The Difference Between a Cat and a Comma (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 2: I Need a Tutor

A/N: So, I, uh, didn't really intend for this to be longer than the one-shot I posted in September. But. I had an idea. (This is a real problem - my life would be so much *simpler* if I could just stop having these ideas!)

Anyway, I've changed the rating and whatnot since this has taken a somewhat sexier turn than expected. This chapter is as far as it will go, though - I mean, don't get all excited about future smut because... you'll be disappointed. There are plenty of Drarry fics out there for you, but this one ain't it. Or something.

Not sure how much further I'll take this, or how often I'll update, seeing as NanoWrimo is starting...pretty much now. Certainly not every day.

Oh, and Happy Halloween, guys! <3

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Draco was brooding.

He sat on his bed, in his tiny room, shut away from the nosy questions and hostile glares, scowling at the blank wall and kicking his feet restlessly against the bed-frame.

Thunk. Thunk-Thunk. Thunk.

The outright bullying had stopped, at least. He couldn't be too grateful, though - he was sure Potter had had a hand in it. It was so like him, sticking his do-gooder nose in everyone's business. In any case, the bullying had been replaced with indifference. Not the casual indifference that might include a cautious 'hello,' a tentative smile, hell, he'd even take a homework question. They shut him out, so he shut himself in. That way, he could pretend it was his choice, and retain a little dignity, which was the only thing he really had left.

He'd finally worked up the courage to ask Granger for the transfigurations books he needed, and had been brushed off as he'd expected. He'd hoped she'd give them to him without forcing him to involve McGonagall, but that was looking less and less likely. He rubbed his eyes, forcing back frustrated tears. He'd only come back this year because it had been a condition the Wizengamot had set on his pardon. He still couldn't quite believe that Harry fucking Potter had breezed into his family's trials, and successfully argued that Draco and Mother should go free. Well, mostly free. Mother was confined to the Manor, and Draco was required to return to Hogwarts to complete his schooling. Father had been sent to Azkaban anyway, but... well. It wasn't like he didn't deserve it. Draco and Mother had taken the news philosophically, and then spent the summer scrubbing the Manor, inside and out, with magic and by hand, and ridding it of everything that bore even a hint of dark magic. Father, if he ever got out of Azkaban, would likely die of apoplexy when he saw his study, but... they did it anyway. They had had their fill of dark magic.

Eighth year was shaping up to be a disaster. There had been some confusion when they first arrived, and there weren't enough beds in the houses - except Slytherin, but Draco tried not to think about the empty beds - and in the end, the castle had sprouted another tower especially for them. Draco still wasn't sure what he thought about that. On the one hand, he was incredibly grateful not to have to sleep next to the empty beds that should have held his friends. On the other... he had even fewer friends here than he would have in Slytherin. Blaise and Pansy, less deeply involved in the war, had been given the option to attend Beauxbatons for their final year, and had jumped at the chance. Traitors. Draco was the lone Slytherin eighth-year here, and he hated it. The professors didn't seem to know what to do with the returning eighth years, changed and marked by war, revered or bitter. Or, in Harry Potter's case, revered and bitter.

Draco sighed, flopping back on the bed. He did not want to think about Potter.

Thunk.

Draco jolted upright, hand automatically reaching for his wand.