Attention

Chapter Fifteen

Draco had a difficult week following his confrontation with Potter in the dungeons. He was constantly looking over his shoulder, expecting to see Pansy or Millicent coming at him with a deadly curse, or waiting for the rumour mill to suddenly erupt with the assertion that Draco Malfoy was gay and had the hots for Harry Potter. Even worse, he kept watching the front pages of the Prophet for a big bold proclamation that Lucius Malfoy had escaped Azkaban and had put a price on his Mudblood-loving son's head.

He still hadn't written home. He knew he ought to, but he thought that taking Professor Snape's advice would, somehow, validate his actions. Really, he was just doing what he'd been told to do.

Along with the problems of what to do about Pansy, and worrying that one of his classmates would come after him, and wondering if his father really did want him to be a Death Eater, and hoping that no one would find out what had happened between him and Potter, he was also still finding himself obsessed with Ginny Weasley, and he wasn't happy about it.

After pinning her against the wall a week ago, his dreams at night were filled with extensions of the situation where he took the action further and pinned her with his full body, rubbing against her as she moaned and writhed with pleasure. Sometimes she struggled against him, which made the ecstasy all the more forbidden—

But why forbidden? She was a pureblood.

A blood-traitor pureblood, and the Malfoys and Weasleys have been feuding for centuries, his pride told him.

Still, she was extremely hot, and there was no reason for him to stop fantasizing over her. He didn't have to like her or anything to want to get into her knickers.

He looked at her, sitting at the Gryffindor table in silence, engrossed in a book, eating her breakfast methodically. He remembered how she'd looked the day after he'd kissed her, her finger on her lips, no doubt remembering the kiss.

Unbidden, he imagined what it would be like to kiss her again, this time having her respond, then to get his hands under her robes, to feel the soft bits and pieces, to put his mouth in unspeakable places and feel her wriggle and writhe, to—

He shifted on the bench, then glanced up apprehensively as the post arrived.

With horror, he saw that his eagle owl was winging its way towards him, an envelope clamped in its beak. Within seconds it had deposited the letter in the remains of his toast and flown off without so much as a drink of water.

The day of judgment had come.

Draco looked up and around at his tablemates. Apart from Greg and Vince, who were so focused on making sure their forks got to their mouths that they couldn't pay attention to anything else, the entire table was looking at him expectantly. Even Pansy had deigned to look in his direction, but her look of gleeful anticipation didn't make him feel any better.

Shit, shit, shittedy-shit.

The envelope shook slightly as he took his knife and slit it open. A single piece of parchment slid out and lay itself, with a soft squelching thud, perfectly flat on the table in front of him. It bore his father's handwriting.

Draco,

Failure and weakness are two qualities not permitted in a Malfoy. Failure, which is the act of not doing what is expected, is the standard of behavior in lesser creatures, in those who have no pride and no honour. Weakness, which is the act of succumbing to temptation of any sort, has no place in a child of the Malfoy line, and has never been something of which we have been accused by our peers.

Until now.

My son, thou hast failed me. Those who fail do not deserve the privileges of my family; for it is writ that failure is the deepest of offences and shall be cast out or stricken from the line. Consider your ancestors, those mighty wizards who made the family what it is today, what we are proud to carry on.

I shall give thee but one chance to redeem thyself. Thou art my progeny, hence thou art surely clever, resourceful, and cunning. I trust thee; and I hope this is not a failing of mine. Do not cause me regret.

Lucius

Draco took several deep breaths, giving his chaotic thoughts a bit of time to sort themselves out.

The first thing he thought of, and it was with guilty relief that he thought it, was that he was still alive. His father would never wish to harm his only son, and Draco had been stupid to think otherwise.

He wasn't out of the woods yet, though. That part about stricken from the line—he knew exactly what that meant. He would be removed from the family tree, cast out like so many other blood traitors. He'd be without inheritance, without connections, without anything, if he didn't fix the situation.

Lucius was spitting mad, obviously because Pansy had broken the engagement and Draco hadn't written to say so. Lucius wasn't angry because Draco had supposedly fallen for the Mudblood. There was nothing in the letter about Granger at all. Snape had been right: Lucius had seen Pansy's cattiness and tricks for exactly what they were.

He read on:

I shall give thee but one chance to redeem thyself.

That clearly meant that Lucius was expecting Draco to be currently in the process of reinstating the engagement. Lucius would never believe that his son had given up on the family, which was why Draco had been given the one chance. No doubt he was just getting impatient. This letter was simply a nudge for Draco to hurry up and get on with it, because his father loved him and didn't want to have to disown him for the sake of the family name. To make things right, all Draco had to do was get Pansy back… somehow. Flowers, cards, Granger's head roasted on a platter?

Maybe Draco ought to strike a bargain with her. After all, marrying was certainly in both their best interests: the pureblood families were starting to get smaller and smaller, and Pansy's only other halfway decent option was Malcom Baddock. The Baddocks were almost as wealthy as the Malfoys, but nowhere near as old nor as venerated a line. Plus, Malcom was younger than Pansy, extremely dull—there were some nasty rumors of a half-troll on the mother's side—and very, very ugly.

Draco was a good catch and he knew it. A bargain was definitely the right thing, the Slytherin thing, to do. But what could he offer? About the only thing he had that she'd ever wanted was sex, but he wasn't quite as convinced any more that she actually enjoyed it. Maybe he could learn more, make it more pleasurable for her. Surely there was a book or two in the library about witch anatomy and how to take advantage of it…

'Letter from home?' said a snide voice.

Draco whirled around. While he'd been staring off into the distance, the object of his wonderings had come over to stand behind him, just as she had two weeks ago—had it only been two weeks?

'Yes,' said Draco coldly. Then he remembered he had to be nice to her, and said again, 'Yes. My father, about you.'

'About me?'

For a moment, Draco was convinced by her attitude of surprise. 'Yes, darling, about you.'

Her eyes narrowed at the 'darling'.

'Pansy, love, how would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?' Draco asked. 'So we can discuss, ah, possible arrangements? To our mutual benefit?'

'If you really think I still want to have anything to do with you when you're going to go off consorting with Mudbloods and Mugglelovers, you must be—'

'I am not consorting with them!' Draco protested.

'Your father thinks you are,' Pansy announced quickly, obviously considering that this should come as a shock.

'Yes, I know he thinks I am,' Draco said. 'You told him I was in love with Hermione Granger.'

'How did you—'

'I have connections, okay?' Draco said tightly. 'If it weren't my own head you're trying to condemn, Pansy, I would compliment you. You've really worked this the right way. But it is my head we're talking about, and I rather like it. So, unless you want me to tell your mother that you've got your eyes on Potter—'

'You're trying to blackmail me?' Pansy laughed. 'Me? And Potter?' She guffawed loudly, attracting far more attention from the Great Hall than Draco would have preferred. 'You've obviously been spending too much time in the library, Draco. Studying with your new Mudblood girlfriend?'

Draco growled, 'There's nothing between—'

But Pansy continued, in a carrying voice, 'You've not heard the latest, then, have you? Everyone's talking about it, about how you and Potter were in an empty classroom together, and how Potter came out looking all hot and bothered.' She smirked, clearly enjoying her tale and the sensation she was causing.

Draco stared at her, aghast but trying not to show it. The corridor had been empty when he'd left the classroom.

'Potter has a crush on you, Draco. His preferences lie on the other side of the fence.' Pansy snickered. 'Watch your arse, Draco.'

'Pansy, listen to me,' Draco said in a low voice. 'I'll get a basket from the house-elves and we can go down to the lake. I could try out some things I've read about recently. Does that sound nice?'

'It sounds like the worst possible evening I could possibly spend. Drop dead, Draco,' Pansy spat, then added coldly, 'but you won't need my help with that.' She turned on her heel and flounced out of the hall.

Draco looked around the Great Hall and realized that almost everyone was staring at him. There was a time when he would have glared, or sneered, or told everyone to fuck off despite the presence of half-a-dozen teachers at the High Table, but now he was simply tired.

Picking up his bag and his father's letter, Draco trudged out of the Great Hall. He wasn't sure where he was going… maybe he'd drown himself in the lake.