Harry Potter - foresight reawakened - ch14: Draco's hangover plan
foresight reawakened - (14) Draco’s hangover plan
warnings: sexual situation, language
rating: R
*
“Potter’s a pouf,” Draco said upon waking. His throat was parched, his head felt like a hippogriff playground, the lights were entirely too bright, and Crabbe’s snoring sounded like war zone…but by Merlin-Potter was a pouf!
Draco didn’t need to find a new way to put Potter down a peg-Potter’d handed it to him on a plate! This wasn’t just the horrifying rudeness of a not-yet, this was real! Potter was soft! A girl in men’s knickers! Potter wasn’t even a respectable queer like the Great Wizard Alexander-he was a half-blood! It was perfect! Now if only he could filch some hangover-be-gone from Zabini’s stores he’d be good to go. All he had to do was tell Pansy. The school would be buzzing with it by breakfast.
Draco’s bloodshot eyes took in the dragon clock on his nightstand. It was fluttering its wings-silent alarm-and its tail was twitching in annoyance. It’d been going off for some time then…and no wonder. Lunch was almost over. Thank goodness it’s Saturday, Draco thought, flopping back down-
-and immediately regretting it as fireworks exploded between his temples. Bugger. He was never getting drunk again. Especially not around Potter. Gryffindor might kiss him again, and no matter what people said, Draco wasn’t queer.
*
It was only after Draco woke fully that the enormity of his situation sank in. “Potter’s a pouf,” he said to hear it out loud.
“Of course he is,” Blaise spoke up. “But he goes for tits, too.”
“Oh stuff it,” Draco nearly said. Nearly because his head had split open, or at least felt like it. “Blaise, some hangover-be-gone, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“It’s gonna cost you.”
“Of course.” It always did. Draco downed the liquid like a shot-ironically enough, it tasted like vodka-and felt loads better almost instantly. “Thank you,” he said out of habit; one always thanked one’s saviors. Draco slid off his bed, rummaged through his trunk, un-spelling the traps as he went, and uncovered a sickle, which he flipped to Blaise. The other boy caught it deftly. It promptly disappeared in his casual robes. Draco frowned. It’s not that there wasn’t plenty more where that came from, but he hated paying others for things he should get for free. Blaise should be happy to give him things. Everyone else in Slytherin was-or had been, anyway.
“Is lunch still out?”
Blaise chortled. “Of course it’s not. You’ll have to go to the kitchens if you don’t want to wait for supper.”
“Of course.” It was just his luck. “But-that’s too far to walk,” he muttered to himself. The hangover-be-gone worked wonders, but not if you pushed it-it wasn’t an official cure, it was a student-invention of necessity.
Draco dug through his trunk again, this time for the sweets his mum sent daily in case he missed meals. He pulled out a knife and fork, spelled them clean, and then happily withdrew the latest sweet: a chocolate sponge cake, wrapped carefully in paper and a gourmet cake box. Without a second thought he placed it on top of his trunk, a family heirloom, and sat cross-legged on the floor. He was still in the rumpled robes of the previous night, but he was too hungry to care. Draco dug into the cake heartily.
“Give me some,” Blaise said.
“It’ll cost you,” Draco replied, and stuffed another forkful in his mouth.
*
“Pansy!” Draco had eaten, showered, and changed. His blond hair was artfully mussed, his robes were creased just so, and the button of his slacks lined up precisely with the V-neck of his deep green pullover. He was stunning, if his reflection in the mirror didn’t say so himself (it did), and ready to start his revenge on Potter for that disgusting kiss in the corridor. “Pansy!” he shouted again, hating to be kept waiting. Ignoring the whispers and glares of the other students, Draco strode confidently through the Slytherin common room and up the stairs to the sixth year girls’ dormitory. “Pansy!”
There was no answer. Hiding, was she? She couldn’t be sleeping-even Draco was awake. “Pansy!” Draco tried the door handle. It was spelled shut. “Alohamora! ” The door burst open. Draco walked in.
Just as he thought, Pansy was there. She was riding some boy, no one Draco recognized as either Slytherin or pureblood, and from the looks of it, hadn’t even noticed Draco standing in the doorway, annoyed scowl on his face.
“Pansy!”
The undulating couple’s rhythm was suddenly thrown off as Pansy lifted off the boy and, tits flying comically even as the boy yelped, grabbed for the blankets at the foot of the bed. “Draco? Draco, what the bloody effing-”
“Pansy, stop slumming-this is important!”
“Draco Malfoy, either I swear on Merlin’s grave if you don’t shut that door this instant-”
A crowd was drawing behind Draco, so he listened to Pansy. It was a private thing, after all, and none of their business. Draco took a step forward and kicked the door shut behind him.
“Get dressed or don’t, I don’t care, but get him out of here-” Draco pointed imperiously at the boy, “this is important.”
“Draco, I don’t care if you’re dying, sod off!”
“Pansy, Potter took advantage of me when I was too pissed to see straight!”
Pansy’s mouth opened and closed. She had a look on her face that said she’d loved to have retorted any number of things, but couldn’t figure out which would hurt worst.
“He kissed me, you twat! Kissed me!”
She finally settled on “He what?” Her bed partner paused in surreptitiously pulling on his pants to stare at Draco. Draco ignored him, lowblood that he obviously was. “He kissed you?”
“Yes,” he shot back. As if he hadn’t said it already! “What, aren’t your ears working?”
Pansy looked thrilled, which was the exact opposite expression she should have been wearing. “The little fucker grew a pair, did he?” She clapped gleefully, dropping the blanket and revealing a full chest. Draco ignored that, too. Her boy du jour pulled it up protectively for her. “Thanks,” she said softly, suddenly turning into a girl. Pansy smiled sweetly at the boy. Her trademark Parkinson nose complemented her white-toothed smile nicely, in Draco’s opinion. He was proud of her. Now if only she would use her looks to catch someone with better bloodlines-though not himself, of course.
“Draco,” she turned to him, voice suddenly hard. “You need to leave now.”
“We’ll talk later?”
“Of course we’ll talk later.”
“Good.” Draco turned to leave.
“Darling, did you not see the tie?” she whined at his retreating back.
Draco blinked. “Of course not.”
“The door was locked!”
Draco lifted an eyebrow and looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “So?”
“I’m going to hex you into your next life for this, you know.” Her knuckles were white against the forest green duvet.
“Sure you are,” Draco said. They’d walked in on each other in various states of undress since they were in nappies. Surly this wasn’t all that different…
*
They did have that conversation.
The next day everyone knew about Potter. Pansy managed to keep out who he kissed, but the school knew he’d been sober when he took advantage of a poor wankered soul and snogged him in the corridors. It didn’t go quite the way Draco planned though; Granger took up the cause and started a successful Queer Awareness Club (pronounced “quack” or “cock” by the Slytherins) that bought Potter sympathy, at least among the girls, for the small pool of available men in school willing to get him off.
Draco was disgusted.
Moreso when he discovered Pansy had spelled his eagle-owl to deliver the sweets from Draco’s mum, as well as anonymous love notes, to Potter instead of Draco. The bitch. See if he saved her from polluting her blood again.
~*~
notes: I would like to state for the record that Draco’s denial-induced opinions are not my own. Thank you.
warnings: sexual situation, language
rating: R
*
“Potter’s a pouf,” Draco said upon waking. His throat was parched, his head felt like a hippogriff playground, the lights were entirely too bright, and Crabbe’s snoring sounded like war zone…but by Merlin-Potter was a pouf!
Draco didn’t need to find a new way to put Potter down a peg-Potter’d handed it to him on a plate! This wasn’t just the horrifying rudeness of a not-yet, this was real! Potter was soft! A girl in men’s knickers! Potter wasn’t even a respectable queer like the Great Wizard Alexander-he was a half-blood! It was perfect! Now if only he could filch some hangover-be-gone from Zabini’s stores he’d be good to go. All he had to do was tell Pansy. The school would be buzzing with it by breakfast.
Draco’s bloodshot eyes took in the dragon clock on his nightstand. It was fluttering its wings-silent alarm-and its tail was twitching in annoyance. It’d been going off for some time then…and no wonder. Lunch was almost over. Thank goodness it’s Saturday, Draco thought, flopping back down-
-and immediately regretting it as fireworks exploded between his temples. Bugger. He was never getting drunk again. Especially not around Potter. Gryffindor might kiss him again, and no matter what people said, Draco wasn’t queer.
*
It was only after Draco woke fully that the enormity of his situation sank in. “Potter’s a pouf,” he said to hear it out loud.
“Of course he is,” Blaise spoke up. “But he goes for tits, too.”
“Oh stuff it,” Draco nearly said. Nearly because his head had split open, or at least felt like it. “Blaise, some hangover-be-gone, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“It’s gonna cost you.”
“Of course.” It always did. Draco downed the liquid like a shot-ironically enough, it tasted like vodka-and felt loads better almost instantly. “Thank you,” he said out of habit; one always thanked one’s saviors. Draco slid off his bed, rummaged through his trunk, un-spelling the traps as he went, and uncovered a sickle, which he flipped to Blaise. The other boy caught it deftly. It promptly disappeared in his casual robes. Draco frowned. It’s not that there wasn’t plenty more where that came from, but he hated paying others for things he should get for free. Blaise should be happy to give him things. Everyone else in Slytherin was-or had been, anyway.
“Is lunch still out?”
Blaise chortled. “Of course it’s not. You’ll have to go to the kitchens if you don’t want to wait for supper.”
“Of course.” It was just his luck. “But-that’s too far to walk,” he muttered to himself. The hangover-be-gone worked wonders, but not if you pushed it-it wasn’t an official cure, it was a student-invention of necessity.
Draco dug through his trunk again, this time for the sweets his mum sent daily in case he missed meals. He pulled out a knife and fork, spelled them clean, and then happily withdrew the latest sweet: a chocolate sponge cake, wrapped carefully in paper and a gourmet cake box. Without a second thought he placed it on top of his trunk, a family heirloom, and sat cross-legged on the floor. He was still in the rumpled robes of the previous night, but he was too hungry to care. Draco dug into the cake heartily.
“Give me some,” Blaise said.
“It’ll cost you,” Draco replied, and stuffed another forkful in his mouth.
*
“Pansy!” Draco had eaten, showered, and changed. His blond hair was artfully mussed, his robes were creased just so, and the button of his slacks lined up precisely with the V-neck of his deep green pullover. He was stunning, if his reflection in the mirror didn’t say so himself (it did), and ready to start his revenge on Potter for that disgusting kiss in the corridor. “Pansy!” he shouted again, hating to be kept waiting. Ignoring the whispers and glares of the other students, Draco strode confidently through the Slytherin common room and up the stairs to the sixth year girls’ dormitory. “Pansy!”
There was no answer. Hiding, was she? She couldn’t be sleeping-even Draco was awake. “Pansy!” Draco tried the door handle. It was spelled shut. “Alohamora! ” The door burst open. Draco walked in.
Just as he thought, Pansy was there. She was riding some boy, no one Draco recognized as either Slytherin or pureblood, and from the looks of it, hadn’t even noticed Draco standing in the doorway, annoyed scowl on his face.
“Pansy!”
The undulating couple’s rhythm was suddenly thrown off as Pansy lifted off the boy and, tits flying comically even as the boy yelped, grabbed for the blankets at the foot of the bed. “Draco? Draco, what the bloody effing-”
“Pansy, stop slumming-this is important!”
“Draco Malfoy, either I swear on Merlin’s grave if you don’t shut that door this instant-”
A crowd was drawing behind Draco, so he listened to Pansy. It was a private thing, after all, and none of their business. Draco took a step forward and kicked the door shut behind him.
“Get dressed or don’t, I don’t care, but get him out of here-” Draco pointed imperiously at the boy, “this is important.”
“Draco, I don’t care if you’re dying, sod off!”
“Pansy, Potter took advantage of me when I was too pissed to see straight!”
Pansy’s mouth opened and closed. She had a look on her face that said she’d loved to have retorted any number of things, but couldn’t figure out which would hurt worst.
“He kissed me, you twat! Kissed me!”
She finally settled on “He what?” Her bed partner paused in surreptitiously pulling on his pants to stare at Draco. Draco ignored him, lowblood that he obviously was. “He kissed you?”
“Yes,” he shot back. As if he hadn’t said it already! “What, aren’t your ears working?”
Pansy looked thrilled, which was the exact opposite expression she should have been wearing. “The little fucker grew a pair, did he?” She clapped gleefully, dropping the blanket and revealing a full chest. Draco ignored that, too. Her boy du jour pulled it up protectively for her. “Thanks,” she said softly, suddenly turning into a girl. Pansy smiled sweetly at the boy. Her trademark Parkinson nose complemented her white-toothed smile nicely, in Draco’s opinion. He was proud of her. Now if only she would use her looks to catch someone with better bloodlines-though not himself, of course.
“Draco,” she turned to him, voice suddenly hard. “You need to leave now.”
“We’ll talk later?”
“Of course we’ll talk later.”
“Good.” Draco turned to leave.
“Darling, did you not see the tie?” she whined at his retreating back.
Draco blinked. “Of course not.”
“The door was locked!”
Draco lifted an eyebrow and looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “So?”
“I’m going to hex you into your next life for this, you know.” Her knuckles were white against the forest green duvet.
“Sure you are,” Draco said. They’d walked in on each other in various states of undress since they were in nappies. Surly this wasn’t all that different…
*
They did have that conversation.
The next day everyone knew about Potter. Pansy managed to keep out who he kissed, but the school knew he’d been sober when he took advantage of a poor wankered soul and snogged him in the corridors. It didn’t go quite the way Draco planned though; Granger took up the cause and started a successful Queer Awareness Club (pronounced “quack” or “cock” by the Slytherins) that bought Potter sympathy, at least among the girls, for the small pool of available men in school willing to get him off.
Draco was disgusted.
Moreso when he discovered Pansy had spelled his eagle-owl to deliver the sweets from Draco’s mum, as well as anonymous love notes, to Potter instead of Draco. The bitch. See if he saved her from polluting her blood again.
~*~
notes: I would like to state for the record that Draco’s denial-induced opinions are not my own. Thank you.