i won't fuck us over

written by may (she/her, 25+). will only write/interact with 21+. 

so i know i really haven’t been around--had a major death in the family last month and i’m still reeling a lil from everything and honestly really fucking miserable and i don’t really have the energy for most of anything, let alone being here

He can feel eyes boring into him everywhere he goes. It’s a weird thing to complain about after everything that has happened the past few years, he knows, but it bothers him all the same. Isn’t the whole point of prison supposed to be rehabilitation? Isn’t he supposed to have paid his dues, atoned for everything he’d done wrong, be--if not welcomed--at least accepted back into normal society? 

Look, he gets it--he fucked up. He knows that better than anyone. But he’s been in Azkaban, he’s been better--well, tried to be better, anyway. Shouldn’t that have counted for something? Apparently, it doesn’t--everywhere he goes eyes follow him, watching him as if to keep track of him, as if they’re afraid he’s going to strike out at any moment.

Perhaps he should stay home, wait for everything to pass. But Draco Malfoy has never been capable of leaving well enough alone, and he sees no reason why he should start now. Maybe it will help, being out and about. Perhaps people will get used to the sight of him, and the novelty will wear off. Perhaps after enough time has passed he’ll be able to walk down a street without anyone turning to stare at him. 

(Maybe he’s just delusional.)

“ You always did, ” she mirrored him without realising it, taking a large gulp of her wine and bracing herself before delving into the conversation she knew that she couldn’t avoid any longer. Not when they had three courses stuck at this table together, elbow to elbow. 

For the first time, she looked at him properly, giving one cursory sweep over him before meeting his eyes ( that painful ache in her chest would be adamantly ignored - it had been her decision to break up after all, what right did she have to miss him? ). 

“ They’re my friends too, ” she reminded him but kept her tone as neutral as possible, not wanting to invoke and argument and cause a scene. “ I’ve been good - working, mostly. I’ve been in Paris, ” fashion week. “      just got back. ”

“ And you? ”

“Yeah, for all my many flaws, not knowing how to clean up was never one of them,” Draco conceded, before taking another sip of his drink. He was going to have to pace himself if he didn’t want to end up drunk before the night was even halfway through. Which was an appealing prospect on its own, though he didn’t quite want to give her the satisfaction of seeing just how much she’d gotten to him.

Biting his tongue, he resisted the urge to tell her they’d been closer to him than they ever were to her. It was petty, and childish, and he wasn’t sure that was the actual truth. That stilled his tongue, much more than anything else did. Besides, what point would it prove besides showing her just how upset he was?

Hermione was hardly deterred by the length of time that she had to wait; the timing of her arrival had been very specifically chosen to occur well before the working day started for maximum chance he’d be home. If anything, it was only making her more irate to knock and wait, then knock and wait, the knock and wait. On a cycle until the the door finally cracked open. 

Eyes that had been staring directly forward had to inch up a good foot to look him in the eye, and he looked about as irritated as she felt. Good. 

“ Isn’t it lucky I’m not selling anything then, ” Hermione was unperturbed by the callous greeting, taking an extra few seconds to study him before speaking again. She’d seen him before in pictures, usually taken in the courtroom of some high profile case, and while he had always seemed commanding within them, she found only a fraction of that had transferred through the pixels. In person, he was that and more - handsome, but with an air of intimidating arrogance that seemed to cling to him, even at the early hour. 

“ You don’t know me, but my name is Hermione Granger. I’ve come about the business you have with my father. ”

Oh dear, it was worse than a door to door salesman. He’d been half hoping it was someone eager to sell him encyclopedias (those people still existed, right?) but this managed to be, somehow, both better and worse. Better because it was sure to be at least entertaining, and he did love his entertainment, and worse because it was bound to be just as annoying as it was entertaining. 

Sighing, Draco leaned against the doorframe and studied her, looking deeply put upon. He had to get out of bed for this? It was like he had to explain the very basics of business to everyone and the simple fact that if people couldn’t afford to do business with him, then maybe the smart thing to do would’ve been to just not do business with him at all. 

     Rosalie thrives off this competition. Both claiming victory with their hubris from something mostly granted to them at birth. The woman moans with soft delight at the tug at her roots; it’s a pleasure he indulges her in often. Wild, long, and fluttering around her features, the golden curls frame her face with a misleading angelic glow. Her hand grazes south, nails gliding over his skin with the occasional less than tender touch. “I think I know how to do that just fine.. just give in, Draco, you know I get my fun playing with you.”

Draco shivers, despite his better judgement, at the way Rosalie trails her nails over his skin. Perhaps he should play a little harder to get, make her work a little harder for him--but sometimes the fun can be in giving in, in letting her get just what she wants. “Do you now?” he asks, tone almost curious, though he doesn’t move away from her hands, or from her. “Dare I ask what’s in that devious mind of yours right now?”

Albus nods at the older one when there is admittance to the most Gryffindor to ever Gryffindor. If there was ever a description, it was his older brother. The most obnoxious, self absorbed, fame-loving person he’s ever met.Not that he didn’t love his brother, but they did seem to always get on each other’s last nerves.

“Always,” Albus groans. “He likes the spotlight. He likes showing off, tossing his dumb auburn hair and making girls swoon. Never ask him to demonstrate his quidditch skills, because then he’d never shut up. He thinks he’s gonna be the next all star like Mum.”

As soon as Draco mentions how cool Teddy is, Albus agrees whole heartedly. Teddy is cool. The coolest. “Well, some are. Scorpius isn’t. Never.” Albus smiles at the thought of his best friend. “Good. My girl cousins used to get mad at me because I’d ruin their tea parties.”

But being told he’s safe here, Albus lets down a bit of a wall. “So–” Albus bites his lip. “You won’t call me a crybaby if I end up crying?”

“Well, it sounds like he’d have done well in Slytherin,” Draco says, trying to be fair, as he takes a slow sip of his coffee. It’s true--there’s something about the way Albus’ brother is being described that keeps reminding him of himself when he was their age. At least he learned something or another somewhere along the line, looks like.

“A lot of people are prats when they’re teenagers,” he offers thoughtfully. “Myself included. Most of them grown out of it. Some don’t, of course, but you can always kick them in the shins, and hopefully that will work.” He pauses. blinks at the boy. “Please don’t tell your father I’m encouraging you to kick your brother in the shins. I can’t imagine Harry Potter would take that well.” 

Buffy was sure she knew which Wesley he was referring too but she wasn’t going to give him that info until she knew what exactly he wanted with her. “I see and what do you want with him? If you don’t mind me asking that is.”