Quills

Quills

Monday. Divination.

The first was a gold and ebony tipped eagle feather.

Draco had gotten it as a gift from his father upon receiving his Hogwarts letter. The Versailles model, the elder Malfoy had informed him with no small amount of arrogance. Only the best, of course, for his son.

Draco didn't particularly care for its gaudy elegance; it suited Lucius more than it did him. And though he wrote with it everyday, he disliked the weight of it in his hands, a result of the shaft being fashioned broader and stronger to hold more ink than most others of its kind.

Which is why Draco was surprised when he was able to snap it cleanly in two, black ink spilling over his fingers as he shuddered silently from the climax Blaise's skilled hand had brought him to beneath the table.

Trelawney clucked her teeth as she passed by. "I should have warned you about that, Malfoy. Saw it coming."

***

Tuesday. Astronomy.

The second was a snow-white swan feather, trimmed with silver filigree.

This one had been given to Draco by his mother when he'd become Slytherin Seeker, and he wondered what one earth she'd been thinking of when she'd purchased it.

Herself probably.

It was quite obviously meant for a feminine hand to hold, not a hand that, while slender, was lightly calloused from quidditch and more accustomed to gripping a broom. Draco had to concentrate on not pressing too hard against his parchment or holding it too tightly. It was so delicate and wispy that he was almost afraid to breathe too hard near it for fear of destroying it.

So he wasn't at all surprised when a breath was all it took.

While the Slytherins waited their turn to peer through the telescopes, Zabini leaned over and exhaled into his ear words so soft and vulgar that Draco's grip went slack with shocked arousal. A gust of chilly October wind took the opportunity presented and snatched the white feather from his fingers.

Blaise ensured Draco forgot about the loss before the pale shape had even disappeared over the side if the tower and into the night air.

***

Wednesday. Herbology.

There were no notes to be taken that day.

That did not keep Draco from silently cursing Blaise's name as he was yanked back into the recently vacated greenhouse number three.

Later, it took him half an hour to get all the dirt out from under his nails.

***

Thursday. Arithmancy.

The third was a warm sable brown quail feather.

It was also Goyle's and slightly chewed on.

Something was wrong with the tip, making it leave the occasional splotch or drip of ink on Draco's parchment, but he didn't mind. He was more concerned with trudging through the mountain of homework Vector had piled on them. He was starting to get a headache staring at numbers and moon signs.

Draco made a sound of disgust when Zabini announced that he'd run out of parchment.

Draco made a different sound entirely when Blaise pushed up his shirt and began scribbling formulas across his back.

The bed ended up splattered with ink and the brown feather crushed.

Draco didn't care.

***

Friday. History of Magic.

The last was a perfect cobalt blue heron feather.

It had been a Christmas gift from one of Draco's tutors when he was nine. Lucius had fired her not long after and Draco could no longer remember her name.

But this one was Draco's favourite. It fit well in his hand, felt like it belonged there, and it was a pleasure to hold. The colour pleased him with its subtle vividness, bright against his skin. He often felt like it had been made for him.

Which is why he avoided using it except when writing home to his parents.

It was unfortunate that this was all that was available to him when studying with Blaise that evening.

The ended up having an argument--one they'd had before--over a translation of a bit of Troll text. This time they came to blows.

When Zabini tumbled Draco to the floor, the nib drew black across his shirt and red across his skin. The feather snapped between the press of their bodies.

Blaise licked the red away. It was as close to an apology as he'd get.

Draco drew blood with teeth and nails and was not appeased.

***

Saturday. Hogsmeade.

There were a set of ten in Scrivenshaft's display case, all slender and stylish blue-black sheened raven feathers.

Draco had already tested one and it suited him well enough, yet he hesitated to buy them. Glaring at the slashes of ebony on red velvet, he remembered the previous week. Flushing slightly, he decided to remember instead how he'd been carefully avoiding Blaise since breakfast.

It was only a moment before he was telling the clerk, "I'll take those. The lot of them."

Draco figured that it would be at least two weeks before he'd need to buy more.