Contempt

There they are, those filthy muggle-loving Gryffindors, settling for tea. My eyes quickly search for him, as they always do. Ah, there he is, with his Weasley sidekick and the mud-blood. They're always together, always going around Hoggwarts with an unmistakeable air of a pack of dogs. Oh, wait, I've lost him in the crowd. Oh, there he is, sitting down, with his giggling Weasley girlfriend hanging to his arm.

    Weird that I don't feel jealous of her, but she is such a pretty little thing, that even if I wanted to, I couldn't…

I pause then, shocked. Why would I feel jealous of her? It's not like I love him, it's just sex, after all.

I'm brought out of my reverie by Pansy, clinging to me, as usual.

I like Pansy, I really do. She's suitable. She's beautiful, rich, pureblooded and she has a mean streak to her, not to mention she is great in the sack. But she can be really obnoxious sometimes. Right now for example, interrupting me when I was studying him.

    Pansy is a strange girl. She is usually pretty dim, the typical air-headed trophy girl I wish to marry. Everything to her is "fan-tas-tic" and "fa-bu-lous" and "sy-lla-bi-ca-lly di-vi-ded" so she won't trip over a big word. But sometimes she proves she can be a true Slytherin, cunning and ruthless, making me seriously wonder if that dim-witted girl thing is just a front. If it is… even better. She is more than suitable. Just like that Weasley girl is to Potter. I guess that's why I'm not jealous of her.

     Oh, dear Merlin, now the Weasley siamese have arrived. And 3…2…1. There it is. Greeting their classmates with the ever so imaginative "How is it going?" in a tone of voice usually reserved to muggle UFO witnesses.

     Funny, isn't it? They really seem to mean it. That greeting is used among the Slytherins solely in an ironic way, like two heathens being tortured side by side in the Inquisition's dungeons and miserably trying to lighten up the mood resorting to that phrase.

     We truly are a different lot. Look at them, always addressing each other by their first names. Probably because many of them don't have another one.

     That Oliver Wood prat has caught me looking. I try to pay attention to what Pansy is saying, not before I imagine that Wood idiot in a kilt. The image brings a lustful smile to my face, which Pansy thinks is directed at her. Maybe later, my dear, maybe later.

"My, my, Draco! Do I notice something changing in the air?" she giggles in an irritating way.

"Yes," I answer, "I believe your right, I think it was Goyle."

She laughs.

"Oh, Draco, you're so naughty!"

"I try, madam...and then ten minutes later, when I've got my breath back, I try again..." She laughs again and starts talking of whatever Pansy Parkinsons talk, but I'm not listening anymore. I'm thinking of last night again. It always starts the same way. It's amazing how all those times don't just blur with each other in my head. We always start arguing, trading sarcastic insults, back and forth, until one of us loses his patience and tosses the other into a broom closet, or an empty classroom, or wherever we can. Of course he lives up to his Gryffindor fame of being short-tempered and reckless, so it is usually him who loses his patience first. It's usually him who takes control. And I find myself enjoying that.

     Who would have imagined it? The great Draco Malfoy liking to be dominated by Harry Potter.

     And the weird thing is that I still hate him.

tbc?