I need better friends.
That's what Draco was thinking as he stared blankly at his reflection in the locker room mirror, dimly aware of his two best friends, Crabbe and Goyle, flicking one another with wet towels.
Staring with dead eyes through the mirror as the two buffoons started chasing one another, each trying to slap the other in the balls, he mentally tallied everything that was currently wrong in his life:
1) No girlfriend
Pansy had broken up with him at the beginning of the year, citing his "lack of commitment" as the reason. It was, she said, the beginning of their seventh year, which meant that he needed to start thinking about the future. How she could possibly say he wasn't committed to her was beyond him. He barely cheated on her anymore. Which segued nicely into the next catastrophe.
2) He hadn't had a shag in months.
For years, his good looks, Quidditch glory, and wealth had been more than enough to grant him access to the knickers of a good portion of the girls of shaggable age Hogwarts had to offer. Perhaps he had plowed through them too fast, because by now, his seventh year, the year he should be swimming in prime trim, they had all seemed to have gone off him. One or two had slapped him after he had attempted to chat them up. Apparently, girls liked to talk, and none were charmed by his promises that they were "the only girl he was shagging" and that he would "definitely make them his girlfriend." Odd. Girls didn't like when men lied to them. He'd have to make a note of that in the future.
3) No more Quidditch
He had just played the final game of Quidditch he would ever play at Hogwarts. He knew this because Hufflepuff had just flattened them, and he hadn't caught so much as a glance of the Snitch in the past two games. Slytherin was out of the playoffs, so the whole point of even being at Hogwarts (snatches and snitches) was moot. Which reminded him.
4) N.E.W.T.s
His classes were blasting his never-used balls into raisins. He had always been a top student, but this year, his grades had slipped to barely above mediocre, which meant he needed to...(gulp) study to do well. He wasn't a fan.
It was his friends. He knew it. It had to be. Years of being the sole source of substance in the lump of waste that was a Crabbe and Goyle sandwich had made him lazy and complacent. Where was his ambition? Where was the challenge?
"Oi, Draco, come and see! I think Greg's passed out!" Crabbe's stupid face was jubilant as he sat firmly on Goyle's chest.
Draco sighed. "When he wakes, tell him our friendship is over."
"Will do!"
Pathetic.
*
Blaise Zabini was six moves away from checkmate. Five if Theo Nott made a stupid mistake, which, from the way Draco gauged the game was going, was likely. But right now, they were both in decent moods. Better for them both to be suspended in a state of tension than for either one of them to be upset. He approached.
"Evening gents."
"Go away, Malfoy," Theo said, his chin resting in his palms as he glared at the chessboard.
"I realize I've not exactly been friendly with either of you," he said, ignoring Theo's request. "But I'd like to change that."
Blaise chuckled under his breath. "I hope your queen likes black cock, Theo, because that's what she's about to get." With another move, he put him in check. "Hard."

YOU ARE READING
The Ferret
FanfictionIt's debatable, but having an *actual* spirit animal is not shaping up so great for Draco. The more he tries to embark on a self-improvement journey, the more his inner ferret seems to call the shots. And it just can't seem to stay away from Hermion...