master smirking, his derisive voice in the young Malfoy’s ear…

His father. The Slytherin hadn’t even thought of his father’s reaction before now. Before he could stop himself, Lucius Malfoy’s pale head swam menacingly (and almost sperm like) before his eyes. For such an attractive man, Draco realised how absolutely hideous he looked. Especially with that odd tadpole tail behind him. And the blond didn’t have to imagine too hard about how repulsive the man could be when he was tried. The boy had seen it many times, him usually being the cause of his father’s temper.

Fuck.

Daddy-dearest already wanted him dead. If Lucius Malfoy ever found out about his now frequent fumbling sessions with Weasel…

Every form of torture from skinning to being married off to Pansy popped into his head. And for some absurd reason he wanted to giggle again. Or maybe tittering would be more appropriate…

Draco hadn’t even been aware that they were heading for the corridor leading to Dumbledore’s office but when he’d pulled himself out of his thoughts long enough to note it, he snarled. This is what they had interrupted him for? They’d stopped him from hammering Weasley into the wall to just talk to the Headmaster? If this wasn’t a matter of life or death he would be extremely pissed off. Fuck, he was extremely pissed off. He was so sick to fucking death of that place. And why couldn’t Dumbledore ever bloody visit him for once?

The Slytherin chose to disregard the voice in his head that pointed out how often the Headmaster had actually called upon him. The Malfoy usually ignored things that didn’t please him. Or bored him. Or refused to entertain him. And he greatly enjoyed being entertained and he shot a look at the redhead to punctuate this. Perhaps it was a good thing he was under the cloak; neither McGonagall nor Snape could see the obscene gestures he was making towards his Gryffindor. But unfortunately, Weasley couldn’t see them either. Well, a good pinch of his cute little arse should be enough to compensate for that…

Draco smirked with a very naughty look on his face, feeling far too frisky for his own good. Why not enjoy the privileges of being invisible?

But they’d arrived in front of the familiar gargoyle just as he reached his pale hand out and with a sudden and unpredictable movement, Snape moved in front of his redheaded groping post. And not even retreating his hand at the last second could have stopped Draco’s fingers from almost provocatively touching the Slytherin Head.

His hand froze rigid, his mouth dropping open when he realised what exactly he’d done. And he noticed that Snape’s whole body had promptly frozen, too.

Oh fuck.

Of all the gross things he had done in his life, feeling up Snape was definitely the worst. It knocked accidentally tonguing Millicent last Christmas when he was drunk on Butterbeer right off the top spot. And not only that, but the Potions Master had bloody noticed it, too…! His stupid arsing libido! This is what happened when he lost his control… This was all obviously Wanker Weasel’s fault!

He waited in dread for his head of house to turn, which he eventually did. Very slowly.

How could Snape’s black eyes observe him so accurately when he was in a fucking invisibility cloak? Draco gulped. Twice.

“Looking for someone else, Mr Malfoy?” he inquired, his voice silkily soft and dangerous. Draco didn’t know what to say, although he did feel his blond head shake at its own accord. After a lengthily silence, in which both McGonagall and Weasley were eying them suspiciously, Weasley craning his neck to get a better view, Snape curtly finished. “Then I suggest for you to keep your hands to yourself.”

He then, with a swish of his black robes, snapped back around to the gargoyle… and did Draco see the hint of a smirk on the usually mordant teacher’s face? If it were anyone but Snape, the blond knew he would have drawled something cruel or sneered something awfully cutting at them… But this was Snape. A teacher he actually, well… liked somewhat.

Man, he was turning into a total fucking pansy. It was too much time with Weasley, that’s what it was. Brainless Gryffindor. There was a time when he would not just steal candy from a baby but would skilfully pinch their rattle and pram, too, just for the fun of it. And he was proud of it, too… Jesus what was bloody happening to him?

McGonagall eyed his general direction for a while, suspicion lined on every wrinkle on her stern face, before she also turned to the gargoyle. He could feel Weasley also looking at him, biting that irresistibly tasty lip of his fetchingly. Trying to side step subtly (quite impossible with those bloody huge feet of his), he leaned over towards him and Draco felt that irresistible urge to ravish him.

“Were you just feeling up Snape…?” he whispered, an incredulous and disgusted look on his face. Draco felt his own face take on that pink tinge he detested and was very grateful that he couldn’t be seen under his cloak’s hood. He hated to colour. Screwing up his mouth into a vicious snarl, the Slytherin answered the question with as much eloquence as he could muster in his disposition.

“Shut the fuck up, Weasel.” Then he snapped his head back to hidden doorway, trying to ignore the severely irritating chuckle the other boy was silently shaking with.

“Levitating Sherbet Balls!”

Snape’s bark at the gargoyle sounded even more irritable than in his Potions lessons, which was probably due to the fact that he was forced to say such a password (which sounded terribly wrong coming out of his mouth anyway). And it even seemed as though the stone creature had been scared off by the far from enthusiastic expression on Snape’s scowling face because Draco was sure it hopped out the way quicker than he’d ever seen. And he’d seen it fucking plenty. The Slytherin boy couldn’t actually accept that he’d once found it vaguely cool. It was now turning into a party trick that was getting tiresomely old. With a brusque turn of his head, Snape wordlessly motioned for them to follow him and the group didn’t protest, not even Draco who was forced to walk between the teachers and Weasley. And speaking about Weasley, he was now whispering conspiratorially behind the blond, head bent slightly and looking cheekily amused as he finally ascended the escalator-like stairs. Draco found it more than a little disconcerting as he felt the redhead's warm breath tickle his cheek and the back of his neck. He felt the opening slam shut behind them. Trapped.

Why was Weasel being so fucking friendly? It's not like they were friends or anything… Draco looked straight ahead, trying to ignore the way the sexy morsel was practically resting his chin on the Malfoy’s shoulder from behind. He felt the familiar shiver of Weasley’s breath, almost sensual, against his ear. Fuck, everything was sensual around the fine freckled fiend. Even the way the bastard was currently, quite openly, mocking him.

“You know, if Snape's more your taste, you can tell me, Malfoy,” the taller boy hissed softly so only the blond could hear, not bothering to hide his mirth as he smirked. “I mean, that greasy hair is such a giant turn on…”

The Slytherin clenched his jaw tightly as the door to Dumbledore’s quarters neared, his back teeth beginning to ache. Why couldn’t the git just fucking let it go? It was a bloody accident, for Christ’s sake! His grey eyes inadvertently scanned over the lank hair of the Potions master, three or four steps above. Definitely an accident. His anger was beginning to overtake the butterflies fluttering in his stomach, which were first brought on by Weasley's close proximity.

“Weasley…” he warned with a hiss. That stupid arse. It wasn't fucking funny.

“And that nose… well, you know what they say about men with humongous noses…” Weasley continued to whisper teasingly, pushing his crimson fringe out of his twinkling eyes and causing it to brush silk-like against the other boy’s cheek. “And if you think it could work between you and him, you should go for it. I'll just walk away…”

Right, Draco was definitely not happy. And these stupid stairs were taking their time getting to that bloody door! He snapped his head sharply around and spat in pure aggravation.

“You can walk off a fucking cliff for all I fucking care you… you… fuck!”

Oh dear. Not smooth at all. Stupid underprivileged git. He was making a Malfoy tongue-tied! The redhead raised an eyebrow, even more entertained by his ability to make the all powerful and smug Slytherin lose his self-discipline. Arsehole.

“Overusing a certain word, aren't we, Malfoy?” he grinned, his dimples deepening as far as they could go. Well, of course the Slytherin was going to overuse that word. It's the only thing he thought of whenever Weasley was in the vicinity... However, the stupid git's boyishly handsome smile just pissed him off even more. Draco screwed his face up with every ounce of vindictiveness he could manage as he turned his body completely around.

“Yeah, at least I can afford to, Weasel,” he hissed nastily, still trying not to catch McGonagall or Snape’s attention. “Second helpings are probably a foreign concept in your world, though second-hand is practically a way of life. It's a shame really, someone has to die so the Weasleys can get clothed.”

That undeniably got rid of the infuriating smile. The redhead didn't blush. He didn't even grind his teeth. Weasley just paled and looked hurt. And Draco wasn't enjoying it. Fuck it. Why the heck not? He looked down at his feet, for once averting his eyes.

"Why do you always have to push things too far?" Weasley mumbled, dropping his own gaze down to the moving stair he was standing on and leaning away from the blond, taking his warmth with him.

Draco was not going to let the Gryffindor make him feel like this.

Weasley was the one talking about his having a relationship with fucking Snape of all people. If that wasn't low, he didn't know what was. He wasn't going to let Weasel make him feel guilty. He didn't care if he did the puppy-dog look. Or the biting of the lip again. Or that self-conscious blush that always managed to turn the Slytherin indisputably on… He just didn't fucking care. Not at all. Draco turned around before his usually buried conscience kicked properly in. With the ascending staircase ride over, his foot finally felt stationary ground beneath it and he allowed McGonagall to mutter a password before he swept passed her irritably. Stupid Weasley. If he didn’t want to talk to him and preferred to act like a girl, he didn’t care. However, before he could go much further and properly notice all the strange people inside the office, he felt someone grasp at the back of his robes and pull him back. Snape, of course.

“Wrong way, Mr Malfoy,” McGonagall said in her usually stern voice, obviously not in the mood for his tantrums. Draco would have smirked at the way she was glaring at his right shoulder instead of his eyes if he were in a less foul mood. Got to love invisibility cloaks…

“Oh, so where are we going then?” he sneered, intent on hiding his best behaviour under layers of denial. And his brat-like temper.

“Watch your manners, Draco,” Snape warned dangerously, oddly using his first name and successfully catching his eye. The boy didn’t miss the hint of paternal caution in his eye. Or Weasley merely eying him with a familiar red-faced scowl from behind the Transfiguration teacher. The Malfoy snorted, allowing Snape to escort him subtly around the crowds and to another room within the office. A room that, once opened, included Albus Dumbledore himself.

The boy felt the cloak being whipped briskly from his shoulders.

The Headmaster looked up from the parchment he was scratching his quill upon and smiled at his guests. He motioned to the chairs before his desk as he quickly pushed the paper aside and placed his quill in the ink well. McGonagall, Draco and Weasley promptly sat, Snape favouring to stand. Now, why did the pale boy have a feeling he was being watched by his Potions Master intently?

As he wondered this, the Headmaster cleared his throat, preparing to begin.

“I must firstly apologise to both Misters Weasley and Malfoy here for the… well, untimely interruption.” The old codger was glowing in that mischievous way again, obviously guessing what they’d been doing. Weasley, being the predictable fuck he was, blushed down to his roots of his hair. Draco merely snorted again, deciding how he didn’t find that attractive in the slightest. Not at all. “But your presences were mandatory. Now, Mr Malfoy, I have a meeting to begin so I must be brief,” Dumbledore began, leaning forward and indeed speaking faster than usual. “It has been decided that it is not safe for your continued residence at the ‘Shrieking Shack’. Although the charms placed around it are indeed complex and very complicated, we’ve been provided with information…” Here he looked up at Snape, who had a stony look about him. “… That the allies of the Dark Lord are equipped with the knowledge of many reversal spells. I shall explain your living arrangements in due time but I must now quickly inquire something of you. Something that is of grave importance.”

Draco did not like the sound of this. Or the almost pained look on the Headmaster’s suddenly ancient looking face. Whatever Dumbledore wanted from him, he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“You can of course reject this assignment but I would greatly wish for you to contemplate it before declining immediately...” The old man’s eyes were imploring. To the blond’s surprise, before he could even ask what this ‘assignment’ was, Snape suddenly stepped forward.

“Dumbledore, I’m still not sure if he’s old enough to even consider…”

“Consider what?” Draco asked warily, uncharacteristically cutting off the Potions Master mid-sentence. McGonagall looked at the Headmaster, her expression also pained as Weasley looked just as confused as he felt.

Fuck. He’d never seen Dumbledore look so strained. His clasped hands, which were usually so still, were actually shaking slightly. The Slytherin inadvertently gulped at the sight, unsure if he wanted to know the answer to his question as the headmaster looked suddenly sad.

And then he said it.

“How would you feel about going back home, Draco?”

He’d always though the phrase ‘heart dropping to your stomach’ was an understatement. Well it fucking wasn’t. The perspiration gathering upon his upper lip was the only giveaway on his well-practiced poker face.

“About as good as someone about to be killed,” he tried to joke, but it came out as a retort. Those bastard fucks! They wanted to send him to certain death just so he could be a spy! A spy! A fucking cowardly two-faced Scab! The redhead looked from the headmaster to the Malfoy, eyes wide and mouth open. And Draco could feel those emotion filled eyes boring into him. Why couldn’t he just piss off? Right now, he wasn’t sure if he could take his stupid ‘brave and noble’ ways.

“What I mean, Draco…” Dumbledore started again, trying to sound more soothing. As if calling him by his first name was going to soften him up… “…Is would your father believe your intentions for returning were innocent?”

“You mean would he hex me on sight?” the Slytherin let out a harsh bark of a laugh, which sounded so alien coming from him. To be honest, he was probably in a mild state of hysteria. “If you want me to be honest, I’ll tell you that I don’t fucking know. Lucius is stupid enough to take me back. He needs an heir and he’s too old to produce another. Is that what you want to hear? Want to know if the space on my arm can fit the Dark Mark comfortably? Want me to report back and tell you what fucking Death Eater Youth Camp is like?”

Nobody answered. And Draco, somewhere in the back of his mind, realised that no one had scolded him on his language. And in that very place, he could also see Potter and Voldemort playing with Barbie dolls. There was an uncomfortable hush around the room for a while until a very small voice suddenly said,

“He’s not going back there.”

Draco raised his head in surprise and looked at the speaker. Then he narrowed his eyes.

“Shut up, Weasley.” But Weasley looked determined, his eyes flashing dangerously as he held himself very stiffly to his seat.

“I’m not letting you, Malfoy.” Draco blinked. He couldn’t believe the audacity of the prick!

“What are you, my fucking mother?!” he spat out angrily.

“Do you really think that I’m just going to sit back and let you go?!” Weasley suddenly burst out, looking extremely pissed off. “I’ve seen the scars on you, if no one else has, you git! He’ll kill you if you go back!”

What the heck did he know about anything?! Let alone the Malfoy family? He was just a poor, insignificant Weasley who couldn’t spare two Knuts to start a fire with…! The blond found himself snarling with contempt with fury dripping from his voice.

“It’s not your bloody decision!”

“Oh yes it is!”

They stopped for a pause, both breathing heavily and eying the other with extreme dislike. It was at times like these when Draco remembered why he wanted Weasley so much. But he didn’t try to kiss him or imagine lewd sexual plays in his head. The Slytherin sneered nastily instead.

“You think a couple of gropes mean we’re a proper couple, Weasel?”

The room grew uncomfortably silent as the other occupants (who both boys had forgotten) shifted awkwardly, but neither Draco nor Ron cared as they glared at each other. “Get over yourself. No one tells me what I can and can’t do. Especially not you…”

“As I stated, this matter does not need to be answered at this instant,” Dumbledore suddenly cut in, looking actually quite sternly at them both. They slumped back in their seats, both still fuming on the inside. The Headmaster pushed back his chair and stood up. “Now, I must away to begin the meeting. I have left it too late as it is. Minerva, Severus, will you please accompany me to the main office?” The teachers had all got to their feet and made their way forward. Snape opened the door for McGonagall and stepped aside, waiting for the Headmaster. The latter gentleman turned to face them, a small smile on his lips.

“We shall be back,” Dumbledore assured. “Please stay here.” With one last hard look from the Potions Master as Dumbledore swept passed him, the door was shut. And then they were alone.

It was weird, the anger had gone as soon as it had appeared. Oh, don’t misunderstand, the Slytherin was still pissed but he was more, well… pensive. Numb. And unsure what to do or think. It was an emotion Draco Malfoy was unconfident and inexperienced with… and he didn’t like it one sodding bit.

They just sat in silence, neither knowing what to say and Draco honestly not giving a shit. He just rocked slightly on his seat, pursing his lips and wondering trivial things such as how much the mark would hurt and what his gravestone would look like. He could feel Weasley looking over at him as subtly as he could under his red-blond lashes, shifting slightly in awkwardness. Feeling the gaze after a full minute, Draco looked up with his cold grey eyes and gave the redhead a contemplative look. Neither of them looked angry any more. Weasley probably just wanted to avoid the situation altogether. Which, unfortunately, he didn’t have the luxury of doing…

Fuck it, he was thinking of it again.

Almost as a last resort, Draco reached over and started fingering the loose threads around the hole in the knee of the Gryffindors jeans, still not saying a word. He didn’t want to think. Not about Lucius, not about the ‘assignment’ and definitely not about the argument with Weasley.

So he focused on the jeans.

He actually remembered a time when he would have laughed derisively at Weasley's clothes, thinking hard for the cruellest retort to come sneering out of this mouth. Now the tables had seemed to have turned. The small yet tempting square of flesh was almost teasing him. Like a peek show; look but don't even think that you'll ever see it all... Stupid fucking jeans. He hated them. He preferred them off Weasley. To be honest, he preferred everything off Weasley.

The redhead was biting his lip in a very enticing way, watching Draco's silent musings with slight trepidation. Trying to read the other boy's mind was probably the last thing in the world he could manage.

“What are you thinking?” he finally asked, almost warily. The blond didn't lift up his eyes, although he did try his hardest to smirk at the question.

“How much I want to see you naked.”

It was almost too easy making the Weasel blush. His entire face went red as he lowered his embarrassed gaze to look at his knee being fondled instead.

“Malfoy...” he insisted in a ‘not in public’ tone. Draco raised his smouldering looking eyes from the fraying threads. Weasley slowly lifted his own eyes to match the Slytherin’s, his face still overtaken by the deepest flush. Perhaps the blond had found the greatest distraction to all his problems…

Draco licked his lips. The Weasel seemed to have stopped breathing. Gotcha.

“But I do...” he said in a seductive, throaty voice, his gaze dangerously steady. Knowing he had already won. Wanting to forget that stupid assignment... and why the fuck would he take it anyway? It would only aid the people in the Wizarding world that he’d been brought up to hate. Now, why would he do a thing like that? His fingertips had bored of the threads and were now gently stroking the redhead's bare knee. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to imagine the biggest diversion of them all. “... I want to see you without a stitch of clothing on. I want to see you lying on green silk sheets and squirming as I run my hands up the insides of your thighs, separating them sufficiently apart so I can see my prize...” He let out a breathy exhale, his fingers absently creeping up as he spoke. Now, why did he have a sudden feeling of déjà vu?

“Malfoy...” Weasley said again, this time in a deeper, undeniably turned on voice, pleading for him to stop his sexy ministrations.

“And you know what I'd do next?” Draco pressed on, ignoring his plea. Weasley could only shake his head. The Slytherin snapped his eyes open.

“I'd fuck your pretty little brains out.”

And that was when the door opened. Weasley looked almost relieved. Draco smirked sardonically as he leant back into his chair. Fornicating in the Headmaster's study was obviously not his redhead's thing, although he had a feeling that exhibitionism was pretty much a Gryffindor trait. Oh well, there was always later on... However, the blond was soon very disrupted from his thoughts when he saw the two boys who had entered the room with McGonagall, Snape and Dumbledore. His face automatically took on a genuine scowl, especially when he caught the quick grins Weasel and Potter threw at each other. He could feel a premature growl vibrating within his throat.

“Oh look. The Boy Who Refuses to Die and the Lump that Unfortunately Lived.”

“Malfoy…” Weasley groaned as dropped his head in his hands. And Draco glowered. Well, what the fuck did the redhead expect him to do? Welcome them in with open legs? Even the thought made him feel physically ill.

“Now that the formalities are over, can we proceed to more important things?” Snape had a peculiar smirk on his face, his eyes flicking over the redhead and the blond and clearly saying, ‘I know about you two…’

“Alas, Severus is right,” Dumbledore sighed, his own face twitching with a smile. “Please sit.”

The Slytherin watched Potter very carefully, his teeth already bared as everyone but Snape took their place. As long as he didn’t sit near him or speak in that fucking annoying whine of his, Draco was sure he’d survive this talk without killing, or at least maiming, the four-eyed bastard. However, he didn’t have such luck.

“What is this about, sir?” Potter asked, trying to sound all bloody concerned. And having the fucking conceit to start the talk that Dumbledore was supposed to. The Malfoy growled. Stupid arrogant prick.

“Wait for your fucking turn to speak, Saint Potter.” McGonagall sharply turned her head to look at him.

“Language, Mr Malfoy,” she forewarned. Why the heck was everyone always on Potter’s side? And why was the git smirking at him like that!? Potter crossed his arms over his chest, leaning forward with a smug look.

“Yeah, Blondie. Watch it. You don’t want to get expelled,” he almost drawled. “Oh wait, too late.”

“Harry!” Weasley cried out but Draco was too outraged to heed his redhead. That stupid bastard Pothead!

“Blondie!”

McGonagall cut in, however, before the blond jumped out his seat and walloped the shit out of him.

“Mr Potter, don’t force me take points from Gryffindor. Now, can we begin? Albus, can we begin now? Please?” Shit, the Transfiguration teacher actually on his side for once?

“Why yes, of course, Minerva. Excellent idea,” Dumbledore agreed, looking far more amused than Draco liked. “Well, yes. To answer Mr Potter’s question…” He didn’t miss the triumphantly smug look Potter threw at him. The Malfoy immediately felt Weasley’s hand on his own, forcibly restraining him from attacking the prick. “… This chat is about the Christmas holidays. Now, I called both Mr Longbottom and yourself Mr Potter since you both, before now, knew of Mr Malfoy’s presence here…And I am presuming that you both have deduced that Mr Malfoy here was the student I mentioned in the previous room?” Potter nodded again, and to cheer himself up Draco started to threateningly eye Longbottom with Snape. With great satisfaction, he watched the chubby boy squirm as he also nodded. “Now, since Misters Finnigan and Thomas are both returning home for the holidays with the rest of Gryffindor House, the safest course of action would be to place Draco in Gryffindor Tower until further notice. He is too exposed in the shack. It is a mistake that I will not make again.”

It took a while to sink in. Then Draco dropped open his mouth. What the fuck?! Him? In the bloody Gryffindor Tower? Could things get more humiliating? He felt his face burn again and the hand Weasley had placed on his held him back even more. The redhead threw him a subtle look which the Slytherin could easily interpret - ‘Don’t argue, Malfoy. It’s for your own good’.

Since when did they become such a fucking couple? Draco bit his lip and dropped his eyes to his and Weasley’s clasped hands, faintly catching Dumbledore’s words requesting for him to stay behind as his mind began to blur. But he wasn’t paying attention or watching the scene. Not even as Potter, Longbottom and Weasley stood to leave. Still glaring at his hand, he watched Weasley pull his larger hand from his own pale one and heard a soft whisper in his ear that he’d be waiting outside. And then the door shut. It was Dumbledore’s voice that brought him out of his strange daze and Draco finally raised his eyes to him. The Headmaster was giving him a small smile. Then he motioned to the space to the left of the Slytherin.

“Your cloak, Draco.” The boy blinked. He hadn’t even noticed that it had been put there. Unsure what the look on Dumbledore’s face meant, he leant down and clawed his left hand around the silvery material, never taking his piercing pale eyes from the Headmaster’s. After placing the cloak on his lap (creating an effect that made it seem as though someone had chopped from his hips to his knees), he didn’t need to wait long for the older man to speak. “I can only imagine how difficult this is for you, and I cannot put into account how dangerous a task it is. But I do ask for you to consider all options before you answer. Sleep on it, Draco. Give us your decision when you are sure of it.”

He suddenly felt the anger boiling within him again as Dumbledore gave him another reassuring smile and McGonagall, seated beside him, looked wary. Draco bit the inside of his cheek so hard he was sure he’d punctured through his gum. He flicked his eyes shut.

“I’m not going back,” he managed to croak. “I don’t need fucking time to think about it. I’m not sacrificing myself for a bunch of Mudbloods and do-gooders.” Snape muttered something under his breath that sounded quite like ‘Idiot boy’ while Dumbledore only let out a deep sigh, as though he already knew the answer.

“If that is your decision…”

“Yes, it bloody is,” the Slytherin cut in, eyes now open. “Can I go now?”

However, he had already pushed his chair back, turned and stormed passed Snape, his cloak in his fist as practically ran his way through the crowds and down the stairs to Weasley. And it was only when he was on the stairs did he start hitting his fists crazily against the handrail, trying to break it with his anger.

Those bastards!!! Those cunting shits! To actually look down on him?! Expecting him to walk straight into a fucking trap! It was his life in danger, his body they were going to maim and torture… and they had the gall to make him feel bad for refusing!

The gargoyle hopped aside before he could smash at it with his fist. Grinding his teeth, he attempted self-control. Nobody could see him like this. Shit, nobody should see him anyway. And Potter… he wouldn’t give the git the satisfaction of seeing him so out of it. With a ragged sigh, he flicked his hair out of his eyes and tried to strut out the entrance. He found his eyes distracted and immediately scanning over his redhead approvingly. Then he scowled at who was with him. Why the hell were Weasley and Potter standing so close? He stepped towards them with an expression of nonchalance on his face, trying to ignore the stirrings of jealousy in his stomach and the scowl Potter was throwing at him. His fingers were itching to punch him and before he knew he’d said it, the words came spilling out of him.

“Are you coming or what, Weasley?” Weasley threw Potter a sheepish grin. Draco felt his heart leap slightly. Did that mean what he thought it meant?

“Err… Harry, you don’t mind if I go with Malfoy, do you?” The blond gave him the best smirk he could. He’d spent six years as Weasley’s enemy and he’d still chosen him over the great Harry Potter…!

“No, of course not.” Potter looked as though the smile was fixed painfully on his face. “I’ll see you later.”

Gathering Weasley underneath his cloak, Draco made a show of slipping his arm around him and smirking infuriatingly at The Boy Who Lived. However, he let go as soon as they were unseen and was actually beginning to regret his decision. He wasn’t really in the mood to entertain a guest. Whether offering Weasley tea and crumpets or sex on the dining room table. All he could see in his head right now was his father, which really put a dampener on how turned on you could get.

They didn’t talk much on the way to the Shack and they hardly touched one another, which was quite a feat considering that the cloak was barely big enough for two. He could feel Weasley’s invisible eyes flicking over him occasionally and he could even imagine the look of worry on his face. But the blond didn’t speak. To be honest, he didn’t think he could even handle interaction with another person in his current temper. So why had he taken Weasley with him? And he knew the answer straight away. To get him away from Potter… because the redhead was one of the few people whose presence he could actually stand to be around. And it was a scary thought. Even once they had reached the Shack and finally pulled the cloak off they didn’t speak. It was pure awkwardness. The Gryffindor didn’t seem to know what to say and could probably read the unsociable aura around Draco. However, he looked like he was bursting with a question. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but then closed it again. The Slytherin lounged into a sofa, watching the boy by the door without inviting him to sit. He raised an eyebrow at the redhead’s actions then finally shook his head as it continued for another few minutes. And Draco Malfoy wasn’t known for his patience.

“Weasley, what ever you want to say, just fucking say it. You’re beginning to piss me off.”

Weasley pressed his lips together, looking slightly offended before caginess took over. Then he practically blurted out,

“Why me?”

The Slytherin blinked. What the heck was he talking about?

“Why you what?” Draco snapped, crossing his arms. He really wasn’t in the shitting mood for this…

“Why did you… well, want me?” Weasley asked softer and self-consciously, shrugging his shoulders to show his confusion and slight embarrassment. Where the hell had that come from? But the blond could see the underlying look in those eyes. Weasley wanted to know what he meant to him. Draco rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in the fucking frame of mind for soppy love declarations.

“Because you were easy and I knew you’d put out, ok?” he spat nastily, but soon afterwards groaned and raked his hand through his hair. “Listen, just…” He didn’t know what to say. He looked up at the boy again, who was still standing by the door, looking confused and concerned by his expression and also a bit peeved off by his original answer. Draco hated this. He bloody hated having to explain himself… But he didn’t want the boy to go back to that bespectacled excuse for a Wizard, did he? Now, how had he always got his way around the Weasel?

Sex.

He stood up languidly, trying to look as desirable as he could with his slowed, approaching movements.

“Stay,” he whispered, pulling Weasley’s tie towards him and trying out his most seductive voice, his eyes clouding over. With his faultless act, nobody could mistake what his intentions were to do to the boy. Not even Longbottom, who still thought babies came from garden seeds. Weasley immediately averted his gaze, his body went stiff and he shook his head slightly, his face looking sardonically amazed by the Slytherin’s method of changing the subject.

“Nice try, Malfoy. I’ve got Quidditch Practise and I’m already missing Care of Magical Creatures. And I promised Harry that I…” Draco narrowed his eyes at the sound of that name.

“Coward,” he snarled, throwing the tie down. If Weasel wanted to play Virgin Mary, he couldn’t care less. He only offered because he thought that was what the stupid Gryffindor wanted. He didn’t even know why he even fucking bothered. “Fine, piss off then. Like I’d want to shack up with a loser like you anyway.”

Then the blond spun around crossly and went to pack his things for the Christmas holidays. It was after a full minute, and when Draco was folding his robes into his trunk, when he heard the shuffle of feet and Weasley quietly leave. And he’d let him go. Straight into the arms of the Mudblood and especially fucking Potter.

He really was a complete idiot sometimes.