Labels || Drarry One-Shots

Bigotry Draped in Red and Gold

AN: Alrighty. So. I wouldn't exactly count this as an actual piece of fanfiction between our beloved gay and his object of affections (though they are in an established relationship), but I was in the shower today and I was ranting to myself - as one does - about how fucking gross Gryffindors are. More specifically, how grossly they treat Slytherins for no reason at all. And, well, this was born. Anybody ask for Draco standing up for his fellow Slytherins? Idgaf because I. fucking. did.

  The banquet had begun and Draco knew behind the grand doors that led into the dining hall would be a flock of anxious-slash-excited first years waiting to figure out what horrid task would be set before them before they were able to be sorted into their houses. Draco remembered the feeling: his stomach was in knots but, in true Malfoy fashion, he didn't allow the queasiness to show. (Well, he let his mask slip a little. But it was, of course, only because Harry bloody Potter had had the nerve to refuse his friendship. Not that he had to worry about that now. Amends were made and friendships were born and Draco couldn't be more at peace with it.)

  The four house tables were filled with silver plates and silverware and chalices, and surrounding the long wooden tables were the thousand-or-so students attending Hogwarts this year. At the front of the room was a single table, just as set in all the splendor as the other four, but the students were not segregated by house. Draco smiled a bit and squeezed the hand pressed tightly into his. "Let's see what wicked new students Slytherin'll get this year, eh?" Draco joked. Harry gave a small grunt. "Oh, hush. I meant wicked as in "cool", of course. It's the new slang, you know. I'm very hip." Draco sniffed and leaned his head on top of Harry's. This time, Harry laughed.

  Draco was about to retort with a, "I am cool - Pansy told me so," when the doors flew open and in strode McGonagall, an orderly line of ten- and eleven-year-olds trailing timidly behind her like a flock of ducklings. Their gazes flitted about in nervous wonder, and when a tanned boy with a gap between his teeth glanced at Draco, he made sure to smile and give a little wave; the boy continued on with a bounce in his step.

  "Aw, look at you being a softie." Harry turned his head to whisper into Draco's ear.

  "I have utterly no idea what you could be referring to, love. I am a deadly and vicious-- what on earth are you giggling about?"

  Any response Draco would have gotten was put on halt when the Sorting Hat, who had been placed upon his designated stool, began to sing its song. This year, it recalled the tale of the Battle of Hogwarts, of those dearly missed, and of new friendships born. Draco felt Harry press a kiss to his cheek, catching a tear Draco was unaware had been shed. When the Hat finished, Draco made sure to applaud extra loudly.

  The moment everyone had been waiting for had arrived - the sorting. Draco had counted about fifty-eight students: hopefully, Slytherin would get some good ones.

  "AADCOCH, LAURELEI!" McGonagall pronounced, voice echoing crisply through the hall.

  The plump little girl with flaming orange hair ("Is that a cousin of yours, Weasley?" "Harry, tell your boyfriend to piss off.") strode up the staircase, as confident as ever, and plopped herself right on the Hat. She quickly rose, a flush on her freckled cheeks, and sat again once she was certain the Hat had been removed. Her face looked determined and she stared straight ahead, and at last the hat blurted, "RAVENCLAW!" The room burst into cheers as she galloped down the steps and took a breathless seat next to Luna, who patted her head and whispered something to make Laurelei laugh.

  "ADAMS, BUFORD," was the name of a lanky boy, all bones and tight clothes, who slunk his way through the crowd of first years and onto the stool. He looked bored - Draco could relate; his time on the stool had been short-lived, the outcome predictable.