All Life Is Yours To Miss

Chapter 16

Draco stumbles back to his rooms somewhere around four, falls asleep with his clothes on and subsequently has the maimed-Potter dream three more times before breakfast. He manages to keep his head together during classes with the help of plenty of cold water and a bag of horrible but sugar-loaded Ice Mice that he confiscates during his first lesson of the day. He is, however, followed relentlessly from class to class by a little band of first-years, who appear to be under the impression that now he is in charge of Gryffindor Quidditch, the team is open to all comers, including the woefully inexperienced. He grits his teeth and quietly plots revenge on whoever started the rumour, tries not to pin it on Jasper Bracknell before he even has any evidence, and attempts to dissuade the enthusiastic students as efficiently and diplomatically as he can.

Unfortunately, they seem disinclined to listen to a word he says, and by the time the dreaded Gryffindor Open House rolls around, the rumour has spread amongst the children like wildfire, and practically every other student that sits opposite him immediately launches into a Quidditch-themed sales pitch. He tells each of them the same thing-that whatever rules Professor Potter has in place are still in force-but the sheer number of them cause the session to overrun, and by the time the last student lets himself in, it is already well after ten o'clock.

"Mr Quinlan," Draco says, hiding a yawn in his teacup and gesturing for the tall, dark-haired student to sit down.

"You've been busy tonight," he says, folding his long frame into Draco's second armchair. His voice is pleasant, smooth with a light Irish lilt, and Draco's sore head is grateful for it.

"Yes, you don't happen to know anything about that Quidditch rumour, do you?"

Fergus shakes his head. "I didn't even hear it until after dinner-I've been in the library most of the day. It's true what they say about NEWT year, isn't it?"

"It is," Draco agrees, ignoring the sounds of tacking from the next room and hoping Fergus hasn't noticed them at all. "I haven't seen much of you since you dropped Transfiguration."

"Sorry about that, sir," Fergus says sheepishly, and then breaks into a smile. "It's nothing personal. I just needed Charms, Potions, and Care of Magical Creatures more. I want to be an animal healer."

"I'm sure you'll make a fine one," Draco says, and he means it. He has rather missed Fergus-he was never quite as irritating as most of the others. "Is that what you want to talk about? I can give you a little bit of guidance, but Hagrid knows far more about things like that and I'm sure he would be happy to help you."

Fergus rests his hands on his knees and stares at them hard. "No, it's not that. I was looking for some advice on a more... personal matter."

Draco cringes inwardly. "Okay. Fire away, then, I'll do what I can."

For a moment, there is silence, as Fergus frowns and breathes slowly, apparently working his way up to something difficult. Finally, he looks up, bright blue eyes meeting Draco's determinedly. In the split-second before he speaks, Draco knows, and he just wants to drop through the floor.

"Professor Malfoy, I'm pretty sure I'm gay, and I'm having some trouble getting my head around it."

"I see," Draco says evenly. He's not qualified to deal with this. He's not even qualified to deal with his own personal issues. He keeps his face calm as he looks at Fergus and tries to compose a response, but his heart is hammering and his stomach feels as though it is full of eels. "Wouldn't you rather discuss this with Professor Potter?" he says at last, hating the weakness of the words.

The disappointment is clear in his student's eyes as he responds. "I was going to, right before he was taken ill. I can't wait any more, and I thought... what kind of example would I be setting for the younger ones if I didn't give you a chance? I thought... you're still a man, aren't you?"