Being from an Old family, there were certain things on learnt from an early age. Emotion was weakness. To allow oneself to fall victim to the plagues of love and hatred was to lower oneself. Lesser people felt such things. The Malfoys bore grudges, but not hate, and married for politic and tradition, and not love; that was simply the way it had been, was, and always would be. Draco had never had any problem with that. In fact, he’d vehemently agreed, and been determined never to tie himself to anyone in such a way that made him vulnerable, and he’d thought he’d succeeded.
Until he saw her.
And him.
There was a certain charm to strutting through the Hogwarts corridors in the empty hours of the day, with no prefects or busy-body staff members poking their noses in where they didn’t belong; in his business, and it was a pastime Draco liked to pursue from time to time, snapping at any mudblood or otherwise lesser being that had the misfortune to cross his path. The blonde had a reluctant admiration for the school, for all its folly and worthless Professors, the architecture was undeniably better than his own less-than-humble abode. Grey eyes scoped the scalloped arches in the cloistered halls, carefully searching each alcove for anyone upon which he could impress what a force Draco Malfoy was not to be messed with.
At first, he hadn’t heard it. Then, the barest shuffling of cloth over cloth, then skin against skin, punctuated with gasps and soft moans that two mouths failed to conceal- it drew the Slytherin’s attention. He stopped, cat-like almost in the way he moved when he resumed his pace, leather shoes hardly making a sound against the stones. The prefect badge on his head said he had the right to break up any such public displays of affection, and if skin and underwear was on show then all the better for the couple’s humiliation. People knew better than to show him the same treatment, not that he and Pansy would be so foolish. It was a good match, the two of them; both pureblood, both ambitious- it didn’t mean anything more of course, just casual sex and a public front. Every good leader needed a figurehead at their side, and that was where Pansy fell in. She knew that, and supported it, so Draco felt no guilt. Lately though, what had started as almost a chore had become a pleasure, a necessity; where once the act had passed with hardly more than a passionate kiss other than the obvious anatomy of the situation, now it was heated and in every way different. He’d kiss her neck, she’d make soft noises of pleasure with each movement. He’d smile.
But it wasn’t an attachment. They were getting better, was all. He didn’t love her.
So it shouldn’t have mattered when the next alcove came into view, and he could see the red lace of her panties on the floor around her ankles, and the hands that had held his not two hours before tugging the small of another man’s back towards her, head tipped back slightly and mouth open in pleasure. Ecstasy was plain on the Slytherin girl’s face as she breathed his name.
“Blaise.”
The other boy’s head turned a little so the light picked out the strong features of the other Slytherin; as close as Draco came to a friend, eyes half-closed and lips swollen with kissing. Round red lovebites were plainly visible above the neck of his shirt, and disappeared below it, some still with faded indents of perfect teeth.
Draco felt sick. Not just with disgust either; he felt betrayed, and Merlin he felt jealous. Hurt, even.
He’d let himself love her, like a fool, when they’d both known it was never more than a front. She had kept to the boundaries, not gotten sucked in to attraction, but he... he’d been weak. A fool. And the price was the heart she’d warmed and now shattered to pieces with every pleasured moan. The prefect stiffened, his hand on his wand, and a silent snarl pulled up the corner of his lip. “Bitch.” He didn’t care about Blaise, Blaise was nothing, but Pansy had wormed her way into his affections for the sole purpose of leaving a crater than he’d never fill. A hatefully whispered hurling hex threw the other boy off of his girlfriend, leaving her in the alcove with her skirt bunched far too high and red panties on display. Even without her dignity she still managed to look unruffled, only vaguely annoyed. She didn’t even look at Draco until she’d smoothed her skirt and reclothed herself, when she lifted her gaze in an almost bored fashion, unaffected.
“What do you want Draco? You can have a turn later; I’m busy.”
“Like hell I’d want a slut like you. Defiled.” This wasn’t him. This wasn’t how he felt, but it was how he should feel and act. “You think you can just have it off with any worthless arsehole who you happen across, do you? And still be with me? Slut. I’ll see you ruined for this; consider yourself dumped.” From the way he said it, that was obviously the least she should be worrying about. By the time Draco was done, his father would ensure that the bitch who’d turned his favour to shit would never get anywhere in the Families again. Ever. He smiled maliciously at the prospect, but that smile vanished at the eye roll Pansy shot him, like she knew she’d gotten to him.
“Are you done? I’d like to get back to someone with balls.”
His eyes stung with something that could never be tears, because he wasn’t jealous, because he didn’t care about that stupid bitch, but anyone who saw might think he was crying, and that wouldn’t do. Least of all would it do for Pansy to think she’d made an impact when she was nothing to him. Obscuro, he shot silently, then ran down the corridor, pausing only to carefully tread on Zabini’s fingertips until they crunched under his shoes.
It was revenge, for befouling his property. Not jealousy. Malfoys didn’t get jealous. Or fall in love, because the one who held your heart was the one who could crush it. Draco didn’t let the tears slide down his cheeks until he was in the safety of the prefect’s bathroom, door locked, but as soon as he was alone, they hardly ceased to stop, and his breath hitched with the unfairness of it all. His Pansy and Blaise. How dare they?
What did he care. He wasn’t jealous. They could do whatever the hell they wanted, but he would have revenge for their dumb impertinence. Not that it was personal. Not that he cared. It was nothing to him. They were nothing.
If only his tear-streaked face conveyed the same.
A/N: Not a pairing I've ever written before, but I am trying to pull myself free of the comfort zone...
The prompt for this challenge was 'a jealous Draco Malfoy', so I hope I did it justice :)
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