Slytherin Boys - ONE SHOTS

Draco Malfoy - Perfectly Undone

A/N: This is the 2nd one-shot in a trilogy, with a 3rd to come. "Through the Hoops," now "Perfectly Undone."

Context: Draco POV.

TW: Contains sexual and suggestive themes.

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The Three Broomsticks is teeming. Students, locals, and the odd visiting Ministry official. With the indoor environment—muggy, always odorous of smoke and spilled butterbeer—I shoulder my way through the crowd, my patience thinning with every bump and jostle. Each, my detachment from this rabble, universe competitively punishing me for daring to mingle. Struggling to swim through a sea of particularly stupid fish.

Finding a table at the rear, I drop into a chair. The punishment of a stone to my bones. Crabbe and Goyle, bless their hard-headed loyalty, have parked themselves at the bar, obviously intending to fill their faces with whatever greasy goodies they can get their hands on.

I lay my eyes on you, this time sitting with a group of pals. You're rattling, gesturing with your hands as you tell a story, and I'm fighting to hear your voice above the blare. You glance over, as if sensing my gaze. But you swerve your eyes back to your peers, as if looking but not seeing me. Why? I keep it cool on the outside, though. You've got to, right? Can't let them see you sweat.

Pansy. Her hand on my arm, bribing my thoughts away, amateurish allure. "A bit serious today, aren't we?" She says.

I hum in agreement. Her perfume—plumply sweetness of too many flowers—clings to me, threatening to coax a sneeze. She's next to me, trying to talk about Merlin knows what, and all I can think about is you. Picturing your face, your smile, and wondering what it would be like to be in that chat, to hear you laugh because of me, and only me.

Then Blaise leans over, smiling like he knows something I don't. "Looks like you've got some competition," he says, nodding at your table.

The same Ravenclaw bloke is seated way too close to you for my liking. He's speaking too loud, too familiar. His hand on the back of your chair is a territorial call, daring me to stake my own. Competition? Please. If he thinks he can just walk in and capture your attention, he's rather mistaken.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Zabini," I say, lounging back like I don't care. But I do. Oh, I do. "Ravenclaws are all talk and no action."

Blaise laughs and Crabbe thrusts a sweet into my hand, his shit-eating grin as foolish as a rumpled sock puppet. Zabini also gets one. It's a tiny miracle Crabbe remembered to bring something except his appetite. I look at the sweet warily, wondering if it's from an expired batch.

I unwrap it anyway, the sugar melting with my thoughts. Sickly sweet, like Pansy's perfume. I turn the wrapper over, pausing as the name gets my attention. The same sweet you handed me. Your fingers brushing my palm. I chew slowly, tasting the ghostly mark of your touch. Sweetness turning into sour. Sour that burns your absence on my tongue. Bloody momentary contact that had no business haunting me this long. The middleman of my vexation.

Shaking my head, I hope for a fleeting amnesia of the memory, but I'm aiming to scrub away ink with water. Pansy's touch on my leg jerks me back to the present, her nails digging in just enough to be felt through my trousers.

"You seem awfully pensive, Draco," she says.

"I said I'm fine," I reply, my tone flat, well-nigh dismissive.

Pansy's fingers run up my leg. Her touch is a chain, but my mind's a wild creature. She blinks over to your table. Brows knitting together in that askance way of hers. Always the inquisitor, never the sage.

"Honestly, letting a match ruin your mood for days on end?" she says. It's not just about quidditch, and she knows it. But she won't say it. She's always been content with half-truths and surface-level emotions.

"He's nothing," I mutter, glancing at your table once more, flitting between you and the blue-clad pest. "Not worth a second thought."

Pansy nods, apparently satisfied with my answer. Of course. She continues to prattle, something about strategies and revenge against the Ravenclaw team. But what does she know? She knows nothing.