Muggles ✧ Drarry

᥊᥊𝓲

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5ᴋ
ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ: ᴊᴜʟʏ 12ᴛʜ, 2021
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If life were to be a metaphor for pain, then Draco imagined it would have something to do with clocks, because timing always seemed to get the better of him. Just when everything was starting to—somewhat, mind you—look up, something good happened, but at the most inconvenient time.

Pansy and Potter were snogging on the sofa.

Well, not actually. They were just making loud kissing noises to frustrated Draco.

"Is it working?" Pansy whispered not-so-quietly.

Potter bursted out laughing, and shook his head. "I don't think so."

They put their faces close together for the umpteenth time that afternoon and blocked their lips from sight with their hands. Draco rolled his eyes when he heard those damned noises again.

For the past twenty minutes those two had been letting out fake groans, moans, and smooches, getting nothing out of the blond who understood naught of their efforts.

"You two," he began after remaining silent for the entirety of the last third of an hour, "Are absolute idiots."

They stopped their kisses and looked up.

Pansy frowned. "This doesn't bother you?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Why the hell would it?"

"Because, you know, you and Potter like each other."

"Well, no, it doesn't bother me."

"Strange."

Potter nodded as if to agree with the fact that there was truth in her statement, and stared intently at Draco for a moment before standing off of the sofa. He walked toward the blond and sat onto the arm of the soft chair that Draco had been nestled in for the past half an hour. He looked into the Slytherin's eyes.

"I have to tell you something," Potter said sotto voce.

Draco frowned. "Something that you can't tell Pansy?" Their voices were hushed and quiet, so as to stop Pansy from hearing them where they were across the room. She was petting Beatrice the chicken, whom she had brought to show off the chicken's new bracelet, and didn't seem to see that they were speaking.

"I wouldn't want to tell her before you've had time to consider it, since I have a feeling it'll affect us a whole lot."

Draco bit his lip and looked at Pansy. "Can she stay, or...?"

Potter shrugged. "I suppose we could always talk—"

"Oi! What are you two conspiring about over there?" Pansy screeched, and Draco winced.

"...Later..." Potter finished his sentence.

"None of your business, you old hag!" Draco screeched back, which caused Pansy to double over with laughter. He rolled his eyes and turned back to Potter. "Later," he promised.

Potter nodded, eyes softening their apparent worry to a sense of dull anticipation. He turned back to Pansy, and saw that Beatrice, in the chaos of Pansy rolling around on the floor with laughter, had made her way over to Potter. He scooped her up into his lap, and she pecked gently at his glasses—correction: new glasses, which were very very...attractive.

Potter chuckled, and gave the chicken a pat on the head. Draco watched the exchange, frowning at the way that the chicken's eyes seemed to be a bit crossed.

(The author says that that's okay, we love Beatrice, no matter how cross-eyed she is.)

He wondered if poor Beatrice was aware that she lived with a mad woman.