A/N: Alright. I don’t own anything, clear? And I don’t *claim* to own anything, even more clear? And I don’t plan on dignifying any assaults on my writing with answers, clearest? Alright, fine, I’ll do the last. Since nobody’s perfect, please forgive me about the game scene. I cannot write things like that when I’m so hyped up over the rest of the story. K? K. Yes, I am *that* psycho, that I already know what’s going to happen. Well, duh, but I bet you don’t think that I spend an hour (at least) each night imagining exactly what each character says and when. But I do. And I bet you don’t think that I spend another hour, each night, dreaming up ways to take over the world, do you? *twiddles fingers* MWAAAAHAAAAHAAAAHAAAA Alright, that’s not a real word, but I’m not bothering with beting my own story. K, maybe a little. K, I think I’ll stop sos that you can read this thing already.
“Morning, Draco,” Pansy said as she kissed her boyfriend on the cheek at the breakfast table. He merely grunted in response, not having fully woken up yet. He shoved another piece of bacon into his mouth via fork and took a sip of juice.
“Excited about the game tomorrow?” Millicent asked Jeffrey Walls, a chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team. She had a crush on him for the longest time, and he was as blind as a bat.
“I don’t see the big deal. It’s just Quidditch,” Blaise said snootily. He found himself above flying around on brooms, should he break his delicate nose. Plus, Draco was the flyer in the family.
“Well, it’s important to your best friend, that’s the big deal you dolt,” Pansy said pointedly, leaning on Draco’s arm. Draco didn’t respond. He really didn’t care for the opinions of others, and he wasn’t going to dignify Blaise with a response. Besides, he and Blaise were cousins, therefore, his comments towards Draco were excusable. Anyway, the Malfoys were the richer branch in the family.
“It’s just Ravenclaw,” Jeffrey was saying to Millicent off-handedly. Honestly, Ravenclaw *was* better than Hufflepuff, but they weren’t as good as the Gryffindors, partially due to the lack of animosity between their houses.
Just then, mail owls swooped down through the hall’s high windows and his black raven landed gracefully in front of him. Draco untied the package, already knowing that they were sweets and money from his mother. The woman doted on him, and he wasn’t ungrateful, but he didn’t understand why. She was just a Malfoy woman. She had class, looks, and ovaries. *That* was what was expected of a Malfoy woman, and nothing else. At least, that’s what his father had said.
The bell finally rang, and they made their way to class, Double NEWT Potions with the Gryffindors. Draco walked through the doorway, almost colliding with someone with messy black hair.
“Watch where you’re going, Potter,” he snapped. Pansy was holding his hand, slowing him from getting his wand out fast enough. He glared at her, peeved, and shook her hand off, rifling through the folds of his cloak for his wand. He ignored the look of hurt of Pansy’s face and held his wand at his side, just threatening enough, yet harmless should a professor walk by.
“No need to get your whitey-tighties in a twist, Malfoy,” Ron Weasley said over Harry’s shoulder.
“Shut up, Weasel,” he snarled.
“At least his father can *afford* underwear. I suppose you use disposable diapers?” Pansy piped up from behind him. Draco turned to her, not sure whether he should smirk at her insult or glare harder at the fact that her comeback hadn’t been the smartest.
“Parkinson, you moron, diapers are more expensive,” Hermione Granger said, adding, “which is why Draco uses them at night, right?” The insult ended up right where Draco was sure it would because of the fact that stupid know it all Granger always analyzed things before saying them. And Potter and his little gang laughed their way into the dungeon.
“Next time, Pansy, let *me* handle it. Look what you’ve done,” Draco hissed as they made their way to their seats. His ego was bruised, and his girlfriend was entirely to blame.
“I was just try— ” Pansy squeaked before he cut her off with a venomous glower. She perched upon her stool dejectedly, looking anywhere but at the handsome blonde beside her. ‘Sometimes he just gets angry, but he doesn’t mean it,’ she tried to comfort herself. Draco had been known to snap at her on occasion, but they always made up in the end. He’d buy her something and say how sorry he was, and she would forget the event entirely. When they first began seeing each other, Draco would buy her things randomly, saying that she deserved it. In fact, his gifts had become more and more infrequent to the point that he hardly remembered their anniversary, her birthday, and Christmas. Professor Snape walked into the classroom that moment, and everyone became quiet.
That day, Draco went through the rest of his classes, not speaking to Pansy, or anyone for that matter. He was still sore from that morning’s altercation with Potter. His face radiated all of the anger coursing through his body, and Pansy walked slightly behind him, not daring to say a word. Eventually, he had cooled down, but didn’t say so. Draco rather enjoyed the silence, glad that Pansy wasn’t talking just for a day. Besides, it wasn’t as if she wouldn’t be there in five minutes to drive him crazy again.
Pansy was always devoted to him, and Draco knew that she would make him a proper wife one day. She was certainly pretty enough, her pug faced days having passed, and her stringy hair was now much more luscious. And passive as Hell, he wouldn’t have to worry about her complaining about the missions their Lord would send him on. Draco didn’t plan on telling her that he would be marrying her soon after graduation, partially because she would be overjoyed either way. Plus, he didn’t really owe it to her to tell her anything.
Later, in between classes and dinner, Draco sat by the fire, and finished up his homework. Crabbe, Goyle, Jeffrey, and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team finally deemed it safe to approach their team captain and ask for a last minute practice. The last time they had practiced was Tuesday, and the Ravenclaws had been spotted at the pitch yesterday. They wanted to be well rested, but not stiff.
“Say, Draco, d’you think it would be alright if we had a practice session tonight?” Harrison Kent, a fifth year, asked. Draco looked up at them and shrugged.
“Sure, go get your brooms and meet me at the pitch in ten minutes,” he finally answered. While they all ran off, he went to grab his broom and cloak. On his way out the portrait hole, Draco caught sight of Pansy studying in a corner of the common room with her friends, but completely missed the look of longing that Pansy shot him as he turned his back.
The team was certainly practicing as well as they had to in order to win the game the next day, and then they would be onto the Quidditch cup game, against Gryffindor. Halfway through the session, Draco caught movement in the stands and turned abruptly to catch a better view. Then he sat back on his broom, seeing that it was Pansy with Millicent and Daphne, come to see them play. He smiled slightly, dependably sweet Pansy. He hated to admit it, but it was more than blood or lineage that attracted him to her. There was something, like the way that she managed to be there when he really needed it, or was content to just watch him than snog. In truth, Pansy fulfilled all of Draco’s narcissistic needs.
Draco finally called the practice to a close, with enough time to wash up before dinner, and all of his players landed on the grass. Since Pansy and her friends didn’t come rushing down right away, Draco looked up at them in the stands, and they seemed to be having some sort of debate.
“Oi! Pansy! Come on,” he called, beckoning to her, and she came flying down the steps to stop in front of him. Draco slung his arm around her waist and kissed her on the cheek.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier. I just got frustrated at stupid Potty and his friends,” he whispered into her ear. Even in the dark lighting, Draco could see Pansy blush and smile slightly as he moved his lips to meet hers. He led the kiss, hard and demanding, and she always succumbed beneath him. When they broke apart, he and Pansy walked back to the school, arm in arm, for dinner.
“Good morning, Hogwarts And it’s a beautiful March day for Quidditch. Look at the wonderful clouds. I think I can see a Neutolowta in that cloud over their. See? There’s its snout, its gills, and its —”
“Sorry, Professor McGonnagal. Erm...Oh, right Well, this lovely day, it’s a match between Ravenclaw, and Slytherin,” Luna said into the microphone, holding her thumb up and down while announcing the teams, amid applause and jeers.
“Well, I certainly wish luck to Raven– I mean, both teams, and hope that the Wazlibs don’t attack any of our players,” Luna said, serenely. After hearing what Ron wrote on his papers (Wazlib) she checked it with her father, and lo and behold, the Wazlib was a dangerous creature from the Bahamas. Apparently, they only attacked airborne witches and wizards with heavy duty gear on, enjoying the challenge.
“Alright, team. What are we going to do?” Draco bellowed before the game, causing all of the guys to shout triumph whoops before they even approached the stadium from the locker room.
“Kick Ravenclaw ass!” Was the general reply.
“Why?” He yelled.
“Because we’re better!” They exclaimed.
“Why is that?” Draco shouted even louder.
“Because we’re pureblood!” They cried.
“Yeah!” Draco shouted, the whole team emitting victory screams as they crazily ran through the stadium doors.
All seven streaks of green shot through the air through chants and boos. Draco shook hands with the Ravenclaw captain, both of them screwing up their faces in concentration as they tried to break each others’ hands. Then they were off, Luna providing periodical commentary when she could tell who had the ‘strangely shaped orb thing.’ Draco hovered twenty feet above the ground. Not really looking for the snitch seeing as Ravenclaw’s seeker wasn’t on a Firebolt (he’d received it after finding out he was Slytherin team captain). Plus, he was a sixth year, completely useless and obsolete.
The game never grew any more exciting than flying around and watching as chasers passed the quaffle around. Ravenclaw played like a bunch of androids (something Draco had heard about while walking through a disgustingly muggle inhabited part of Englad), not talking or taunting as the Slytherins were used to doing. They played in prefect formations, making their moves as predictable as Granger’s text book answers. But their tosses and plays were perfectly calculated against Slytherin brutality, and the score stayed relatively even. When the Slytherins discovered the secret to their team design (which worked in perfect patterns), they were able to make a break through the neck and neck scoring.
In the end, the game went on for two hours because the Ravenclaw seeker didn’t see the snitch until then, and Draco had waited for at least a hundred point lead, just to make the loss *that* much more devastating for the other team. The majority of the stands echoed with boos but Draco ignored them as his team and the whole of Slytherin house stormed onto the grassy field to congratulate him and carry him on their shoulders.
That evening, some of the seventh years, Draco not included because he couldn’t afford to taint his ‘reputation’ with being caught out of bounds, buying liquor no less, smuggled fire whiskey into the common room. Bottles of rum and other types of liquor littered every surface as they played music full blast through an enchanted record player and danced. Some people were snogging avidly on the couches, and the floor where they wouldn’t risk being trampled by the dancing mass of students. Draco and Pansy were in the center, the thick of it all, performing less than modest dance moves on each other. Several people were waving open bottles of whisky around, spraying everyone in their vicinity, drenching them and making the friction of bodies more satisfying. Draco didn’t notice how, but several of the girls around had lost shirts, and he wasn’t above watching as they danced and periodically dragged guys off, intoxicated beyond belief, and frankly, he didn’t care.
Pretty soon, Pansy grew faint and told him so, and being the drunk gentleman he was, he helped her through the massive orgy-like rave. He set her down onto a vacant chair and told her that he would be back with some (hopefully) beer-free punch. Draco moved through the crowd, barely aware that he was observing people passed out all over the floor and more vomiting in the corners. Some of them gave him inebriated greetings accompanied by high fives, and congratulated him on winning the house cup. He didn’t register their mistake, and only nodded and laughed along. He could have sworn that he’d never been more drunk in his life, but for that he would have had to be in his right mind, something that he couldn’t locate at the time, let alone use.
Draco had just found half a bottle of what he thought was Butterbeer, but couldn’t tell because his vision was blurred, when a hand rested on his shoulder. He turned to find a tiny physique and *very* feminine frame. The girl stood on her tip toes and whispered huskily into his ear.
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” she breathed upon his neck. And that was enough to set Draco running for the next vacant broom closet. He dropped the bottle of butterbeer, his girlfriend completely forgotten as he tripped out the common room door and dragged the girl through the dungeons before he found a deserted alcove. He pushed her roughly against the wall and pulled at her clothes. He ran his tongue across her throat, and nibbled on the little sensitive spots that he loved about a woman’s body and moaned as she let her hands roam his fully clothed body and find him. He heard her pants and gasps which made him move at an even faster pace to get the inhibitor (clothing) out of their way. Soon it was just skin on skin.
A/N: This is my first romantic story. Please review (and be nice?).