Broom Cupboard Etiquette 101

Chapter Six

Draco refused to look up from his breakfast plate the next morning.

It was for his own sanity more than anything, but he knew that no good would come from letting his eyes wander around the Great Hall – he would only lose his own mental struggle and let them focus on a curly haired Gryffindor with a trust complex.

That is all it really stemmed down to with her, and he was already fully aware of it. After all, if he subtracted her friends from the equation and also how he felt about the situation himself, then the only thing left standing in the way of him and Granger continuing with their little – trysts? – was the fact that the girl in question was probably feeling a tad resentful about his family roots. That, and the fact that he had called her some not very nice things over the course of several years.

And why wouldn’t she feel a tad mistrustful about that?

Being a Slytherin in her eyes was bad, but being a pureblood Slytherin who came from a family of extremists, who had previously sought to help a mad man wipe out the very blood that ran through her own veins?

He was currently classed as the worst person to put her trust in. So yeah, he could see why she would be hesitant.

But then, she had never outwardly voiced it, so until she did Draco was aware that he would have to tread carefully. If she ever voiced her issues at all. For all he knew, she had given up on the whole thing completely and he was currently concerned about absolutely nothing.

All of that, casually thrown in with the fact that he completely embarrassed himself and managed to come inside of his pants the last time he saw her would manage to mix together and put her off wanting to speak to him again for life.

“Earth to Draco,” Came a jovial tone as someone sat next to him and began piling their plate with sausages. “Come in, Draco.”

“I don’t think he’s all here this morning.” Another, deeper voice from opposite him now chose to interrupt.

“Has he ever been?” Mouth now full of sausage and eggs. “Because I mean, at times I genuinely wonder whether our friend here was hit with the confundus charm at birth and never really recovered.”

“Fuck off.” Was all Draco replied with, still staring down at his toast.

“Ah! It speaks!” Theodore Nott said sarcastically from his left. “Will wonders never cease?”

Draco had been told on numerous occasions that he had the patience of a fucking Saint when it came to these two tits. Yes, they were his best mates. But then, at times they were the only friends that Draco ever really had. Crabbe and Goyle were his ‘heavies’ – Zabini and Nott were his equals. The boys knew Draco admittedly more than he knew himself; there was nothing that he could possibly hide from them without them extracting information in some sort of underhanded way.

“Is there not another poor soul around here that you two cretins can suck the life out of?” Draco asked casually, lifting his eyes just enough to pick up a piece of now-cold toast and chew it begrudgingly. “I hear James Hubbell’s Newt has just died – why don’t you pair go and make him feel even worse about it.”

“And miss the interesting turn of events that are about to unfold over here on your end of the table?” Nott asked jovially, nudging him in the ribs. “Not on your nelly, my sulky and petulant little friend.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow, finally looking up at one of the arseholes he calls his friend. “If you’re looking for drama, then I am afraid that I am all out.”