#Draco's new rep process him

[hpdabbles]

The Difference Between Living and Not Dying 2

PART 2 OF THIS

Somehow, Draco builds a reputation over the course of the year. He never set out to make one himself, but he soon finds himself labeled “Nicest First Year Wizard”.  

He wants it to be perfectly clear he never wanted that title nor does he enjoy it overly well yet he found that most students approached him with various problems he could solve easily. It was after all the problems of children. 

“Malfoy I can’t find my class”    

“I’ll walk you. It can get confusing with the staircases disappearing”

“Malfoy, I don’t understand the potion homework”

“Pull up a chair. I can explain it to you.”

“I-I can’t sleep. I’m scared..”

“I’ll ask one of the castle elves to make us some tea. In the meantime would you care for a story? I find reading helps me rest at times”

And the list of request only extended from there. At first, it was only his fellow first years that dare approach him which he didn’t mind too much but soon second, third and even some fourth years have wandered close. Each smiling at him like he was capable of good; like they couldn’t think of a Hufflepuff ever being vile. 

Draco was nearly at his wit's end. Where was the hostility he was used to? Shouldn’t these kids be wary of him not follow him around at each given second? He couldn’t even walk to class without stopping ten times by students whose names he couldn’t remember.

His second title was as illy welcome as the first but he did take some pride in “Smartest 1st year”. Granger struggle to keep up and he applauded her efforts, but she was an actual child. It would hurt his pride far too much if she scored better then he.

Besides everything was so easy. Draco hoped that his teachers would soon realize this and have him skip a grade or two because going to Hogwarts for the next seven years sounded like torture. 

There were some technicalities. After all, the excuse of his father buying the best tutors money could buy before he started school could only go so far- most likely till someone bothered asking the said man which tutors he hired and learning there were none. 

Which wouldn’t be a problem at all if he thought about it. His parents have taken to pretending he doesn’t exist the moment they learned of his new sorting. Besides the howler, his father sent him- sitting in silence while it screams and spat at him in his dorm and then shrugging when it finishes- was the last time he spoke to his parents since the year started. 

He couldn’t really blame them in all honesty. There were still some morning were he stumble over his tie, expecting to see green instead of the eye-watering yellow.  

It was rapidly approaching Halloween now though and their silence hurt. Maybe it will always hurt regardless of his age.

Draco quickly learns one thing in his do-over. Children were great, teenagers not so much. Oh, he still liked them well enough, but he could do without the teenage angst they all went through. Especially in the third years. Thirteen-year-olds are some of the meanest people out there. Vicious little beast tears each other apart for no reason other then they can.

Already he’s had to put himself between three different groups to get them to leave the younger kids alone. Ironically this was how he meets the Weasley Twins, or as he secretly called them, the Terror Twins.

Draco remembered them as the pranking duo who had a vicious streak against Slytherins. George and Fred Weasley were names hissed and sneer in the snake common room, spat with as much venom in the syllables as physically possible. Having been caught in some of their pranks, Draco hated them too once upon a time. 

But for all their faults they seemed like amazing brothers and that was something he envied the Weasleys greatly. What must it be like to be part of a family that loved each other unconditionally? Often he wondered if he would trade all his wealth for that small sense of warmth that surrounded the family 

Imagine then, his surprise when he came across a sobbing Percy Weasley on the lake bank one late night on one of his walks. Draco had a hard time sleeping ever since the war. often times sneaking out to take strolls to the lake and get some fresh air. He knew the Perfects routes well enough and found it was easy to speak about.

When he arrived to find the fifth year sobbing into his hands he almost turns right around having enough of being Class Mum but Draco’s mind flashed back to his own sixth year. He couldn’t just leave him like this when all he wanted back then was someone to notice Draco Malfoy slowly falling apart. 

He found himself flopping down by the Weasley and spent the rest of the night probing him until the physically older boy admitted it being family troubles that had him here. Knowing just how tricky family drama could be, Draco changed the conversation attempting to distract him.

 He picks the first thing that popped into his head, asking the Perfect on advice on what classes he should take and right before his eyes watched the Weasley come to life.  It wasn’t too long before the redhead was babbling away about subjects, an air of excitement around him as he spoke. The lad barely took breaths between words.

Draco struggled to keep up with the speed but he paid as much attention as he could. It was the right thing to do when a child talks about their passion, after all, even if said passion was a bit on the dull side.

Sometime later, however, Weasley cut himself off looking ashamed. “Sorry I got excited.” 

Draco frowns.  “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for being excited over something you like.”

Weasley’s face broke into such wonderment, the blond nearly stood up and ran right then but he held his emotions under a tight grip and firmly added. “You enjoy something. Be proud of it. ”

“I am” The redhead chokes  “I really am”

Nodding Draco leans back on his hands “Good, now keep going. I want to hear your theories.” 

It took some proper probing but soon Weasley was back on his explanation on why potions was an under-appreciated field, which Draco wholehearted agree with.  The kid was brilliant.  But then again what else would one expect from a student that graduated with twelve OWLS and had a ministry job line up the moment he finished to boot.

It seems someone had to tell the poor guy he was pretty impressive more though. Obviously, not enough people told him that.

Later the Perfect walks him back, taking two points from Hufflepuff for being out of bed past curfew though he seems regretful to do so. Draco didn’t mind too terribly. After all, Weasley was only doing his job and he could have taken far more points plus he hadn't given him detention. 

After years of people watching his every move to catch the slightest of mistakes and handing harsh punishments, the boy's soft rebuff was sweet. 

Once he was inside however he tracked down the reason Weasley was crying. The Terror Twins are in need of a good verbal lashing and Draco was ready to do the whipping. He finds them with a burning passion to protect the nerdy kid since he gets it from a personal level. He too is the black sheep of his family after all. 

“Leave him alone” He starts staring up into amused thirteen years olds.  “Stop bullying your brother Percy.”

“It’s just some jokes,” One of them says rolling his eyes. The Malfoy bristles at the careless attitude. “Icky Percykins-”

“Is more than a joke to amuse you. He’s a person with feelings and I like you to stop bullying him” He cuts in a voice hard and cold, all his pureblood power behind each word.  

“Hey, hey, hey” the other twin says angerly “You don’t say that! Percy isn’t a joke to us!”

Draco’s eyes cool a few extra degrees, refusing to raise his voice.  “When you only talk to someone to prank them and mock what they enjoy then they turn into jokes. You make them think they’re nothing but a joke. Eventually, the joke stops being funny. Eventually, the person either breaks or leaves; either way, you lose a brother to death or distance. Cut that shit out.”

Not giving any time to do nothing but gape he turns, walking away with a high held chin. He’s said his piece. Now it was up to them to fix things. 

He couldn’t really tell them what to do. His house was made of glass when it came to dysfunctional families and he wasn’t about to start throwing stones. He would, however, keep an eye on Percy Weasley. Wouldn’t do for the lad to burn out or fall apart on his watch. 

Sitting with Potter at dinner had been sort of awkward that evening. The Terror Twins had eye him all through the meal with thoughtful frowns and glimmering eyes. His hand had hovered over his wand, twitching with the urge to defend himself. 

Potter quickly distracted him with potions questions and he pushes them out of his mind. The boy still seems to jump whenever Draco got to close and he was grateful for one content thing about this time traveling business. 

A week later however the twins pull him into an unused classroom. Expecting retaliation Draco finds himself blurting out. “I’m not scared of you.”

The left one- Fred?- raised an eyebrow  “Why’s that?”

A mockery of a smile curls Draco’s lips. “There’s nothing you could do to me that hasn’t already been done”

The twins had never looked distressed in his memories pre-Fred death but now they did.  “Blimey kid, that’s not okay. Are we really that awful you think we’re going to hurt you?” 

A quick shrug has them wincing. “We just like pranks. We never meant to hurt. Especially not our family.”

The right one- George right? Yes, that one is George-  gives him a wobbly smile.  “We had a little chat with Percy about what you told us. Turns out, we haven’t been the best of brothers to him. We’re going to change that.” 

Draco couldn’t keep the surprise off his face and that makes them more upset. They were going to try and change? That far more then he could ever imagine possible.

“Look we just- if you need something let us know.” Fred places a hand on Draco’s shoulder.  “We wouldn’t have known about Percy’s....dangerous way of thinking. He could have done something to himself and we wouldn’t have been the wiser. We could have been the extra push he needed to...to do something”

Ah. So Percy had too many similarities to Draco’s sixth year to be comfortable. He’ll make sure to keep sharp things away from the Perfect then. 

“I will thank you” 

“No, thank you.” George breaths while Fred squeezes his shoulder. Just like that their gone and Draco waits a little while before slipping out.

Only to run into Potter who looks like he has bitten into a lemon. “Why were you  alone with Ron’s brothers?”

“Hmm? Oh, opportunity maybe.” 

Potter’s frown is more profound for the next three hours or so. The Malfoy heir has an essay he needs to finish so he doesn’t care. He’s made it his life goal to not care what Potter is up to. Maybe his life will be easier this way.

A week later, however, find Draco bursting into the girl's bathroom after hearing Granger was still in here when the Troll was loose- someone had to make sure kids stop dying in this stupid school- and came upon Potter and the future Mr. and Mrs. Weasly cowering/standing there ground before the beast.

He hesitated long enough to have a deep intake of breath, because honestly why is this his life? And then he was throwing himself into the fray. His magic was still nearly nonexistent but he could throw rocks really well.  

Nicest and Smartest first year his ass, this shit was so not worth his thesis paper!

[daphnenott]

drunken challenges

for @slytherdornet‘s holiday challenge!

pairing: draco malfoy x hermione granger, harry potter x pansy parkinson

word count: 2242

setting: modern college au

Draco wasn’t quite sure how he got here- here, in this instance, meaning one of those college parties where getting blackout drunk on bottom shelf vodka passes as fun- standing on a makeshift stage amongst a group of fourteen other men, Potter and Weasley included. The details were all quite muddled, and all he could really recall was the beginning of the night, when Pansy had dragged him to the party, saying something about how “we’ve finally got an address and an in to one of the better parties of the year, Draco, you have to come”. 

He tried to remember how much he had drank, but all his memories had started blurring together past shot number five, and it was too hot despite the fact that it was only sixty-five degrees outside (he had checked on his phone before they left). The air was pungent with the stifling mixture of weed and alcohol, and he tugged at his shirt, feeling a prickling sensation down his back that let him know he was definitely overheating.

“This is a special Christmas challenge,” he heard someone yell, presumably the host of the party, and all the people around him cheered and raised their red solo cups in the air. He watched in bewilderment as the host paced around them and told them the rules of the push-up contest. “The winner gets an invite to our exclusive New Year’s wristband party next weekend,” the host proudly announced, “and now we shall begin taking bets!”

Starting from the end of the row, he numbered the men off, Draco getting the number six, and turned back around to face the rest of the bar. “It’s five dollars to enter the pool, and all you have to do is come up and tell me which guy you think can do the most push-ups!” He swiveled on his feet to face the group of men again and raised his arms out to address them. “Now, all of you, take your shirts off,” he commanded jovially, to the cheers and wolf-whistles coming from the crowd.

Draco turned to watch as the all the other men started taking off their shirts without any qualms, Potter and Weasley among them. I’ll be damned, he thought, if I let Weasley and Potter make a fool of me. He gripped the edges of his tee and pulled it off as well, feeling the cool rush of air against his skin, causing goosebumps to raise along his arms.

Draco had known the two fools, as he liked to call them, since his freshman year of college, when he had made the colossal mistake of sitting next to them on his first day in math class. They had been unbearably annoying (as well as unbearably stupid), and it had only been compounded by the fact that their third member was possibly the most insufferably imperious, presumptuous, pretentious person he had ever had the pleasure (or displeasure, as he liked to say) of meeting.

Her hair was the wildest mass of disaster, a startling juxtaposition to the perfectly tucked in shirts and cuffed jeans that she always wore, her neatly highlighted notebooks and organized stationery sets that proffered pens and pencils that all pointed in the same direction, and meticulously stacked books in her backpack. Her name was Hermione Granger, and Draco Malfoy loathed her.

Or rather, he loathed himself, for wanting her.

Wanting someone whose caramel eyes gleamed with pleasure whenever a new point was made in a discussion, who chipped away at her nail polish and worried her lip while she was thinking, and who fought for every damn cause like her life depended on it, was maddening. She was one of those full-ride scholarship students that everyone simultaneously envied and hated, and Draco had never wanted anyone more.

He glanced down at the crowd swarming around the group and watched as multiple hands raised crumpled dollar bills in the air, scrambling to push their way through and knocking people down in the process. One thing he had learned coming to these parties was that it didn’t really matter what you did during them- almost no one would remember what had happened the night before when they woke up the next morning.

He could only hope he wouldn’t remember either.

“Okay, do I have everyone’s bets?” the host announced, waving his pile of money in the air. “Last call for bets!”

Draco quickly scanned the crowd, searching for Pansy. Finding her at the edge of the stage, he watched her until she felt his gaze and looked up at him, making eye contact. Slowly, she smirked, and raised her red solo cup up to him, and Draco felt the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration and annoyance. Clearly, Pansy had known what was going on, and had forced him up onto stage before he could say otherwise, all for her own amusement.

From the corner of his eye he caught a mass of chestnut curls, and he swiveled his head frantically to where he thought he had seen them.

He closed his eyes and groaned. Of course the one fucking party she had to go to would be the one where he would publicly embarrass himself. Christmas wishes, indeed. All he could do now was pray that her attention would not waver from Potter and Weasley, and that she wouldn’t notice him at all.

“Okay, let’s begin,” the host called out. “Everyone, assume position. Once I say up, everyone must go up, and once I call down, everyone must go down. If you touch the floor, then you’re out.” Draco got down on his knees, bending over and placing his hands squarely under him, desperately hoping that no one was watching him.

“Ready?”

No, he thought.

“Up!” the host yelled, and the music crescendoed to the loudest volume it had been at all night.

“Down!”

“Up!”

“Down!”

Draco did all the push-ups mindlessly, consumed with the anxiety that Hermione was watching him. Once or twice (he couldn’t help himself) he snuck peeks over to where he knew she was standing, and found with some relief that her attention was still fixed on Potter and Weasley.

He considered his plans of action as he continued following the host’s direction. Option number one: he could give up quietly and escape before her eventual notice of him. The problem with that was that he didn’t think his ego could handle the idea of being the first man out of the challenge. Option number two: just win the competition. Even he knew option number two was decidedly harder. He was still fit from his club soccer practices, but he knew that Potter was just as athletic as he was, loath as he was to admit it, and not to mention the fact that he was quite drunk.

He had no idea how many push-ups he had done- anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five, he thought- but he was starting to feel the burn in his arms. The man next to him, an unbelievably drunk frat boy from the looks of it, collapsed on the next “down” called by the host, and everyone booed him off stage. Now is the time, he told himself, for option number one. But before he could bring himself to do it, he took another peek at Hermione and nearly fell regardless. She met his gaze head-on, a bold flush to her cheeks, and took a slow sip of her drink.

It was only a few seconds at most, but Draco felt the rush of adrenaline flow through his body, and he could hear nothing but the pounding of his heart in his ears.

Option number two it was then.

-

After the thirtieth or so push-up, the contestants started dropping like flies. Soon it was down to Potter and him, and another random guy who Draco had seen around campus on occasion. Weasley had dropped out a few rounds ago, staggering off stage, and Draco had gritted his teeth and continued on. His hair was falling into his face, the careful- artistic, he would say- style he had constructed earlier completely messed up. There was sweat getting into his eyes, everything burned, and he wanted to throw up, but he refused to let Potter, of all people, be the one who won­.

“Down,” the host yelled, and Draco wondered at how he wasn’t tired of saying the same two words over and over again for the past few minutes.

His arms trembled.

A thump sounded beside him and he prayed that it was Potter who had given up. Sparing a glance to the left showed that it was the other guy, and he cursed Potter for being so damn stubborn. Draco could tell that he only had maybe three more push-ups left in him at most, and he could only hope that Potter was in the same state.

On the next one, his whole body started shaking, and he readjusted his feet to try and cover it up. Two more, he thought.

“Down.”

“Up.”

The host called out, “Down,” and Draco knew this would be his last. He had tried his best, but there was no way he could do another. Just as he slumped to the ground, however, he heard another thump beside him, and turned his head to watch in surprise as Potter, too, lay on the stage with his typically messy black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

“It seems we have a tie,” the host announced, to the raucous cheers of the crowd. “Everyone who bet on numbers six and twelve will get a share of the pot.”

Draco found a hand in front of him, and looked up, shocked to find a grinning Harry Potter attached to it. “I figured we ought to put our disagreements in the past,” he announced. “It’s Christmas, after all. Good fight you put up there, by the way. I don’t think I’ve ever done that many push-ups in my life before.”

Hesitantly, Draco took his hand and pulled himself off the ground. “Thanks,” he said with a small smile. “Honestly, I don’t think I could have done that many without telling myself I had to beat you,” he admitted.

Stepping off the stage, Harry met Ron and Hermione, who were both waiting for him with grins attached to their faces. “Didn’t think you had it in you,” Ron said, “but good job, mate.”

“That was amazing, Harry,” Hermione exclaimed.

Harry shrugged, taking off his glasses to wipe them off and gesturing towards Draco. “It’s technically his win too- he did just well as I did.”

Weasley mumbled his congratulations to him as she turned towards him, her grin replaced with a more hesitant smile. “Yes, I suppose- congratulations to you as well, Draco.” 

“Thanks,” he said, very aware of how he was still shirtless and his palms were probably disgustingly sweaty and he looked like a mess.

The host approached them. “Here are your wristbands,” he passed one each to Harry and Draco, “you’re each allowed to bring two people, and no more than that.”

“Hermione,” Harry was already turning to his best friend, “you’re coming with me and Ron next week.”

She looked like she was about to protest, but made eye contact with Draco, who was trying not to look too interested in their conversation, and blushed and glanced down at her feet before sighing. “I suppose, just to make sure you two don’t get into too much trouble.”

Someone tugged at his elbow, and he reluctantly turned away from the trio to see who it was. “Congrats,” Pansy smirked, and he shook his head at her, frowning.

“I’m exhausted,” he said, “no thanks to you.”

“Actually, you should be thanking me,” she pointed out, with an evil little smile on her face, “seeing as you’ll get to see her again.”

He shot her a warning glare. “You could stand to be a little more quiet.”

“Why don’t you introduce me, actually, seeing as you’re all buddy-buddy with them now?”

“I’m not- ” he protested, but was ignored as she marched up to them and dragged him along.

He winced as Pansy pinched him. “Sorry to interrupt, but my friend wanted me to introduce her. This is Pansy, and she’s a pain in the arse.”

Both Harry and Ron laughed, and even Hermione smiled slightly as they all shook hands and introduced themselves.

Pretty soon Pansy and Harry were off dancing by themselves and Ron was chatting up some other girl he had found, leaving Draco and Hermione alone.

“So, you’re going to the party next week-” he begins.

“I’m sorry-” she starts.

“Sorry, you first,” they both say.

He exhales, laughing slightly, and gestures for her to go first. “I’m sorry we haven’t exactly gotten off on the best foot in the past.”

“To be fair, I was an incorrigible arse most of the time,” he admits, shrugging a shoulder in what he hopes is a self-deprecating manner.

“True,” she agrees, but her tone is soft and it lessens the bite of the words.

“It’s almost New Year’s,” he says. “Time to make amends and all that.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t think we really have to wait until next week to do that. Why don’t we start now?”

He agrees, and feels something close to hope flowering in his stomach.

“That sounds perfect to me.”