Chapter Text
“Would you believe,” Draco drawls, smirking up at an enraged Potter, “that this actually has nothing to do with you?”
Potter, obviously, does not believe that. That thought never entered his pretty little head and, while that is annoying, Draco does ever so much enjoy shattering his world. He can’t help it—it’s so easy. Potter is the oddest mix of indestructible and fragile; finding the right wounds to poke, the pressure lines to target—well, it’s intoxicating.
“Leave him alone,” Potter snarls, but he’s shaking and there are deep rings beneath his eyes. He doesn’t sleep well, he doesn’t eat at all, and Draco knows he’s not making any progress with that second task. It’s really funny, actually, that Potter thinks he has any authority. (Outflying the dragon wasn’t even that impressive.)
“I’m afraid I don’t know who you are talking about.” Draco grins at him, all fake helpfulness. All bright and pretty and dumb—a vapid expression that sours Potter’s face and makes him sullen, because now he has to say it. Now he has to actually put into words what he would like to just ignore. Potter doesn’t have time for this, okay? Potter just needs his friends to heel and his enemies to cower and then Potter could rest on his laurels like he deserves, because once over a decade ago he didn’t die.
Truly, with such an impressive track record, how dare people still want anything else from him?
“Ron,” Potter presses out, the name bitter on his tongue. (Draco didn’t have this much fun since, well, actually since Weasley crumbled under his hands.) “Leave Ron alone.”
Yeah, Draco is not going to do that. Because, as mentioned, it’s fun. Weasley is so easy for him, so sweet. So angry at Potter.
Draco is never going to give that up. All the less with Potter cornering him and growling at him, acting like he owns the other boy. (Which is patently false: just ask Weasley, and he will tell you.)
“That would make him very unhappy,” Draco says, pretending to think it over and cackling when Potter looks like he wants to smash Draco’s face into the wall he presses him against.
Presses him very insistently, actually. Suspiciously so. Draco never considered this (lies; Draco is gay and he has eyes—of course he considered Potter having him up against a wall) but he might not be completely averse to taking this little encounter into a different direction. It might upset Weasley when he hears (and he would; Draco would tell everyone) but they never promised each other exclusivity. Besides, surely he knows by now that people generally only bother with him to get at Potter.
Well, nothing for it.
Draco takes a fortifying breath, sparkles up at Potter, and pulls the git more firmly against his body. If Potter is going to molest him against this wall, he will do it right.
Potter gasps in shock, rocks against Draco on instinct, (delicious, his hands desperate on Draco’s arms, his knee suddenly firmly between Draco’s legs, his weight solid and warm), and then he breaks away, like Draco burned him. Which is what Draco expected but still offensive. Potter, after all, is the one who started it.
Draco pretends not to mind, lounging against the cold wall, sleazy and provocative and Potter looks at him like he’s the worst kind of slug, disgusted and reverent at his grotesque existence.
Messing with Potter is so easy.
“You can’t blame a bloke,” Draco says, pitches his voice low and silky. The kind of voice he uses on Weasley when he coaxes him into a rushed hand-job between classes. “I thought you wanted it, leaning and looming and staring at my lips.”
Potter actually was, too. He’s always staring at Draco, not just since he stole his Weasel. Potter is a pervert in denial and Draco is not wired not to take advantage of his moral suppression. Judging by Potter’s shock, he didn’t know he was doing it. Cute. Tiring in the long run, of course, but that should be a solid few months of entertainment.
“I wasn’t,” Potter stutters out, backing away like Draco is contagious. Which, again, is offensive. No wonder Weasley left so easily—does Potter even realise he is doing it?
Draco bites his lips, watches Potter’s eyes flick down and then jerk away, almost violently.
“Just leave him alone, okay?” Potter says, but he’s pleading now. And selling out his friend, scared off by a little bodily contact. He wants Draco’s dirty hands off his friend, yes, but not if that means putting them on himself instead. These Gryffindors, spouting about bravery and Doing What’s Right, but really they understand nothing.
“Yes, sir.” Draco laughs as Potter nearly falls over his own feet in his rush to get away, flustered and confused and liking Draco a bit too much for his comfort. He doesn’t even seem to mind the lie. He just takes it, running and telling himself he did good, he saved his erstwhile friend. Gave the evil seducer a good talking to.
Truly, living in Potter’s world must be extraordinary. Not even Draco, being his Fathers son and having influence and money in abundance, can bend the world to his vision quiet like Potter can. Potter sees the world however it is easiest for him and no one dares correct him, thus the world is as Potter says.
Except for Weasley. That one Draco managed to save.
He’s not going to give him back just yet.