just for you (years 5-7)

chapter 29

(draco's pov)

-pansy's sixteenth birthday party-

"draco, c'mon, it's my birthday." pansy's voice is high-pitched, whiny. i don't like it at all. i try to avoid talking, really, in our little arrangement. "do you need a drink? or some food?" she raises her eyebrows. "i will give you anything for you to get up off your ass and at least pretend your having fun."

i look up at her, tearing my eyes away from them dancing in the middle of the floor. just like yule ball, i'm sat with a date i don't want to be here with, watching diggory hold the one i want.

fucking poetic, isn't it?

i finally answer pansy, saying i'll take a firewhiskey and then we can dance. she smiles graciously, forever the perfect host, and whisks away into the crowd.

i resume my position, leaning forward on my hand and sulking.

"malfoy!"

i pinch my eyes shut, instantly recognizing the voice. god, anything but this tonight. anything but this.

he slaps my back in commradery, taking a seat next to me with a wide grin.

i fucking hate parties.

"got your eye on anyone tonight?" he quickly continues, "oh right- you're with the birthday girl herself, aren't you?"

"loosely," i reply, hating the fact that people have heard about pansy and i. it's hardly even anything worth talking about.

"'atta boy!" he pats my back again, probably thinking my version of friends-with-benefits is a lot closer to his- not pushing her away whenever she tried to do more than snog.

i hope that's it. that this painful conversation is over, that maybe pansy will save me by bringing my drink.

luck is not on my side tonight.

"i for one, was very dissapointed to see y/l/n here with diggory." he frowns, taking a sip of his drink. i wonder how many he's had. "she'd be nice."

no kidding.

"mm." i hum back in response.

"how official are they? just starting things up?" he raises his eyebrows at me like i'm supposed to know all of the details of their relationship.

i guess i am. i guess no one outside of our group knows we haven't spoken for two months.

well- i've spoken. someone hasn't written back.

"not sure." i shrug, for once hoping pansy's face will appear around the corner

"so it's flexible then?" he smirks, leaning back on the couch. "maybe i've still got a shot tonight after all."

i sure hope not.

"mm," i respond again. where the hell is that woman? how long does it take to get a fucking fire whiskey-?

"you would put in a good word for me, right?"

not in a million years, mate. but nice try.