Draco Malfoy insisted he would go to the train station by himself.
It was his seventh year, after all. He knew the way by now.
"Don't be silly," his mother retorted. She wanted to drop him off at the platform, to wave at the train as it slipped away with the other proud parents.
"Nonsense," his father huffed. He wanted to ensure all was taken care of—that the Slytherins were assigned the best car with the best servants and the best seats.
Overruled, Draco agreed begrudgingly. As he traveled by floo to King's Cross, his parents following shortly behind, he scoffed at the ceremony of it all, lacking nostalgia for his final year at Hogwarts and simply wanting it over and done with.
"Come along, Draco," his father ordered as they strode to the barrier between platforms nine and ten. His mother had her hand on his shoulder. They moved through the crowd at King's Cross station, the heavens above watching three white-haired heads peel through a crowd of muggles.
"Nine and three quarters? What the devil-" Draco heard as they reached the partition. He raised half an eyebrow at two obviously muggle parents and a scrawny first year as they looked around aimlessly for the right train.
They aren't going to find it.
They wouldn't find it because his parents—in their pureblooded glory—wouldn't stoop so low as to tell them where it was. His father stopped a ways away from the family and rested two pale hands on a silver gilded staff, amusement twitching at his mouth.
Draco's mother still had her hand on his shoulder. She was warmer than his father by nature, but when she spoke, hell froze over.
"Step aside," she said to the muggleborn child and his parents. There was something in her voice that demanded attention—and the muggles immediately gave it to her.
If it weren't already obvious by the tone of her voice, their appearance would frighten alone. The muggles looked his mother up and down, the father's eyes wide, the mother's brows furrowing in worry, and the muggle-born first year's mouth parted in fear.
The Malfoys glided through the partition, not a single glance sent to the three muggles to the side. When they emerged, Draco was bombarded by noise, heat, and the overwhelming scent of train engine steam.
Draco's father insisted on finding Theodore and Nott Sr., saying he must "discuss business" with Theo's father.
Theodore Nott was the loudest, most unabashedly unhinged human being that Draco had ever known. When he found him on the platform, parting the sea of Hogwarts students, Theo seemed to be giving himself a hernia trying to hold it all in. Theo smirked, twitching beside his father. Draco raised an eyebrow.
The five-minute warning whistle sounded not long afterward.
Draco's mother kissed him on the cheek. "Good luck, Draco."
Draco gave her a kiss on her cheek in return. Then Theo sped walked towards him, grabbed his arm, and dragged his brooding best friend towards the train. Draco's father gave him a half-glance of acknowledgment, mid sentence. It was the only goodbye that Draco could have expected the old man to give. Even for his last year at Hogwarts, his father could never be accused of being sentimental.
"Free at least, yeah Malfoy?" Theo said in Draco's ear. He had both hands on the back of Draco's shoulders, pushing him forward in a death grip of excitement and testosterone.
The path to Hogwarts was no freedom-trail and the train was no oasis. The compartments were prison cells and, already, Theodore was Draco's parole officer.
Theo dragged him to the train, spewing frat-boy nonsense and walking sideways, face animated as they deposited their trunks in storage.
"That was most boring holiday of my life," Theo complained. It had been a dry summer at the Nott residence, which Theo proclaimed an outrage against alcoholism. Despite the grumbling, his face was flushed and his eyes were alight with excitement.
"Going sober, are we?"
"Simply a dry spell," Theo said as they boarded the train and walked down the center aisle of the Hogwarts Express. Draco reached into the pocket of his black blazer and removed a flask, handing it over. Theo looked as if he could kiss him. Then, without even trying to hide it, Theo tipped his head back and chugged.
"Goddamn," Theo coughed, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "I just knew I was friends with you for a reason."
"About time," Onyx huffed, leaning out of a compartment door. She gave Theo a one-armed hugged and stepped aside for Draco.
"Back and better than ever," Theo said, now lightly buzzing and flinging himself down into his seat beside Pansy. He held his hands behind his head and sighed, clearly enjoying the ecstatic freedom from his father's close, borderline abusive embrace.
"Draco," Pansy sang, enunciating the last vowel for a moment too long. "Lovely summer?"
"Oh yes, it was simply stunning."
"He's cranky already?" Pansy pouted jokingly to Theo. Draco took his seat across from them, taking his own swig of the flask. He then passed it back to Theo, who soon after passed it along to Pansy.
"Yes well," Theo said with a smirk, "I tried to kiss him all better but he rejected my advances."
"How rude of him," Pansy said, her flirty eyes meeting Draco's. He raised an eyebrow at her. She was starting her flirtation quite early this year. It usually took her a few days to warm up before she flung herself at him; however, the prospect of seventh year was seeming to speed up the process. If he knew anything at all about Pansy Parkinson—and at this point, he did—she'd be trying yet again to bed him by the time classes officially started.
When the one-minute warning whistle sounded, a loud blow of the train horn, Draco narrowed his eyes at the aisle. Blaise was nearly late. And so was she.
"When I told her I'd write, she'd thought I actually meant it. I mean honestly, what self-respecting man sends owls to a woman he met at fucking Madam Malkin's?" said Theo.
"Any man who wants to fuck a woman more than once."
"I got her twice, thank you, Parkinson."
"And how many was that this summer? A half-dozen?"
"Four. It was a slow year."
"Pig."
"Cow."
When Blaise's face popped into Draco's vision, he darted his eyes back to Pansy. She was bantering avidly with Theo about his summer conquests, rolling her eyes.
Blaise had a shadow.
"Goddamn!" Theo shouted as Blaise opened the compartment door. Onyx squealed in excitement, her true best friend having arrived, on Blaise's tail. "Thought you two wouldn't make it."
"Evan got caught up talking to Professor Hagrid," Blaise said breathlessly, clapping a welcoming hand on Draco's shoulder and sitting across from him. "Something about slug repellent?" Blackwood chuckled, sliding the compartment door shut.
"Flesh-eating slug repellant," she corrected.
"Poor Blaise," Draco said, "Almost left behind with only the oaf and the Mudblood for company."
Pansy chuckled and Theo scoffed and smirked, enjoying the joke at Blackwood's expense—affectionately, on his part. Onyx scowled, and Blaise merely sighed in disappointment.
But Draco? Well, Draco's head slammed back so hard against the headrest of his seat that he momentarily went blind.
"Merlin's left saggy tit, Evan!"
Draco opened his eyes, dazed, sitting erect and grasping his head in agony. Blackwood stepped forward, towering over him. He met her eyes and almost cowered, as her wand was still raised at his face.
"God, already?" Pansy groaned. "Give it a rest, Evangeline."
"We haven't even reached Hogwarts yet!" Theo exclaimed, clearly afraid that an ensuing duel might ruin the beginning-of-year festivities.
Draco tried to speak, but it felt as if he'd just swallowed an entire plate of gummy, starchy biscuits. Blackwood took another step forward, wand reloaded, and pointed it at his chest as if it were an accusatory finger.
"Call me a mudblood again and I'll staple the head of your putrid dick to your clammy-ass forehead. And I won't even use my wand."
If Draco were able to speak, he might have sent a spell back at her, or called her a degenerate cunt or a filthy muggle bottom-feeder—or any plethora of tear-inducing names. But unfortunately, his tongue was perma-glued to his palate, preventing any kind of rebuttal.
Regardless, attacks against Blackwood were generally frowned upon—no matter how badly Draco wanted to blast the bitch back to the rat-hole she crawled out of. Even though she had hit first, Draco knew by the look in Blaise's eye that he had been the perpetrator. He had called her a Mudblood. Poor, helpless little Mudblood needed Blaise to keep the scary Slytherin Prince on his leash.
"Let the poor bloke go, Evangeline. I think you made your point," Blaise said with a smirk, picking at the wrapper of a chocolate frog. Draco cursed him in his head, watching as Blackwood, satisfied and willing to leave Draco as a mute for all eternity, sat down next to Blaise and simply started to eat chocolate. Draco removed his wand, but it was futile. He couldn't perform the counter-curse wordlessly.
Draco looked over at Theo expectantly. Theo, always looking for something to entertain himself, crossed his arms and watched Draco struggle. His mouth started to fill with saliva, the sticky sensation of his tongue on the roof of his mouth forcing him to nearly gag.
"So, how were your holidays?" Theo asked, looking around to the rest of their friends that were giggling at Draco's expense. "You, Draco? Lovely summer?"
Draco glared at Theo, threatening murder with his eyes. Theo seemed to pick up on this intent, but continued anyway.
"Oh, is that so, Draco? I'm your best friend in the whole wide world? How nice of you to say," Theo teased. Then, a moment later after his blonde friend's extended and involuntary silence, "What's that, Draco? Oh, I don't know if I quite feel that way about you mate. I'm flattered, honestly, but I think we should just be friends."
Draco started to remove his wand—he could still perform painful offensive spells non-verbally—but before he had a chance, Theo waved his wand and released the hex.
"FUCKING CUNT!" Draco screamed at Blackwood, leaning forward across the aisle for maximum impact. He gripped the seat with both hands, then exhaled hard, able to breathe properly again.
"Better than 'mudblood' I suppose. But still rather vulgar," she replied, not even looking up from her chocolate frog wrapper.
"Evan, it's our last year. Can't you just-" Pansy started.
"Yes, exactly!" Blackwood exploded, her cheeks red from anger at the start of an incoming screaming match. "Exactly. And what are we going to do in our final year at Hogwarts?"
"Party hard. Study not at all. Cause utter fucking mayhem," Theo said, tossing up a Bernie Botts and catching it in his mouth.
"Yes. Which means no bullying, Drakers," Onyx said, wrapping an arm around her best friend's shoulder.
"Filthy blood traitors, the lot of you," Draco huffed, crossing his arms.
It was far too dramatic of a start to his seventh year—the year would never pass by quickly with so much excitement. Therefore Draco silently surrendered, for now.
He had much better things to do this year than fight with Evangeline fucking Blackwood.
- - -
Mere hours later, Draco was half wasted and was being dragged to the table in the middle of the Slytherin common room. He had been quite content where he was—going shot for shot with Crabbe and Goyle and hoping he would pass out soon—but Theodore had other ideas for how he should occupy his time.
"Twenty questions! Let's go ladies," Theo proclaimed, passing Pansy, Blackwood, and Onyx dancing on a table nearby. Draco's eyes instinctively flitted to the Mudblood, then darted away with equal speed. It was second nature—he'd been practicing the routine for years.
The girls obeyed, giggling excitedly. Pansy was drunk. He could smell it on her when she sat next to him at the table. Blaise was seated to his left, smoking a joint and blowing it out slowly as Theo sat at the head of the table.
This particular tradition was getting monotonous to Draco.
"Well don't you all look ravishing this evening," Theo started. Blaise, quite drunk himself and now approaching the border between stoned and buttered out of his fucking mind, threw an empty red solo cup at Theo and told him to bloody get on with it.
"First victim . . . Hm, let me think—Blaise," Theo said, tapping his fingers together manically.
"Do your worst, Nott," Blaise said, wrapping his arm around the back of Blackwood's chair. Draco performed the routine again—look over, don't linger, look away.
Blaise's round of twenty questions put Draco in a considerably better mood. There was not much that he didn't know about Blaise, but watching as he got drunker and became more unabashed gave Draco much satisfaction. Of the first eighteen questions asked by his five Slytherin comrades, Blaise talked about his first blowjob, his first time touching a woman's tits, the story of the most drunk he had ever been, the most memorable jerk-off session he had ever had, and an abundance of other topics. At moments, the table responded in teasing disgust, in others with cheering, and in others multiple minutes of prolonged laughter.
"Blaise," Theo hiccupped at question nineteen. Theo held a fist to his mouth as if he were about to vomit, closing his eyes tight, then opened them, his eyes glassy and too wide. The girls giggled and even Draco managed a chuckle. At this point, it was only an hour into the party and Theo was roaring drunk—always an amusing sight.
"Yes, Theodore?" Blaise replied cockily, taking another pull of his muggle weed. The table seemed to brace itself, as Theo's questions never failed to impress.
"What's your biggest kink?" Theo slurred, which was immediately met by a raucous laughter. This was one question that they hadn't discussed in years previous. Draco chuckled and nudged Blaise, who had looked at him for help in avoiding the question—a skill Draco had acquired and seasoned over the years.
"You really want to know, Theodore?" Blaise said, finding his courage. He passed Draco his blunt and, while he'd never had a taste for Muggle weed and always found it a dirty style of narcotic, he took a hit and passed it back to Blaise, blowing the smoke out towards the ceiling.
"Just ask Onyx," Draco teased so that only Blaise could hear.
Aside from being totally and utterly in love with Evangeline Blackwood—an unfortunate hamartia—Blaise Zabini had made modest progress with one or two other girls in their year. Most iconically was with Onyx, last year. Draco enjoyed reminding Blaise of this particular ex-girlfriend, as it always turned his best friend's cheeks red.
"You have to answer, them's the rules," Theodore slurred.
Blaise paused for a second, and Draco could practically see the wheels turn in his head. Should he lie? Tell the truth? Avoid the question entirely? These were the questions that truly plagued their annual tabletop game. It was a delicate balance that they all tried to navigate.
"I got a thing for fire," Blaise said. Draco busted out laughing, incredulous that Blaise had, as Draco knew, told the truth for this particular question. This is when Draco realized just how plastered his friend truly was—he never would have admitted this information soberly.
"Ah. Is that why Onyx looked like she had her eyebrows burnt off in sixth year?"
"Is that a question?" Blaise asked, trying to trip Theo up and cause him to waste his last question.
"No, just a musing," Theo replied, enjoying himself all too much.
"Sorry to crush your hopes and dreams, Nott," Draco heard from behind Blaise's shoulder. He poured out a shot of vodka at the sound of Blackwood's voice. "But that happened to be the result of overactive tweezers."
"Yeah right," Theo smirked. "Okay. One . . . more . . . question."
There were a few questions that Draco himself would like to ask Blaise, particularly about his Yule Ball escapades and the all-too-close Mudblood down the table. But to do so would be to admit that he was interested—that he wanted to know things that, once heard, he could never un-know.
"Would you ever fuck a Blast Ended Skrewt?" Theo asked. "You know . . . fire kink and all."
"No," Blaise replied, then sat up from his slouching position. Now out of the hot seat, Blaise relaxed considerably, stowing his arm on the back of Blackwood's chair. Draco saw Blackwood run a hand through her hair, causing a tendril of it to lay softly on Blaise's arm. In his intoxication, Draco messed up the routine. His eyes lingered on that piece of hair for a moment longer.
"Merlin's sake, Theodore, that's the best you could come up with?" Draco said, taking another pull of Blaise's extended joint. He decided then that he should slow down. He was too drunk and—always sensible—decided that he needed to keep his wits about him. He blew the weed smoke upwards, looking at the ceiling in an attempt to sober up. He started counting ceiling tiles and got to twenty-two tiles before—
"Malfoy!" Theo shrieked excitedly, pointing at him and breaking him out of his reverie. "Your turn!"
Draco put out the joint in the ashtray at the center of the table then sat back, crossing his arms.
"Go on, then," he said darkly.
"Me first," Pansy said, and Draco jumped, as he had almost forgotten that Parkinson was sitting right next to him.
"Hit me," he said with a good-natured smirk.
"Hm . . ." Pansy sighed, leaning forward on the table. Draco's eyes flickered to her chest which, now that she had leaned forward, was exposed enough that he could see what color bra she was wearing. "Did you have a girlfriend this summer, Draco?"
He didn't like the way her lips lingered when they formed his name. "Which one?" he asked cockily. Might as well play along with what they were all already thinking.
The boys laughed and Onyx, who was facing Draco, rolled her eyes.
"What is your body count at this point, Malfoy?" Theo asked. "It's got to be reaching the hundreds by now."
He swallowed, his face falling. "None of your fucking business, Nott."
"Oh come on!" Theo protested.
Onyx was his savior, perhaps trying to prevent an argument upon seeing the dark look on Draco's face. "Oh! I have one. If you had to shag a Hogwarts professor, which would you choose?"
He chuckled half-heartedly. "None of 'em."
"Okay, yeah, but," Onyx said, smiling mischievously at him and sitting up straight. She laid a hand on the table. "Say there's a loaded wand to your head—"
"Who in the bloody hell would hold a wand to my head and force me to—"
"I would! I'd take that job," Theo interrupted. Then he raised a hand to Onyx, "Continue."
"Loaded wand to your head. You have to pick one of Hogwart's best and brightest to make sweet, sweet love to," Onyx said. Draco genuinely laughed. "Who do you choose?"
Entertained by the expression on Onyx's face, Draco raised a hand and comically stroked his chin, as if thinking.
"Flitwick," he decided. "Seems like the kind of bloke that doesn't mind getting tossed around."
"Oh yeah, Flitwick's a gentle lover, for sure," Blaise smirked.
"Nah, there's no way he could handle you, mate," Theo said in retort, taking a healthy shot of fire whiskey. "He's too tiny."
Draco thought that Flitwick would be too tiny even for an averagely-endowed gent. So indeed, the prospect would cause certain . . . issues.
"So Draco, how big is it?"
Shocked that the question came from Onyx, he faltered. He looked between Pansy and Onyx, the true intention clear in Pansy's eyes. He wondered what bribe Onyx had accepted from Parkinson in order to ask this question—he could see by Pansy's expression that it was a burning one, indeed.
"How big is . . . what?" Draco asked, pushing the subject on his clearly uncomfortable friend. Pansy nudged Onyx with her elbow, pushing her to get a full answer.
"Oh, you know what I mean!" Onyx said with a blush.
Draco leaned forward on the tabletop, enjoying Onyx's fearful expression. They had a bantering relationship—not necessarily an affectionate one, but at least entertaining.
"Too big for you, darling."
Onyx simply laughed, rolling her eyes while Theo hummed an "oooo."
The game continued in a similar fashion as the question count rounded the high teens. The endgame was dissimilar to Blaise's round. With Blaise, the group had been trying for the highest embarrassment factor when picking their questions. With Draco, however, they were trying to dig—to get him to unearth some deep, harrowing information about himself. He knew this was their intention but, just as in years prior, he dodged them all skillfully. All they knew about his history—both romantic and sexual—was from rumors, never from the cold hard facts of it all.
With only three more questions remaining, however, he was hit with a curveball.
"Evangeline, you ask something," Blaise sighed, sitting back in his seat. The group had run out of steam, asking half-assed questions about first kisses and playground romance. Blackwood, however, was always a question mark in and of herself. Draco could not even imagine what she would dare to ask.
He heard her take in a deep, over exaggerated breath. "What's there to ask?" At this point, Draco could see her face, for the first time all game, as Blaise had leaned back and she had leaned forward. He stared at her cheek, not quite sober enough to avoid it. "Malfoy is an open book."
He froze, flitting his eyes to the tabletop.
"Oh?" Pansy asked, giggling.
"There's nothing you've wanted to know about him? Ever?" Blaise asked now, tapping a long forefinger on his glass. Draco cursed the motherfucker in his head for egging her on. This could have been over already.
He saw the smoke from her joint out of the corner of his eye. He didn't dare to move, or breathe, or think. The air around the table grew thick with anticipation, as only Evangeline Blackwood could coax it to do.
"I already know all of his dirty little secrets."
Draco considered this for a moment. There was really only one secret that he considered truly dirty. It was filthy, in fact. And if Blackwood knew that secret—he would leave the Common Room right now and never return.
"You don't know shit," Draco scoffed, but the woman had him in a chokehold.
"What secrets do you know?" Onyx asked, eyes alight at the possibility.
"Only the deepest, darkest ones," Blackwood said with severity.
"Shut the fuck up," Draco said hatefully through his teeth. He still ached for revenge for what happened on the Hogwarts Express—still longed to punish her for it.
"Ooo scary," she replied, not even looking over. She was laughing at him, he knew, waving her fingers by her face. Theo joined in on the joke, cracking up along with her.
"Do tell, Evie," Blaise said, his full attention on that fucking Mudblood that he was always kissing ass to.
"Stop—" Draco started, rounding on Blaise for being a treacherous little bleeder.
"For starters, I know exactly what brand of bleach he uses on his hair. Clairol 140, right Malfoy?"
Draco blinked in suprise. "Wha—?" he started, confusion overtaking his anger.
"MALFOY DYES HIS HAIR?" came out in a chorus.
"Seriously?" Theo asked, believing it. If this is the worst that Blackwood had to throw at him, Draco thought he was doing just fine. In fact, he was a bit disappointed that this was the best she could come up with.
"I have no idea," Blackwood laughed, entertained by the game. Draco watched, sulking, as Theodore stood up and threw the wrapper of a chocolate frog at her.
"Don't get my hopes up like that!" Theo shrieked, sitting back down. If it were up to Draco, Blackwood would be hit with something much worse than a fucking chocolate wrapper projectile.
"Fucking animal," he muttered as Theo calmed down.
"Just ask him a question, Evan," Pansy said.
He heard a long exhale, then saw a shift of movement out of the corner of his eye. When he looked over, arms crossed around his chest, those all-knowing eyes of a vengeful god were trained directly, unwaveringly on his. In her eyes he saw a light that he just couldn't . . . quite . . . reach . . . but he longed to extend his hand and try.
"Malfoy," Blackwood said. Draco swallowed, his heart beating loudly in his ears.
He ran through the possibilities of what she would ask in his head. One stood out above all others. Even if she did ask it—he didn't know what his answer would be.
Evangeline Blackwood then asked of him, amusement dancing in her eyes and a smirk twitching her lips: "Do you dye your hair?"
"No," Draco answered immediately, darkly, refusing to blink. She broke the eye contact quickly after, settling back into her seat, blocked once again by Blaise between them.
"Thank you, all I needed to know," he heard her say. His ears were hot and faintly ringing.
"Ooh, I got one!" Theo shrieked then, breaking Draco out of the deep abyss he was starting to fall down. "Kinks?"
Draco hadn't the energy—nor the fucks left to give—to try and derail this one. The heat in his chest emboldened him now, along with the distinct prickling in his cheeks and discomfort between his hips.
"Choking, bondage . . . the usual," he said, shrugging and barely listening to himself at all. "And . . . knives."
Draco Malfoy had only experienced knifeplay one time, and that was enough to know that he fucking loved it.
At this point in the party, he had sobered up enough to still keep his wits. If he had been more drunk, he might have let his mind wonder to those dirty, unsavory places of secrets and inner desire. It was not the fantasies themselves that were so dirty to him.
"Is it true that you fucked Astoria Greengrass?" Theo asked. Draco narrowed his eyes at his hammered friend. Theo should know the answer to this question—he started the rumor himself.
"No."
The air around the table shifted again from intensity to confusion.
"You have one more question," he said slowly to the table.
"Who do you have a crush on?" Pansy blurted out, and it was clear to Draco that she hadn't meant to ask it, or, at least, not in such a stupid way.
"Absolutely fucking no one," Draco replied. Breaking his resolve and deciding that the first night of seventh year was best spent absolutely smashed out of his mind, he took the joint from Blaise's hand and took a long, prolonged drag. "It's the Mudblood's turn."
At this release of tension, the other five at the table perked up. Draco's turn was over, the charged moment ended. Onward to bigger and better things. Besides, Blackwood's rounds of twenty questions were usually amusing, at least.
"Evangeline Blackwood," Theo said cheerfully.
"Yes?" Blackwood replied with a deep breath.
"What's your body count?" Theo asked first. Draco took a shot of vodka and immediately poured another.
"Three," she replied.
"Who?" Pansy asked with a suggestive smile.
"Cedric Diggory, Blaise Zabini," she said, lingering on Blaise's name. "And Dirk Hamilton."
"Who the fuck is Dirk Hamilton?" Blaise asked. Draco took a third shot, sighing with disappointment at the jealousy in Blaise's voice.
"Muggle bloke. You wouldn't know him."
"And who was the best?"
"Zabini. By a long shot."
"Could have fooled me," Blaise said in reply, but he was smiling to himself, this sickening, love struck smile.
"What 'chu mean?" Theo slurred.
Draco personally knew exactly what Blaise meant. It had taken a while for Blaise to even acknowledge his night of frivolity with Blackwood. But when Theo had finally stopped nagging and Draco's unexplainable anger had finally waned, Blaise let it spill one night over a bottle of firewhiskey. This topic hadn't been discussed until the end of fifth year—and by then, Draco had perfected his indifference.
According to Blaise, Blackwood had been dead silent during their encounter. No matter what he did, or said, or the way he fucked her, nothing could break her supposed vow of silence. To Blaise, this was just about the worst outcome that could have possibly come from it all. Well, until what happened later in the shagging, that is.
"Poor Miss Blackwood," Onyx said.
"Poor Blaise, more like," Blackwood insisted. It seemed that the girls were having a secret moment of communication. Theo looked extremely confused, as did the other boys, so Onyx attempted to bring them up to speed.
"Evan's never had a—" Onyx started.
"O!" Blackwood called out, leaning forward to protest at Onyx, both hands on the tabletop.
"She's never had a what?" Theo asked excitedly, then rephrased it as a question to Blackwood so that she'd have to answer. "You've never had a what?"
Pansy, hammered and unable to read a room, took it upon herself, whispering the answer across the table.
"Evan's never had an orgasm."
Draco wished that he had never joined the game. He wished he had never entered the room. He wished he had never been born at all. Above all, he wished that he had not spent half of the game trying to get sober, as this news would have been easier to hear if he had instead been drunk out of his mind. Or, better yet, blacked out completely.
Because after all, Draco Malfoy enjoyed, above all else—a challenge.
"Jesus," Blackwood muttered. Draco didn't think it was possible, but she was actually embarrassed.
"No way!" Theo exclaimed, finding the matter fascinating. "Not even . . . by yourself?"
"Fuck Nott, stop."
"Is that a no?"
"Well, I mean—"
"I see," Theo said. "So just . . . not by someone else, then?"
No one at the table seemed to notice when Draco took his bottle of vodka in his fist, tipped his head back, and chugged.
"Poor Blaise indeed," Pansy commented, smirking.
"It's not like that," Blackwood said with sincerity. "It wasn't his fault."
Draco set the bottle down but kept his fist on it, pressing his mouth with a white-knuckled fist and staring at the label in silence.
"I gave it my best effort," Blaise said. Draco had the urge to throw his bottle at the wall and watch it explode.
"Now that we're on the subject. . ." Theo started. "Blaise said he couldn't even get a moan out of you."
Blackwood leaned back, extending her neck to stare up at the ceiling. Draco felt a moment of sympathy for her. Draco's sympathy did not last long, however, because he was staring at her neck, the muscles there taut as she stretched her head back. Blaise was leaned forward, giving him a direct line of sight.
When she turned her head to the side, neck still extended, her eyes blazed into his own. She had caught him. Still, he kept staring, the vodka rushing to his head.
Within moments, she snapped her eyes away, cutting off Draco's tether to the world that laid within them.
"Was that a question?" Blackwood snapped at Theo, sitting up straight.
"Ah, let me rephrase," Theo said, smirking. "Why are you so quiet during sex?"
"Why?"
"Yeah."
"Just a personal characteristic, I suppose."
With this, Theo was sufficiently satisfied. The reason for Blackwood's sexual silence was not because Blaise was bad in bed. Blackwood was simply a mute by nature.
"Is it true you made Blaise cry?" Pansy asked next.
Draco's inner demons were silenced for a moment in order to curse at Pansy in his head. If there was one thing Pansy Parkinson had, it was the fucking audacity.
"I bet I've made Blaise cry loads of times," Blackwood answered.
"But didn't you make him cry. . . during?"
Draco looked over at Blaise, who was sitting rigid in his seat. The game was worn out—it needed to end.
"No idea what you're talking about," Blackwood answered after a pause.
"If you could fuck anyone at this table, with no repercussions, who would it be?" Pansy asked next.
"Blaise," Blackwood answered. "I'm familiar with the equipment."
"I'm offended, E," Onyx said, the lightness of the table returning.
"Can I change my answer?" Blackwood teased back, flirting with her best friend.
"Oh hell yeah," Theo commented, picturing it in his head.
"You're last on my list," Blackwood scoffed.
"Nah, I'm definitely above Malfoy."
"No matter. I wouldn't want to get any mud on my trousers," Draco said, deflecting the insult. His indifference had returned to him—he had recovered from his momentary internal crisis.
"God, give it a rest," Onyx huffed at him, wanting to stop any incoming arguments in their tracks.
"I can go get my stapler now, I packed one just for you," Blackwood said. It took Draco a moment to register, but then he remembered her ridiculous threat on the train.
"The second I drop my drawers, you'd run screaming," Draco said, the alcohol bringing a playful tease to his tone—a temperament usually reserved for anyone besides her.
"Laughing, more like," Blackwood said back maliciously. "You have ten more questions."
"Who do you have a crush on?" Blaise asked. Draco swallowed hard and reached for his bottle once again.
"I'm not telling you that."
Draco chugged the vodka furiously, using the burn in his throat to distract him from the insuing conversation. They all went back and forth for a while, trying to get her to break. They asked about the appearance of her crush, his house, his year.
"What color is his hair?" Onyx asked next.
"It's a pretty common color."
"Ah. It's not Malfoy then?" Theo teased, as if that were even possible.
"Blond isn't uncommon," Blackwood said as Draco set the bottle, empty, back on the table. "And I'm still not convinced he's a natural blond."
"Is it Malfoy?" Pansy asked, panicking at the prospect.
"He wishes."
"Like I'd ever want—" Draco started weakly, his voice slurring.
"Do we know him?" Theo interrupted.
"Probably."
"Is he in the common room right now?" Blaise asked.
"Mm-hm."
"Come on, just tell us," Theo begged. "We won't judge."
And just like that, it was over. The game had run its course. Blackwood stood up, putting out her joint.
"You're all out of questions," she said with a malevolent smile, taking Onyx's hand and rejoining the party.
Theo and Blaise were arguing with each other—probably about the specific flavor of questions that Theo had used on the Mudblood—but Draco's mind was entirely elsewhere.
That elsewhere, as it happened, was a very dangerous place to be.
He stood up from the table not long afterwards, wavering on his feet, deciding that he was in desperate need of a shower.