Chapter Text
“And then he scoffed at me! Scoffed! Who does he think he is?”
Pansy stroked his hair and he frowned. He could guess that she was bored of his favorite conversation topic and, in all honesty, he was too. Yet here they were; he was laying on one of the common room couches with his head on her lap to vent about Potter’s existence. It was well into the morning, allowing them privacy that was rarely found in the Slytherin common room.
When they first arrived at Hogwarts, Draco and Pansy held each other at an arm’s distance, only interested in what they could gain from each other. Somewhere down the line Pansy had transcended all else to be something he sorely needed: a friend. Now he was scaring her off. “He thinks he’s Dumbledore’s golden boy,” Pansy said, sounding rather bored.
“He is,” Draco replied. “It’s so unfair.”
“Completely unfair.”
“He’s not even talented. If it was Mudblood Granger, at least he’d have a reason to like her.”
“She’s just a stuck up brat,” Pansy said, her face turning sour. “Anyone can memorize a textbook.”
Draco nodded, although he only succeeded in mussing up the back of his hair on Pansy’s skirt. “I agree, Pans. But Potter can’t even do that. He’s an imbecile!” Pansy hummed in agreement. “And he has a dumb face, with his dumb scar. Who would think a scar is cool? You could get a scar from falling down stairs or some other stupid reason. What if his hot scar is from stairs, huh? What then, Potter?”
“Nobody would think it was special.”
“Exactly. Not so special now, Potter. Can’t even walk up and down stairs properly. What an idiot.”
“Alright, you’re really focused on his scar, Draco.”
“Right. Ignore that.” He let out a soft exhale as Pansy gently pulled back the hair falling onto his forehead. “He’s got an annoying voice.”
“Thank Merlin he doesn’t speak up in class as much as Granger.”
Draco let out a sharp laugh. “My ears would bleed! Ugh, and his face. He’s hideous. He’s all gaunt-y and gross and his eyes are too green and pretty-”
“Pretty?”
“Puke-y,” Draco said, entirely on autopilot. “It was a slip up.”
There was a horrifying moment where Pansy looked directly in his eyes, almost as if to silently communicate that she knew it was bullshit and would call him out on it, but she leaned back again and said. “Alright. Puke-y eyes, I guess.”
Draco blushed and sat up. “I have to get started on my potions essay.”
“You finished it already,” Pansy replied, looking at her perfectly filed nails. “What’s going on with you, Draco?”
“Nothing.” She looked up from her nails into Draco’s eyes and he repeated, “Nothing! I’m tired, okay? I’ll just head to bed.”
“Hey, maybe you’re in love with Potter.”
Draco’s face blanched, and he turned to face Pansy, trying his best to hide any of the obvious fear on his face. He wanted her to start laughing at the absurdity of Draco having any feelings other than loathing for the Gryffindor prat. Instead, her face was still, as if she was trying her best to stay neutral and allow for Draco’s assumptions to bounce right off of her and back to him. “Good night, Pansy,” he said, his voice suddenly dry.
“Good night.” He tiptoed into his dorm, where Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Blaise all slept. He closed the door as quietly as he could and crawled into his bed, distracted by the concept of having feelings for Potter.
In the dark and quiet the dungeon always provided, it was easier for intrusive thoughts to worm their way into his head. Was Potter stupid? Yes. That much was objective. Was the hero worship of him ridiculous and annoying. Yes. It was, once again, objective. Was he ugly. Yes. No. Yes. His eyes were beautiful, and his thin face had an almost innocent type of beauty to it.
Draco shoved his face into his pillow. This was awful. He had to get Potter’s stupid face out of his head. His thoughts wandered to Quidditch, which was generally a horrible experience thanks to the crippling feelings of self-doubt that came from losing a game he had been playing since he could ride a broom to a brat who picked it up for the first time but two years prior. But Harry was an athlete by nature; he was lithe and quick and likely somewhat strong, strong enough to make Draco wonder about certain things he would rather not think about.
It wasn’t so much that Draco liked boys. It was that the boy he liked was Harry freaking Potter. The only way he could do worse was by falling for a Weasley.
If he could ignore it, maybe it would go away. All he had to do was block him out for Care of Magical Creatures and Double Potions. That would likely be difficult, though; Hagrid (Professor Hagrid, Draco corrected sarcastically) worshipped Potter nearly as much as Dumbledore did, and Potter was too much of a dolt to get through a Potions class without drawing attention to himself.
He was doomed. And, as horrifying as it was to believe that anyone had picked up on his obsession with Potter, Pansy knew it.
With that not exactly comfortable thought, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.