The Draco Malfoy Angst Chronicles

The Draco Malfoy Angst Chronicles

Prelude...

Draco Malfoy was such an angst whore. Oh yes, he was. Everything had to be dramatic with him; with lights and sparkle, and horror music, and all those tiny violins claiming to be the tiniest one in the world, and depressing one-liners with zing that made women cry. Everything had to be big, even when he was supposed to ignore it. If you met him, he would have asked you to call him Drama Queen, only it hurt his reputation too much.

DRACO: [smiling smugly] Bow to me, weaklings.

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ACT ONE,
SCENE ONE:
Draco Malfoy Meets his Muse Er, Star.
SETTING: Everywhere you don't want to be
CHARACTERS: DRACO, HARRY POTTER

"I," Draco Malfoy announced clearly and smugly at the breakfast table, in between a helping of cottage cheese and a couple of slices of thick pink bacon, "have begun to write a play."

The announcement was said so grandly that Goyle began to tap his spoon against his crystal glass, only to be glared at by a few people and have Pansy hiss at him from the side. "It's not a wedding, you idiot!" By the look on Draco's face, however, it could have bloody well been a wedding, or maybe even a funeral, if it was for some ickle Gryffindor. He was beaming for all the Slytherin table to see, and it was actually rather sick. It was like this practically every day: attention Seeker Malfoy would clear his throat, smile like he was the king of England, and then say something horribly mediocre, like, "This morning, I woke up first," or, "Everyone, I am bisexual," or, "Last night, I had a dream that concerned a half-naked Harry Potter."

Well.

"Oh, are you, darling?" Millicent purred across from him, taking the cottage cheese quickly as his eyes were diverted. "That sounds wonderful, really wonderful. How is it coming?"

The look on Draco's face slid cleanly off as he remembered that he actually hadn't begun writing it yet. In fact, he never intended to really write it down: the idea had hit him in the shower, as a great many number of things have-- like the sudden urge to tackle Potter, or the repulsive, sick feeling of seeing Pansy without a top, or a bar of soap gone wildly astray. Ooh, his subconscious had tickled him in between bouts of rosemary mint shampoo, I'm going to write a play! About my life! And it will be filled with angst! And horror music! And violins; and oh it will have depressing one-liners that make women cry! Ah, it had been such a fine idea.

"I don't exactly know," Draco finally answered as he watched Millicent shovel a spoonful of cottage cheese into her mouth. He looked away quickly. "I mean--my imagination is so delicate!" Everyone smiled knowingly. "Creative genius takes time, and all that--"

"Jazz."

"Excuse me?" Draco's ears twitched as he heard the four-letter-word come out of someone's mouth. "Who said that?"
"I did," came that voice again, and Draco's poetic senses tingled. The voice was slightly familiar with a tinge of honey and a sweet, slick sound, like the kind that buzzes your ear when they whisper into it. "You said 'all that', and I said 'jazz', Malfoy. Honestly. If you're going to write a friggin' play you need to know all the classic lines."

"Potter!" Pink pin-pricked Draco's cheeks as he turned to face the impending, stupidsonofabastard who was leaning against the wall leisurely, just looking on. "What the fuck are you doing here?! And why do you always think you're so special that you get to intrude in on my personal conversations?"
"I," Harry Potter (for you cannot deny that it was he) replied with the same smug tone that Draco had used when he'd announced his play, "am here on special duty of Stick It Up Your Arse, It's None of Your Business, and it wasn't a personal conversation, Malfoy, because you were practically having it with the entire Slytherin table. That's not very personal, now is it?"

Draco scowled and turned around fully so he was facing Harry's stomach. Nice stomach. No, not a nice stomach. He'd be good as one of those naked nymphs they always have in plays. Ooohshutthefuckup. "Potter, you--" Words had failed him, and he stood up and growled, baring teeth in only the way a respected Malfoy could bare teeth. It was strange, really, because in his mind his subconscious was writing down every single thing that was happening, and it went a little like this:

-

DRACO: [spluttering] Potter you--
POTTER: Oh, now, Malfoy. Don't get yourself so worked up over me.
DRACO: [thinking: In which way?'] [shaking head] You're asking for it, Potter. I was in the middle of a conversation and you you just barge in like you think you're all that jazz, don't you!
POTTER: [nonplused] Good, you used it!
DRACO: [gritting teeth] Used what!?
POTTER: All that jazz'! Well. [smiling and looking across the hall] I have to go. It was nice making you angry, Malfoy. Good luck with your play.

[POTTER walks away, leaving DRACO thoroughly disgruntled, and even more so as He's got a nice arse' runs through his mind.]

DRACO: [slams his head on the table] Ohhh, no.

-

It was terribly strange how Harry was so unaffected by their whole spat; he was usually spitting and narrowing his eyes and exhibiting a large amount of teenage angst. But this time he was poking fun and grinning and making the whole thing seem like a little joke.

"What's Potter's deal?" Pansy quipped beside him, shaking her short black bob and wrinkling her nose. "He seems too happy. What's he smoking?"
"Do you really have to associate everything with Muggle drugs?" Theodore Nott snapped from a few places down. "You're always asking what someone's smoking."
"Sod off, Nott," Pansy sniffed impatiently, wrapping her hand around Draco's wrist. "Draco, Nott is making fun of me again."
"Oh for God's sakes, Pans--"

Draco tuned them out, thinking very hard and focusing on the head of black hair that was now seated at the Gryffindor table between that awful waif-like Weasley girl and The Bush--oh wait, that was Granger. Harry was smiling and talking and Draco thought of his play: he could be the naked nymph. Or the naked Cupid. Or the kinky rapist....or the muse. The really sexy, mood-swinging, I-bet-he-looks-like-sex-on-a-dish-with-his-shirt-off kind of muse.

After all, authors always had muses, didn't they?

Draco purposely stabbed his forearm with one of the twines on his fork and winced. "Shit," he said aloud, "What the hell am I smoking!?"

Pansy tittered.

-

[SETTING: On the Quidditch pitch. DRACO has walked onto the pitch to fly a little only to see POTTER already out there, alone. DRACO swears and calls out to POTTER.]

DRACO: [angry] Potter, get off of the field! I need to practice!
POTTER: [looking down and rolling eyes] I was here first, ferret, bugger off.
DRACO: [turning red] I said get out!
POTTER: And I said get out! Can't you wait until I'm done, like a normal person?
DRACO: Excuse me? I am not an ordinary being, I am a Malfoy, whose demands should be met immediately. And I am making a demand and it's not being fucking followed! [stomping foot on the ground] This is upsetting me very much--it's not good for my skin, you know!
POTTER: [flying around a little] Ah, don't be such a drama queen, Malfoy.

[He dips down and dismounts in front of DRACO, who is staring rather wide-eyed at POTTER.]

DRACO: [a little startled] How'd you know?
POTTER: [wiping his face] Know what?
DRACO: That-- [blushing slightly] --nevermind.
POTTER: [staring quizzically; then suddenly grinning] Oh, you mean that you're a drama queen?
DRACO: [stuttering; speechless] N--no--you...
POTTER: [walking in the direction of the locker rooms] It's not like you're trying to hide the fact that you like to make everything a big deal, and make everyone your cast, and pick me out as the evil bad guy. It was kind of, er, confirmed, when you made your play announcement at breakfast. Oh, it'll be a tragedy, won't it?
DRACO: [following him] You're not allowed to say that, Potter. I do not make everyone my cast, and my life is not one big tragedy.
POTTER: [scoffing] Of course it is, everyone's life is one big tragedy.
DRACO: Maybe for you, you sodding Boy Who Lived, but some of us actually lead mildly interesting lives. Why am I even talking to you anyway!? I need to practice. Did you hear that? I'm going to practice and not flaunt my Quidditch assets
DRACO: [stops and looks away]
POTTER: [looks confused] Quidditch assets?
DRACO: I meant, I don't show off like you do. See you around, Potter. Have a nice, tragic life.

[DRACO walks away hurriedly and POTTER turns around, looking mildly amused.]

-

Playwrights usually make decisions on a whim, and then correct them later, because a play is in need of writing and one can't be bothered with silly decisions like who will play the Heartbreaker or the Naked Candy Striper. Draco did not have use for either in his life (he would have liked to have a Naked Candy Striper, but he didn't think his father would be willing to supply for that, he was too busy with his Naked French Veelas), but he made the decision to put Harry Potter in his play--as himself--and made a vow not to correct it later. If you made too many important scenes with a character in it, it would be such a pain to go back and correct everything, not to mention all the drama would be interfered with. That would be horrible.

He flexed his fingers before getting into bed, even though he wasn't going to write. His mind was going to be the busy one, he was sure. Muses, Quidditch assets, drama queens, and all that jazz. Draco sighed. Yes, Harry Potter was going to play a rather important role, and it was going to leave the women crying, all right.

[DRACO MALFOY gets into bed and pulls the hangings around him tightly closed.]

--
Interlude...

He didn't like Broadway but he desperately wanted to know why everyone liked it so much when he could create his own one-man tragedy in a canopy bed. Pansy could clarify this. And so could, Draco would admit, a startled Zacharias Smith and a shocked Blaise Zabini. Draco didn't like classical music, even though he could play the piano and the violin. He wanted to know why the whiny strings intrigued people so much. So really, Draco wasn't interested in the real art of dramatics. He was interested in the Draco Malfoy Angst Chronicles.

He wrote them. Harry Potter starred in them.

--
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE: -FIN-