Secrets and Snakes - A Draco Malfoy Story

The Muggle-Born With The File

He had a migraine. It felt like these days, he always had a migraine. Draco would have to whip up some sort of potion to get rid of it because he found that it was making him rather irritable.

It felt like every one of Blaise's footsteps pounded into his head. Step. Thud. Step. Thud. Step. Thud. Did the boy have to walk so bloody loud? 

"Pans says she wants me to spend the holidays with her family but I might off myself if I spend even one minute more with her brother than is required," he said as the two made their way to the corridor off the main hall. Draco had been spending a lot of time with Blaise lately much to his chagrin. They were good friends, sure, but... Blaise didn't have long black hair, striking green eyes, and a body he wanted to be buried in. If he could, he would have spent every single second with her, kissing her, loving her, fingering her...

He fisted and unfisted his fingers to remind himself of what he'd be doing later. The same thing just in a very different spot.

Not that she'd let him be with her all day anyway. Whenever he asked her to be with him instead of with Aria, she looked at him with an expression that could only be described as an infuriated kitten threatening to pounce without any sort of claws to do damage. But he liked that about her, the way she was fiercely loyal to her friends, the way she looked at him like she might murder him with only bubbles as a weapon. 

He smiled as he thought of her. Draco always smiled when he thought of her.

So unfortunately, instead of making out with his girlfriend and making her scream, he was with Blaise's sorry ass. The two had a mutual agreement not to speak about Astoria. Blaise wasn't dimwitted; he knew something was going on. Draco wouldn't confirm or deny any allegations. He couldn't afford to confirm them but to deny them felt like an act of disrespect against Astoria. A smart man would shout from the rooftops—print it in the bloody Daily Prophet—that he was with her. And Draco was a smart man. He would formally make her his—with a ring on her finger and probably a few hickeys on her neck. It would just take time.

"I mean, her brother is bloody awful," Blaise continued but Draco tried to ignore it for all their sakes. The migraine wasn't getting any better. He could be rather nasty when he had them. The headache was brought on by a lot of things: a lack of sleep last night because he was too busy ravishing Astoria, a lack of food because Theodore's munching ass ate almost everything at breakfast, a lack of patience from having to listen to Mattheo and Enzo yap about Quidditch, and now just a lack of desire to be anywhere but his bed with his girlfriend underneath him.

But he had something to do first.

"The bloke just doesn't know what to shut up—"

"Sounds like someone I know," Draco grumbled, rubbing the side of his head. He took great care not to mess up his hair. Lately, he had been caring a lot more about his appearance than before. Most of his friends assumed that it was because of his engagement to Daphne. That would make the most sense, after all, but really it was because he was dating a girl who would definitely rip one into him if he looked like a mess. And he would let her. She was already way out of his league; he didn't need to increase the distance anymore by dressing improper.

"He just drones on and on and on and on and—"

"Zabini!" Draco hissed while massaging his temples. "If you don't stop droning on and on like the Parkinson boy, I'll hex your balls so badly even Madam Pomfrey won't be able to mend them."

He let out a deep breath. Calm yourself. But even his thoughts were obscured by pain. "Sorry," he muttered, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "My head is killing me."