Harry Potter - foresight reawakened - ch15: serenade
HP - foresight reawakened - (15) serenade
*
Of course the Gryffindors won their quidditch game against Hufflepuff. Draco didn’t bother going to that game. He did go to the match against Ravenclaw, even though he knew Cho Chang didn’t stand a chance against Potter. Still, it was something to see Potter fly, not that Draco’d admit it. And anyway, he’d made up a little ditty he thought Potter might like. Thoughtfully titled “Potter the Pouf,” most of Slytherin took it up immediately.
Potter the pouf seeks snitches in britches
Potter the pouf likes wizards, not witches
Men, hide your boys,
Dare not give them girly toys,
Lest Potter the pouf be for whom their Johnson’s twitch is.
It was a thing of beauty to see Potter’s face go red over the field. Needless to say, the Slytherins were talking to him again.
*
Draco got the letter Sunday morning.
Dear Draco,
I heard the song the Slytherins are singing to poor Harry Potter and I hope you are not taking part. It is disgraceful to treat someone poorly because they are homosexual, and I should hope you tell anyone you hear singing that they’re acting lowborn.
In regards to our much earlier fireside chat, your father is indeed out of prison now. I cannot say where he is in this letter, but suffice it to say I know he is safe and being taken care of. I hope you are doing well in school. Give my regards to Professor Snape and thank him for the healing potions-they have proven invaluable.
All my love,
Mummy
P.S. Do be nice to poor Harry. He’s trying so hard. And if you have anything you want to tell me, anything at all, you know that you may do so safely and without judgment or recrimination. I will always love you.
Draco threw down the letter. Effing hell. Mum knew about the Potter thing. Not the song-he was sure she knew exactly who started it. No, she knew about the whole Potter-and-Draco thing. Snape had likely told her all about the curse by now, and since Draco wrote her about the kiss in the hospital wing, that meant she, too, knew he was stuck with Potter for the rest of his miserable life. Could things get any worse?
“What did she say?” Pansy asked, picking the letter up and dusting off the crumbs from his scone. Draco tried to grab it from her, but she read it anyway. “Aren’t you glad I didn’t read it out loud,” she giggled, handing it back.
“Why, what’s in it?” Blaise asked from Draco’s other side, making a grab for it.
“Draco’s mum knows, too,” she said.
“Ha!” Blaise and Nott both let out large peals of laughter. Crabbe and Goyle, though apparently confused, joined in. Draco could feel his face heating up, which did terrible things for his color.
“I hate. You all.”
Pansy fell halfway off the bench laughing. “Draco-help me!” Draco picked up a scone and threw it at her instead.
“You…cad…” she gasped, gulping in air between fits. On her other side, Ripley helped her up and turned back to his food.
Draco folded the letter into his robes and waved a scone at her. “That’s what you get. Now shut up, the lot of you.”
“Of course, master.” Blaise rolled his eyes.
Pansy started humming Potter the Pouf.
“Stuff it, Pansy.”
The table took it up.
“I hate you all,” Draco growled. Pansy laughed again. The only bright side to Draco’s morning-due in much part to the teasing that continued after breakfast-was the way Potter’s shoulders tensed when he heard the song, and the look Hermione cast him over Potter’s head.
*
Hermione cornered him after the prefect meeting that night. “What now, Mu-Granger?”
The Mudblood gave him a warning look. “Stop singing that horrid song.”
“I have,” Draco answered quite honestly. His mother’s reprimand weighed heavily on his shoulders. For a moment, he’d even felt guilty. As it was, he had stopped singing the song. He was just glad others were willing to sing it for him.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why not? Watch where you’re going, Weasel!” Draco shouted as Weasley bumped him on the way out of the room. He was the last of the prefects to leave, and he shut the door with a slam before turning to Draco.
“I-could kill you-for what you’ve done to Harry.”
Draco rolled his eyes heavenward. “And just what have I done to your friend this time?”
“It’s that song! Make your housemates stop singing it!”
“Yes!” Granger agreed.
Draco pursed his lips. This would be fun. “Do you remember what house I’m from? It’s Slytherin. We do what we want, when we want, with no regard for what others think or say.”
Weasley stepped forward. Draco felt acutely how much the redhead towered over him, but held his ground. Granger’s finger was still pointed at Draco’s chest. He wanted to slap it away. “So, you’re not going to do it then? How about I just-” Weasley made ready to take out his wand.
Draco cut him off, withdrawing his own wand from his robes, a warning. “I can’t make a Slytherin stop singing that song anymore than you can make me…I don’t know-kiss Potter!” Draco was shocked when the words came out, but he blushed scarlet when they did.
Granger’s eyes were wide. The Weasel looked a bit green.
“What it is, Weasel? Want to sing along?”
Granger gave her friend a hard look. Draco smirked; someone was sleeping on the floor tonight.
“If that’s all-” Draco waited, wand held carelessly in a theatrically upswept hand.
Granger stepped in front of Weasley and nodded. “Make them stop, Malfoy. They listen to you.”
Draco scowled. They used to listen to him. Some of them, anyway. It was all Potter’s fault. Draco’s upper lip curled unconsciously. “Tell yourselves that if it makes you feel better. You don’t understand Slytherin at all.”
Draco stalked off. Bloody Gryffindors. As if Slytherin had a ringleader, like Gryffindor. No, Slytherin wasn’t like that at all. They preyed on the weak, and after that travesty of a game Draco wasn’t strong enough to lead them. He’d come back a short ways with the song, but he wasn’t strong enough yet by any means. If Potter would just stop interfering…if only…Draco could lead Slytherin.
“Draco!” Granger sped after him down the hallway. He could hear her footsteps clopping like a horse on the stone floor.
“What, Granger?”
She stopped in front of him and took a moment to catch her breath, holding up a finger to ask him to wait.
“What is it now? Want me to have Slytherin hop on one foot all Monday?”
“I…I don’t…I don’t have time to make Wolfsbane.”
Draco’s heart froze in his chest. He might have stopped breathing. “Oh,” he said, hoping his voice was normal. “Alright.”
“That’s all.” Granger took off running again in the other direction. He heard her meet up with Weasley, heard “I told him,” echo down the hallway with their retreating footsteps.
Bloody hell. What was he going to do now?
Draco squared his shoulders. If he was going to change the future, now was the time. Damned if he was spending the rest of his life with an effing werewolf.
*
Of course the Gryffindors won their quidditch game against Hufflepuff. Draco didn’t bother going to that game. He did go to the match against Ravenclaw, even though he knew Cho Chang didn’t stand a chance against Potter. Still, it was something to see Potter fly, not that Draco’d admit it. And anyway, he’d made up a little ditty he thought Potter might like. Thoughtfully titled “Potter the Pouf,” most of Slytherin took it up immediately.
Potter the pouf seeks snitches in britches
Potter the pouf likes wizards, not witches
Men, hide your boys,
Dare not give them girly toys,
Lest Potter the pouf be for whom their Johnson’s twitch is.
It was a thing of beauty to see Potter’s face go red over the field. Needless to say, the Slytherins were talking to him again.
*
Draco got the letter Sunday morning.
Dear Draco,
I heard the song the Slytherins are singing to poor Harry Potter and I hope you are not taking part. It is disgraceful to treat someone poorly because they are homosexual, and I should hope you tell anyone you hear singing that they’re acting lowborn.
In regards to our much earlier fireside chat, your father is indeed out of prison now. I cannot say where he is in this letter, but suffice it to say I know he is safe and being taken care of. I hope you are doing well in school. Give my regards to Professor Snape and thank him for the healing potions-they have proven invaluable.
All my love,
Mummy
P.S. Do be nice to poor Harry. He’s trying so hard. And if you have anything you want to tell me, anything at all, you know that you may do so safely and without judgment or recrimination. I will always love you.
Draco threw down the letter. Effing hell. Mum knew about the Potter thing. Not the song-he was sure she knew exactly who started it. No, she knew about the whole Potter-and-Draco thing. Snape had likely told her all about the curse by now, and since Draco wrote her about the kiss in the hospital wing, that meant she, too, knew he was stuck with Potter for the rest of his miserable life. Could things get any worse?
“What did she say?” Pansy asked, picking the letter up and dusting off the crumbs from his scone. Draco tried to grab it from her, but she read it anyway. “Aren’t you glad I didn’t read it out loud,” she giggled, handing it back.
“Why, what’s in it?” Blaise asked from Draco’s other side, making a grab for it.
“Draco’s mum knows, too,” she said.
“Ha!” Blaise and Nott both let out large peals of laughter. Crabbe and Goyle, though apparently confused, joined in. Draco could feel his face heating up, which did terrible things for his color.
“I hate. You all.”
Pansy fell halfway off the bench laughing. “Draco-help me!” Draco picked up a scone and threw it at her instead.
“You…cad…” she gasped, gulping in air between fits. On her other side, Ripley helped her up and turned back to his food.
Draco folded the letter into his robes and waved a scone at her. “That’s what you get. Now shut up, the lot of you.”
“Of course, master.” Blaise rolled his eyes.
Pansy started humming Potter the Pouf.
“Stuff it, Pansy.”
The table took it up.
“I hate you all,” Draco growled. Pansy laughed again. The only bright side to Draco’s morning-due in much part to the teasing that continued after breakfast-was the way Potter’s shoulders tensed when he heard the song, and the look Hermione cast him over Potter’s head.
*
Hermione cornered him after the prefect meeting that night. “What now, Mu-Granger?”
The Mudblood gave him a warning look. “Stop singing that horrid song.”
“I have,” Draco answered quite honestly. His mother’s reprimand weighed heavily on his shoulders. For a moment, he’d even felt guilty. As it was, he had stopped singing the song. He was just glad others were willing to sing it for him.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why not? Watch where you’re going, Weasel!” Draco shouted as Weasley bumped him on the way out of the room. He was the last of the prefects to leave, and he shut the door with a slam before turning to Draco.
“I-could kill you-for what you’ve done to Harry.”
Draco rolled his eyes heavenward. “And just what have I done to your friend this time?”
“It’s that song! Make your housemates stop singing it!”
“Yes!” Granger agreed.
Draco pursed his lips. This would be fun. “Do you remember what house I’m from? It’s Slytherin. We do what we want, when we want, with no regard for what others think or say.”
Weasley stepped forward. Draco felt acutely how much the redhead towered over him, but held his ground. Granger’s finger was still pointed at Draco’s chest. He wanted to slap it away. “So, you’re not going to do it then? How about I just-” Weasley made ready to take out his wand.
Draco cut him off, withdrawing his own wand from his robes, a warning. “I can’t make a Slytherin stop singing that song anymore than you can make me…I don’t know-kiss Potter!” Draco was shocked when the words came out, but he blushed scarlet when they did.
Granger’s eyes were wide. The Weasel looked a bit green.
“What it is, Weasel? Want to sing along?”
Granger gave her friend a hard look. Draco smirked; someone was sleeping on the floor tonight.
“If that’s all-” Draco waited, wand held carelessly in a theatrically upswept hand.
Granger stepped in front of Weasley and nodded. “Make them stop, Malfoy. They listen to you.”
Draco scowled. They used to listen to him. Some of them, anyway. It was all Potter’s fault. Draco’s upper lip curled unconsciously. “Tell yourselves that if it makes you feel better. You don’t understand Slytherin at all.”
Draco stalked off. Bloody Gryffindors. As if Slytherin had a ringleader, like Gryffindor. No, Slytherin wasn’t like that at all. They preyed on the weak, and after that travesty of a game Draco wasn’t strong enough to lead them. He’d come back a short ways with the song, but he wasn’t strong enough yet by any means. If Potter would just stop interfering…if only…Draco could lead Slytherin.
“Draco!” Granger sped after him down the hallway. He could hear her footsteps clopping like a horse on the stone floor.
“What, Granger?”
She stopped in front of him and took a moment to catch her breath, holding up a finger to ask him to wait.
“What is it now? Want me to have Slytherin hop on one foot all Monday?”
“I…I don’t…I don’t have time to make Wolfsbane.”
Draco’s heart froze in his chest. He might have stopped breathing. “Oh,” he said, hoping his voice was normal. “Alright.”
“That’s all.” Granger took off running again in the other direction. He heard her meet up with Weasley, heard “I told him,” echo down the hallway with their retreating footsteps.
Bloody hell. What was he going to do now?
Draco squared his shoulders. If he was going to change the future, now was the time. Damned if he was spending the rest of his life with an effing werewolf.