Could It Get Any Worse?

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Could It Get Any Worse?

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It's times like this that I'm glad that I was granted a good upbringing, and I guess it helps that I'm one of those people that exude poise and elegance, because I'm sure if I were any one else at this precise moment in time I would have quite likely fallen spectacularly on my arse. There are certain things in life that people are just not meant to see, and the nakedness of your most respected teacher and House Head is one of them.

I'm glad I was able to repress that disgusted shudder that I felt running through me, because I know that if Professor Snape required just one more thing to send him over the edge into suicidal tendencies, that would have been it; an acknowledgement that I had seen him. Naked. Ugh.

Quickening my pace to the Great Hall seems to be my best option and I'm glad that at least that is going without a hitch, although my potions homework can wait. It can definitely wait. And I would be eternally grateful to any higher being that would remove the image that seems to be burning its way into my memories.

I really need to start paying attention to my surroundings again. I know that. Really, I do. Unfortunately, I wish this little pearl of wisdom had come a moment sooner because that hurt like a bitch.

Wonderful, I take it back. I'm sitting on my arse outside the Great Hall and I certainly feel anything but elegant at this precise moment in time. I guess it was too much to ask that this day could get any better. But as I look up and see the twinkling green eyes of my favourite Gryffindor, I know that is definitely an impossibility.

"Well, Potter, are you planning on standing over me all day, or are you going to help me up?" I ask, hoping I sound as sarcastic as I do in my head.

"What, you want me to play knight in shining armour, Malfoy?"

Okay, now that was sarcasm. I'm quite impressed really, not that I'll ever tell him that, of course, but I'm impressed none the less. Sixth year has done wonders for Potter's confidence, and fuck if that doesn't make things harder for me, especially given the fact that I'm currently lying sprawled at his feet. Great, that's done wonders for the lovely images in my head.

"Well," I sneered. Or at least I hope I did. "I figured I'd let you work out that annoying hero complex you seem so fond of."

"That doesn't extend to you, Malfoy."

You know I watched him say it. I heard him say it...but then why is he extending his hand? Well, damned if I know, but the sooner I get up, the less likely it is that anyone will see me sitting on my arse at Harry Potter's feet.

I wasn't exactly prepared for the fact that Potter was more than capable of pulling me to my feet and I guess I overcompensated because I'm currently pressed a little closer to Harry Potter than I ever intended to get. Ever.

"As much as I'd like to continue this, Malfoy," his voice shocked me, I have to admit, and I think he knows that. Smug little git. "I have more pressing issues. Like my stomach."

And I think I'm still holding his hand. Wonderful. Great. And now he's leaving. I'm meant to get the last word in. It's a rule or something. I'm sure it is. So why is he sauntering over to his table with my smirk on his face while I stand in the hallway like a total idiot?

Smooth, Draco, real smooth.

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The End