Chapter Text
bane of my existence — someone or something that consistently causes you trouble, annoyance, or frustration; a constant source of irritation in your life
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
It started as completely nothing, as most things do.
For the first two years of being at Hogwarts, he hadn't hated anyone as much as he hated Harry Potter.
Or, if he was being honest, which he rarely was, he hadn't thought he hated anyone as much as Harry Potter. Hatred was supposed to be cold and sharp, clean and satisfying.
What he felt toward Harry was none of those things. It was messier. Irritating and loud.
He hated his horrid smile and how he walked down the corridor like he owned the place. It was like everything about Harry irritated him. He got under his skin in ways that no other person could. He could feel it in his veins — the urge to strangle him at any moment.
He existed loudly. He walked loudly. He breathed loudly. He ruined things simply by being in the same room, as if the universe tilted itself to make Malfoy’s life inconvenient.
Which is exactly why Malfoy knew the plan would work.
Malfoy could simply get anyone he wanted to with a flick of his finger. Especially with his family name, good looks, and money. Could even get Pansy back if he wanted to.
But he didn’t want either of those options. Instead, there were more things at stake. If he went back to Pansy, it would be seen as him being desperate and vulnerable. And that’s something he wouldn’t let happen. It would be damaging to his reputation.
So he decided to do what he knew best: Torment Harry Potter.
Most people, especially Harry, knew about Malfoy and Pansy’s break-up. It wasn’t hidden or anything, but it shocked a lot of people. Only because they were considered a “perfect couple”.
Malfoy knew many things about perfectionism, and none of that described his and Pansy’s relationship. Their relationship was like falling through an hourglass and expecting something to change.
Petty arguments. Going to bed mad. Throwing things. It wasn’t something that Draco particularly enjoyed about their “relationship”. There were a few good aspects about it, though, like how Pansy cared for him. Or how she would stroke his hair until he fell asleep.
That was sort of nice. Which led to his current predicament: use Potter to get back with Pansy.
He thought about what expression Harry would make when he proposed the idea. He could even imagine the look of confusion on his face. However, he isn’t sure if Harry is gay, but that’s the fun in it, right? Learning as you go.
It’ll just be a fake relationship after all. It wouldn’t mean anything. So, what better to do than ask Potter for his help? Malfoy hated to admit it, but he had more chemistry with him than anybody in Hogwarts.
And, Malfoy couldn't let this opportunity pass by.
The opportunity of being in a fake relationship with Potter? Yuck. Malfoy actually shivered. That sounded wrong. He meant the opportunity was to torment Potter in any way he could. That’s a better way to put it; the thought of being intimate with Potter irked him.
Anything to get Pansy back, right? Of course, it could help him spread all kinds of filth about Potter. He could find out a couple of things, a few tweaks here and there, a little exaggeration, and maybe he could even get it printed in the Daily Prophet.
However, Malfoy knew it wouldn’t be easy. The repercussions weren’t lost on him, either. His father definitely wouldn’t approve — he could already picture the look of disgust on that face.
He had no idea how he’d keep it from his father, but he doubts anyone would say anything. They feared him and his status in the wizarding world.
And he knew convincing Harry wouldn’t be easy either.
Harry wasn’t obedient; instead, he was far from it. He didn’t care about who Malfoy was or what his status meant in the wizarding world. To him, Malfoy was nothing more than just an arrogant bastard with a cocky personality.
But Malfoy knew what he wanted. And he wouldn’t stop until he had it.
This is going to be a breeze.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Malfoy made his way down the corridor of the train, Crabbe and Goyle following suit. The three stopped in front of a compartment. Malfoy hid his smirk, and one hand pulled the compartment door open.
Malfoy sneered, “Ah, isn’t this a pleasant surprise? Potter and Weaselbee.”
The plan that he had cooked up the night prior had vanished from his mind the moment he saw Harry sitting there. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled beside him.
Harry didn’t look up. He redirected his attention elsewhere. There were better things to do than waste his time on someone he couldn’t care less about.
Malfoy’s eye twitched, his usual snide remarks not working. Malfoy looked at Ron, “So, Weasley. Your father finally got his hands on some gold during the summer?” said Malfoy. “How unusual, your mother didn’t die of shock, did she?”
Ron stood up quickly, knocking down a few things to the floor. “Who’s that?” said Malfoy, his pale blue eyes narrowed in on the figure that was sleeping next to Harry.
Malfoy took a step back; he wasn’t enough of an idiot to start a fight while a professor was present. Harry got up, “New teacher.” Malfoy gulped at how far Harry was from being close to him. “So, carry on. You were saying Malfoy?” said Harry.
Malfoy scoffed, defeated. “C’mon.” He said to Crabbe and Goyle, and they disappeared into the corridor. Malfoy would have to bring it up to Harry another time, then.
Malfoy and his friends were now sitting in an enclosed train compartment after they got back from the private compartments. The train halted, it became cold in a heartbeat, and the lights flickered as if it were reacting to the cold.
Malfoy looked around, and a few people moved from their spots. Some acted like it was nothing. The train wasn’t supposed to halt just yet. They were still far from Hogwarts.
Malfoy looked back at Crabbe and Goyle, who seemed frightened. He looked at them, “Why are you so scared?” said Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other and fixed their postures to seem tough, but they were clearly shaking.
There it was. The feeling of dread and unease engulfed his senses. He looked toward the doorway of the corridor at their end of the train, there it was: A creature beneath the folds of a black cloak. Malfoy stared, and it got closer, like it was trying to examine him. It released a rattling exhale, as if it needed more oxygen from its surroundings. It was a dementor.
The students in the compartments screamed, running down the corridor. An intense cold swept over Malfoy; he shivered. Crabbe and Goyle were long gone. When did they slip away?
Malfoy felt his own stomach churn; he quickly got out of his seat and ran to Fred and George’s compartment.
The twins were about to speak, but were silenced by the presence of a dementor.
Someone cast a Patronus against it, and it was gone within a heartbeat.
The lights finally turned on after a couple of minutes. From afar, he heard a voice, “Harry Potter fainted!” Malfoy squinted, realizing it was Longbottom.
Malfoy was puzzled. That was a pleasant surprise. He hadn’t expected Harry to faint on the train, let alone by a dementor. But this was great. It was something he could use as an advantage against him.
The train halted; they were now at Hogsmeade.
Malfoy got off the train after finding Crabbe and Goyle. However, Harry was nowhere to be found, so Malfoy assumed that he’d already gotten on the carriage. Malfoy climbed inside after Crabbe and Goyle and shut the door. The carriage set off by itself. Picking up speed as it went on.
Malfoy stayed quiet, gazing out the tiny window. A few minutes later, the carriage halted. Making a screeching noise. Upon getting off, Malfoy noticed Harry walking towards the steps.
Malfoy smirked as he walked towards him, “You fainted, Potter? Is it true what Longbottom was saying on the train? You actually fainted?” Malfoy elbowed Hermione out of the way to block Harry’s path.
Crabbe and Goyle snickered as they stood beside him.
Harry stared at Malfoy for a while, but didn’t say anything. Malfoy’s facade flickered slightly under Harry’s gaze.
“Shove off, Malfoy,” Ron snapped. Malfoy opened his mouth to pass a snide remark, then froze.
Pansy Parkinson was walking toward them.
Act fast.
He grabbed Harry’s wrist and yanked him aside. Harry stumbled, face inches from Malfoy’s.
Before Harry could shout, Malfoy’s hands framed Harry’s face roughly, and he kissed him. Harry’s eyes went wide as he struggled, but Malfoy held firm.
Passersby barely glanced at them. Just Malfoy being Malfoy, probably.
Pansy stared at Malfoy for a long moment, as if her heart might break. Then her gaze flicked to Harry, lingering just a second before she gave him an odd look. With that, she turned and walked up the stairs with the rest of the students.
Hermione and Ron stared, unsure what to do. Ron took a step forward, but Hermione shook her head, and he immediately halted.
Malfoy dipped his head, lips dangerously close to Harry’s ear. “Is she gone?” Malfoy whispered.
Harry shoved him. “What — What are you talking about?”
“Pansy,” Malfoy hissed. “Is she gone?”
Harry looked around. “Yes, she’s gone. What does that have to do with —“
Malfoy cut him off, gripping his sleeve. “Starting today, we’re in a relationship so I can make Pansy jealous.” Hermione and Ron both gaped as if Malfoy had lost his mind. Harry jerked his arm back like the words physically burned him. “Merlin — no! Are you ill?”
“Is there a problem?” asked Professor Lupin. The carriage behind him took off by itself.
Malfoy stared at Professor Lupin, inhaling sharply, forcibly smoothing his expression, “Oh, no, Professor.” Then, he whispered in Harry’s ear, “Just consider it, will you?” And before Harry could respond, Malfoy spun on his heel and marched up the stairs with Crabbe and Goyle.
The second he was out of sight, Malfoy gagged, and he wiped the spit off his lips. Crabbe and Goyle questioned him, and Malfoy told them to forget it as it wasn’t their concern. The two looked at each other with an unreadable expression and caught up to Malfoy.
Harry froze, his tongue briefly darting to his lips. Malfoy had just kissed him. And… it was the best kiss he’d ever had. Hermione and Ron stared at him, wide-eyed, as if they had just seen a ghost.
Ron broke the silence immediately, “What was that all about — wait, is Malfoy… gay? Why did he even – kiss you?”
Harry shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “Er.. I have no idea.” The pink is subtle on his pale cheeks.
He could still feel Malfoy’s touch on his skin, as if his skin was getting burned from the hot sun.
“Just forget it, Harry. He’s probably trying to get a rise out of you.” Hermione nudged Ron forward, hurrying him along.
The three of them joined the swarm of students climbing the steps. After passing the giant front doors, they entered the entrance hall, lit by flickering torches. A marble staircase led up toward the upper floors.
The door that led into the Great Hall was open from the right. Harry followed the crowd toward it. He hadn’t had a chance to glance at the enchanted ceiling when a voice called, “Potter! Granger! May I have a word?”
Harry and Hermione turned around, and confusion settled on their faces. It was Professor McGonagall who had requested them. Harry quickly walked towards her as if the floors beneath him would break into bits if he didn’t hurry up.
Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall had a sort of aura to her; she could make him feel like he’d done something wrong just by calling his name.
She just wanted to have a word, then they could run along to the feast. So he wasn’t in trouble, Harry exhaled with relief. When he glanced toward the crowd, his eyes met a familiar pale blue; he shifted under the gaze. It was slightly uncomfortable.
Malfoy smirked at him, then turned towards the crowd that was going into the Great Hall.
He was confused, all of this was just random — Almost as if it was a setup, or more so, the universe wanted to ruin his life by having Malfoy take his first kiss. And, he couldn’t even be mad about it! That was one of the bad parts of the story, but what was even worse was that he actually enjoyed it.
Hermione tapped him, “Are you alright, Harry?” He snapped out of his thoughts for a second and nodded as he and Hermione followed Professor McGonagall away from the Great Hall. They passed the entrance hall, went up the marble staircase, and made their way down the corridor which led to her office.
After they made it to Professor McGonagall’s office, she motioned for them to sit down and walked behind her desk, sitting down as well. She spoke abruptly, “Professor Lupin sent an owl earlier to inform us that you were ill on the train, Potter.”
Harry replied on autopilot, only half aware of what she was saying. His mind was somewhere else entirely, thoughts blending like muddled ink. He’d never felt this confused before.
But beneath all of it, one thing remained clear: he needed to know what Malfoy meant.
Why had he kissed him?
Surely, it had to be a joke. Some stupid way to mess with him… right? Maybe Malfoy didn’t want an actual “fake relationship” with him. He was probably doing it for fun.
Yeah. That had to be it.
He was definitely overthinking this. Maybe he just needs to sleep and stop letting one stupid kiss take over his brain.
However, part of his mind wanted to walk right up to Malfoy and accept the proposal. But he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. If Malfoy wanted to have a “relationship” with him, then he’d have to try a whole lot harder than a simple kiss.
Harry wanted Malfoy to work for it.
No.
He’d make him work for it. And, he had just the right idea, but it was sort of unusual, even for Harry. But he barely knows anything about Malfoy, besides him being a blood-purist, an elitist snob with a high ego, and he loves attention.
Which is something that Harry could use as an advantage. If he acted like he didn’t care, then Malfoy would crumble underneath his perfectly crafted facade, and possibly beg for this “thing” to actually happen. Well, it isn’t anything yet, but Harry knows exactly what buttons to press to have Malfoy running after him like a knight after his princess.
⊱༺༒︎༻⊰
Harry and Hermione left McGonagall’s office a few minutes later, the door clicking quietly behind them. They made their way back toward the Great Hall, the distant chatter echoing down the stone corridor.
While he made his way down the corridor that led to the Great Hall, he couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, again. It was on repeat like a subliminal mantra. Every time he would close his eyes, the image would flash behind his eyes, his stomach tightened — and he hated that.
Hermione was talking about something, but Harry barely heard her — he wasn’t paying attention. After reaching the Great Hall, the warm glow of floating candles did nothing to calm him. As he figured, Malfoy’s stupid face was burned into his thoughts like a permanent mark he didn’t ask for.
Ron was already seated at the Gryffindor table, waving them over. He’d just realised the new faces that were now at their table. They’ve missed the sorting, how unfortunate.
“Aw, we've missed the sorting,” said Hermione.
Harry muttered something in acknowledgement, and to his dismay, he scanned the Slytherin table without meaning to. And of course — because the universe hated him — Malfoy was already staring right back.
Their eyes met as if the universe wanted this to happen, as the universe hated him. It could be a punishment for blowing up his Aunt Marge, but he couldn’t lie, it was pretty funny. Although he really has to stop being immature.
Malfoy’s expression shifted instantly. The smirk that wasn’t there before suddenly appeared. He looked impatient, lifting two fingers, he flicked them in a gesture that clearly meant: Go outside.
Harry blinked. Once. Twice. Then, for the third time, he looked properly. Was Malfoy actually serious? No way. Harry had rolled his eyes so hard that Hermione made a sound of disapproval beside him.
“I’ll, uh — be right back..” Harry muttered.
Ron’s fork clattered, and he accidentally dropped the food that he was about to put in his mouth. “You aren’t actually going over there, are you? After – after earlier?”
Harry avoided Ron’s stare. “I just need to ask him something.”
Hermione looked like she already knew that was a lie, but didn’t push. “Be careful, Harry. He’s clearly up to something.”
“When is he not?” Harry sighed.
The moment he stepped away from the Gryffindor table, he felt Malfoy’s eyes tracking him, like a predator to its prey. Harry pushed open the doors leading out of the Great Hall, the noise of the students fading behind him. Irritation began to prickle under his skin.
Malfoy grabbed his sleeve and pulled him further from the entrance, into a quiet corner of the hall.
“Well?” Malfoy asked, his voice low. “Did you think about it?” He looked oddly tense, instead of his usual relaxed and smug composure.
Harry blinked, then raised a brow. “…About what?”
Malfoy’s jaw tightened. “About…About what I said earlier. The thing about you and me.”
Harry took a slow breath and studied him for a second. “Oh. That. Yes, I did.”
Malfoy nodded, impatient. “Well?” He tried to hide how the corner of his mouth twitched upward — he’d expected approval. Obviously, he knew Harry would say yes; that was the only answer he’d heard at home, after all.
Harry looked him dead in the eye. “My answer’s no.”
Draco’s eye twitched, and he froze.
“No?” His voice cracked; it wasn’t enough for anyone else to notice, but Harry noticed it anyway. “What do you mean, no?” He had asked, like the word was in a different language.
Harry maintained his poker face, but the smirk tugging at his lips was becoming difficult to hide. He shrugged, like this entire thing wasn’t unravelling Malfoy’s composure strand by strand. “I’m not agreeing to anything. If you want people to think we’re in a relationship, you’ll have to try a whole lot harder than a single kiss.”
Malfoy’s breath hitched. Heat began to crawl up the back of his neck. Why would he try harder…? He’d never tried harder for something, ever. It was always “Yes, Draco,” with him. It was never “No.” So why did it feel so different when it was from Harry? It shouldn’t have felt any more different.
For a moment, his mind blanked. It was replaced by one loud, intrusive thought: Potter isn’t supposed to reject me.
Malfoy spoke again, “What do you mean, try harder?" He paused, as if looking for the right words to say. “Why are you being so —“ But he stopped, swallowing whatever comment he was about to throw at him.
“You should understand what I mean, Malfoy.” Harry stepped closer, faces inches apart, “If you want this so badly… work for it.”
Malfoy gulped at the proximity, and his expression flickered — annoyance? Maybe disbelief, or maybe panic. His lips parted, but no words came out. And, for the first time since Harry had known him, Draco Malfoy didn’t have a comeback.
When Malfoy didn’t respond, Harry scoffed. But when he turned to leave, Malfoy grabbed his wrist. It was like he was hesitating to say the things that he wanted to, like something was preventing him from doing so.
“Why..?” Malfoy muttered. “Why does it matter if I try or not? It’s fake. It doesn’t mean anything…” Malfoy tried to reason, but Harry wouldn’t listen. He wanted something genuine from Malfoy if he wanted Harry’s time and effort.
Harry looked back at him.
“That’s your problem,” Harry said softly. “You think nothing means anything.” Harry looked him in the eye again and spoke slowly.
“Show me that you really want this,” Harry said.
“Because from where I’m standing, you could’ve chosen anyone else, Malfoy. But you picked me. Which means you’re going to have to prove you can hold up a relationship — even a fake one. I’m not wasting my time on something you’re not committed to.
Malfoy let go of him immediately. He couldn’t believe that he let Harry talk to him like that. His face twisted into something he couldn’t really name. Would it be anger, fear, or disgust? It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what Harry meant. It was because he did, and that alone made his stomach twist.
Merlin — This was wrong. At first, he thought it’d be silly, just something to pass the time. He definitely does not care about what Harry thinks. Nope. This was just a way to get Pansy back, that’s all there is to it.
Harry wanted him to try? Why would he try if it was just fake? But, he’d also never tried for anyone or anything in his life, unless it involved his father or mother. Quidditch was also in the same category.
However, what messed with his head the most was the way Harry had looked at him. It unleashed something within him that he’d spent years burying. Something in his chest. Something that he didn’t particularly like, and it was gnawing away at his heart.
Stupid Harry Potter.
Their eyes locked, tension crackling between them. When Malfoy didn’t say anything, Harry smirked. He walked back toward the Great Hall without a word. Harry definitely had a way of making people speechless.
“You should hurry back, Malfoy. You’ll miss Professor Dumbledore’s speech.” Harry looked at him, his hands on the handle of the Great Hall, and he smirked at him before walking back inside.
Malfoy grumbled in response, his palms slid down his face as he stood frozen in the corridor. His fingers trembled, but he tried his best to prevent them from doing so. Then, the ‘rules’ started to dance around his mind.
Malfoy's are not weak.
Malfoy’s do not show fear.
Malfoy’s are not allowed to date unless the blood of the person they will be pursuing is pure.
Those were the rules spoken to him by his father when he first started attending Hogwarts. It was something that he had to follow; he still didn’t understand why he had to be so… “Proper.” Nonetheless still repeats it in his head like a prayer. Afraid that if he doesn’t, then the truth would start to feel dangerously easy.
He swallowed hard, trying to force the feeling down like poison. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering it — going on a date with Harry? Malfoy never begged. But perhaps, he was a bit more desperate this time.
He cringed at the sound of it. Malfoy decided that he wouldn’t be returning to the Great Hall; instead, he had to find ways to make Harry say yes. Just for the sake of Pansy. Nothing more, nothing less. Malfoy was most certainly fucked from the moment he kissed Harry and made this stupid plan.
Fuck — He really should have picked someone else.