sparks~drarry

The Boy with the Wicked Tongue

Description: In a cliche high school AU, Draco Malfoy, one of the most hated students at Hogwarts Academy for the Gifted, catches the eye of a new student (Draco's POV)

Warnings: Smut

Song: SNM by Rihanna (not because of the beginnings of a smut but because this song is bomb)

Length: 1.9k words

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Draco's POV

They throw harmful words around as if they are simply footballs. Considering the brains of some of these assholes, I'm actually not quite surprised that they lack the knowledge of what those horrible words mean. Well, it's not like they even care about me. And that, my friends, is exactly why I don't bother with idiots.

Here at the most horrifying school on earth, we are thankfully separated into four different sections - maths, literature, athletics, and art, luckily leaving me amongst the math nerds. I myself am not a math nerd, however, I happen to be quite gifted at mental math, something that has left many professors' brows furrowed through my school years. That was what drew my best friends to me originally, I believe. My so called mystery.

"You know, everyone thinks you're a snob." Those were the first words Pansy Parkinson every spoke to me on a snowy Wednesday afternoon. Everyone was already in class, or so I thought, until I saw a black clad figure sit themselves right next to me, beneath the willow tree.

"Excuse me?" I remember responding.

"I'm not saying I believe them, but, just so you know."

"Trust me, I've been being called these things for years."

There was a pleasant moment of easy silence where Pansy fingered something on her wrist, and I stared out over the black lake.

"I... Know. I just don't know how to start a conversation," she then mumbled.

"Well, we have that in common."

Sweet laughter burst from her lips like bubbles from chocolate milk, sweet as agave nectar and just as rotten.

"I suppose we do."

Now, that had been a pleasant afternoon from then on out. For most of it, we had just talked and talked and talked, staring out over the rippling onyx water of the Black Lake.

My first meeting with Blaise Zabini had been ten times more eventful. For one, it was the middle of class - our professor had forced the room to be so quiet that we could hear pens scratching against paper, and when one girl sneezed, it seemed to echo through the area. I wasn't the only person who loathed the silence, however. For a boy with skin as dark as night and eyes like flecks of starlight stood up from his seat, lifted his book up in the air, and yelled, "This is absolutely pointless! What can one learn from silence?"

For just a moment, I had been utterly baffled, until my mind did that little ah.

And, in the spur of the moment, riding a wave of confidence like a horse, I stood, and yelled in response, "Nothing can be taught through silence of man and master!"

I was greeted with raised brows and shocked expressions, most likely due to my reputation of being the "quiet kid". But before, I had never been the quiet kid, and I didn't plan on being one for that much longer, either.

I recall Blaise looking at me, and then with a wild grin on his face, grabbing my hand and running us out of the classroom with a yelling professor at our backs.

Now, I have to say the suspension had been totally worth it. After all, would you give up a small part of your grade to meet a person who would be one of your best friends for life? Of course, I didn't know that at the time, but I remember having this feeling deep in my bones, as if I had known this boy with a wild smile for years.