The Problem With Gryffindors

The problem with Gryffindors is that they're bloody buggers. Wankers. Bleeding gits. Fecking prats.

I'm not bitter. No. Not the least bit. Malfoys are NEVER bitter. It would imply they were once envious of something they could not get, which is not the case. Malfoys ALWAYS get what they want. So it stands to reason that I WANTED to be handed over to the Order by a fugitive Snape and refused my inheritance. I obviously wanted my father to become so enraged, so fathomlessly furious at me that he vowed to stop at nothing to see me writhing beneath his Cruciatus and then slowly disemboweled by the Dark Lord. I also so OBVIOUSLY wanted my mother to go barking mad with worry and regret that she'd more or less fallen off the media radar; who knew what had become of her now?

But I will say this; Despite my dashing good sport throughout it all, I've been labeled as "bitter." And I can't exactly dissuade these poufters when they have him leading the helm. Oh yes. You know who I'm talking about. Voldemort has NOTHING on the sort of tortures this wanker has thought up. It only takes him a mere few seconds to make my eyes roll up in my head from agony. And I bet you've also guessed who it was that came to fetch me from Snape's shambled abode. Oh yes. OHHHHHHHH yes.

Harry I'm-A-Friggin-Nail-In-Draco's-Side Potter.

And thats when it started. The torture. The agony. But did anyone care? Course not. McGonagal didn't bother to listen to my protests at how unbearable and abominable it would be if I were to be placed anywhere NEAR the twat. She disregarded my heeds and plopped me right smack dab in the middle of Gryffindork territory. Only reason I stopped from throwing myself out the window was the fact that I got my own private room. Unfortunately, it was across the hall from Losers R Us and I had to listen to their incessant chatter all bloody night long. They would giggle about girls and complain about homework and gossip about rumors and ...and...and...oh its too horrible to say. Let me steady my nerves before I press on...*ahem*...They had pillow fights. o_o. Yes. You heard me right. PILLOW FIGHTS. Complete with giggling and stomping and shouting. At that point, I was prepared to hand myself over to the Dark Lord and enjoy the disembowelment.

Then classes started up again (for me atleast). After the shock of realizing I'd miss close to two months of  7th year had worn off, I was determined to throw myself into my studies and really earn that cushy job at the Ministry. But it was not to be.

I believe I attempted to drown myself in my broth when I looked over my class schedule. Not only were they subjecting me to le idiots during the night, but it seemed I would be putting up with them during the day as well. It was entirely unofficial, but from that moment on, I was a...a...a..oh, pardon me while I vomit.

....

Ok. Sorry. Still a bit weak-stomached from it all. Alright. I'm ready. *Ahem* I was a...GRYFFINDOR.

Grimace all you like. I don't blame you. But honestly, I should've seen it coming. On my first night back, McGonagal warned me to not interact with my old housemates or friends and to not wander too far from Gryffinpuke Tower. I had always thought it was for my safety. I knew for a fact Goyle and Parkinson loathed me at the time, Nott was bent on catching me on my own to do terrible things to me, Zabini kept shooting me death threats and Crabbe had to dropout and his family to flee due to their loyalty to me. It was all very disheartening.

But the damn buggers were planning something more for me all along. Not only was I suffering for brief but painful moments when I HAD to use the loo (bringing me into direct contact with those loons) but Thomas kept trying to lure me into an inane game of Exploding Snap.

Grrrrrr.

Ok. Moving on. Malfoys do NOT dwell.

Its lunchtime now on my eighth week back and things have NOT gotten easier. They've only gotten worse, I'm afraid. I find myself wanting to reply when that Finnigan boy asks me a question. I have always had a weakness for Irishmen.
And Merlin help me if I don't want to pitch in when they start a rousing game of "Annoy Pansy Parkinson." I used to love that game.

And now I find my traitorous gray eyes wandering the courtyard since I found out the Golden Trio liked to eat out here instead of in the Great Hall. That was one of my greatest worries since becoming an Unofficial Gryffindoom; the Golden Trio. I had thought they led the morons through mere level of Do-Gooderness, but I was oh so wrong. They truly did LEAD their house. Everyone came to them for advice or help or just to talk. There were constantly three or four people at one time buzzing round the trio, chatting with them until they were dismissed and another pair took their place.

But here's the doozy. After careful observation, I had discovered that the three did, infact, HATE the attention. Which was why they were now tucked away in a far corner (still clearly visible from my perch on my favorite tree branch) of the courtyard, half hidden behind some shrubbery. It seemed lunch was the only time of the day they could be alone together. Trust me, it didn't take astute observation to figure THAT one out.

The Golden Trio. What an odd bunch. But by now, I don't believe anyone questioned why these three misfits had decided to band together to form the most notorious group in all of Hogwarts history. They just...fit. Which was why I despised them so much. Now that I didn't have my own friends and social agendas to distract me, I could properly loathe the three friends properly. I knew more about their routines and personalities and behaviors.

Weasel usually lost his temper too much to be of any REAL help, but he was fiercely opinionated and sickeningly loyal. He and the Mudblood had been apparently dancing round eachother for some time now and it regularly got on Potty's nerves. More than once I would see ol' Scarhead shooting them scathing looks behind peoples' backs, and the two would quickly quell their bickering.
Then there was Miss Mudblood. I would often see Potty and Weasel giving her withered looks as she went on and on and ON about books and homework and makeup. I would've gladly told her that lavender was ok but only on certain skin tones, powder foundation a MUST in this climate and blue on ANYONE was a big fat no-no. But she never bothered to ask, so I don't feel it pressing to tell. She can just continue to look like white trash in her sapphire eye shadow, hehe.
Then there was Potty. He sure was an enigma. I had always thought he was the easier to read out of all three of them. Atleast, he was easy to read where -I- was concerned. He was either mad, angry or pissed off with me. Pretty simple. But it seemed he held many more depths to him and no one knew of them except perhaps his other two-thirds. There were periods of time when the pair wouldn't speak to Potty and they'd quickly usher anyone away who tried. Naturally, this didn't apply to me. I could talk to the wanker whenever I wanted. It seemed like a rule, which I tested out a few times for validity.

But despite their random mood swings and quirks that would've drove ME mad in about two hours, they were closer than anyone I'd ever met. It was deathly sickening. And it made me hate them more.

Despite the war raging on outside and despite the last few months we had until we were forced into that bloodbath, they were happy. Like now.

Ugh, it was disgusting. Mudblood was reciting something from a dusty tome while the other two leaned against eachother, feigning snoring. The bushy-haired banshee caught on, whacked Potty in the chest (which HAD to of hurt greatly, despite what his grin implied) and pouted. Weasel and Potty just laughed and tried to apologize, but seriously, did they expect to be taken seriously when they were flushing and holding their stomachs and snorting in the middle of "sorry"? Apparently Granger was gullible and simply scowled at the two before letting them sandwich her in a hug.

Oh it was PUTRID. I wouldn't be caught dead acting like such a fool. No one ever laughed off MY glares or dared ignore something I was saying--well...maybe BEFORE they wouldn't. I was just a great big nobody NOW, wasn't I? Not even the Golden Trio noticed me anymore. The threats had died and no one taunted me. Even when I'd occasionally send a zinger Potty's way or commented on Granger's remarkably frizzy hair or questioned Weaselbee's astounding amount of freckles, did they bother to retort. Seemed they found me something to pity. Like it was MY fault my father wanted to kill me and my mother had gone insane and I didn't have a soul in the world who cared for me. Like they were better than me since I had not a knut to my name or a place to call my own.

Bloody Do-Gooders. Just because they were saviors in everyone ELSE'S eyes, they thought they could pass judgement on whoever they wanted. As if THEY themselves were so great. Cause they WEREN'T. I'd seen so with my own eyes. They were just as flawed and incomplete and odd as the rest of us.

A churning burned in my gut and I couldn't see straight anymore. My lunch barely touched, I leapt down from my branch and stormed over to the trio before I could stop and properly fix my ruffled appearance. For now, I didn't care that my hair wasn't perfectly gelled and now flying in different directions from the cold breeze. I didn't care that my robes weren't creased and falling in beautiful lines down my legs. I didn't care that my bag had a twig and a flower poking out from one of the pockets (I rather liked that flower, anyway). All I cared about was setting them straight and knocking those infuriating grins from their faces.

"Stop it."

It was the first thing I'd said to ANYONE in more than a month, so I could forgive their looks of stupor. It still didn't make them any less annoying.

"Pardon?" Granger inquired, her brow rising.

"I said STOP IT." I repeated, always hating repeating myself. Like I was some kind of bird.

Potty frowned, the laughter still in his eyes and a smirk twitching in the corners of his lips." Stop...WHAT?"

"THIS."I waved my hands in meaningless patterns to indicate exactly what I meant." Whatever it is you do, STOP IT."

Weasel looked the most confused. Why wasn't I surprised?

"I'm sorry, but you've got us pretty lost here, Malfoy." Potty said, trying to stifle his snort.

I glared and barely noticed his shiver."You may fool everyone else here, but you don't fool ME. I see you for what you really are. You have no RIGHT dolling out judgement when you're just as clueless and alone as I am." THIS seemed to knock some sense into them, but I wasn't about to lose my momentum or adrenaline at this point. I'd been waiting and researching and puzzling for far too long."I don't want your pity OR sympathy. I've been through far worse than any of you and I've never had to use it to gain power or influence. This time is no exception. Just you wait. Your fame will die with the end of the War, but I'll continue to live and be a REAL success and it won't have a THING to do with destiny. Destiny is for fools who don't know how to control their own lives."

And with that, I stormed away, pleasantly tingling and oddly satisfied. Nevermind that what I had ended up saying was not what I MEANT to say. But things happened for a reason and I suppose this was one of those instances. So as I strode back into the castle, I felt a bit of a weight lifted off my shoulders and for once, I didn't purposely scare the pants off of Longbottom as he walked ahead of me.


- - - - -

Christmas had been lovely. Still strange that I wasn't at Malfoy Manor, stuffing myself with Grandmother's fig pudding and enjoying the strawberry champagne my mother would slip me throughout the night. I received two presents and for the first time in my life, I didn't care. I enjoyed a quiet afternoon reading the book about a muggle detective falling for a witch and the murder they had to solve Remus Lupin had gotten for me and the tin of raspberry truffles Crabbe sent from wherever it was he was hiding.

The fire was roaring, the soft duvet warm as it spilled over me and the couch deep and inviting as I sunk deeper into it. My mint tea was wafting from the chipped china cup I had managed to salvage from a corner of my trunk and Artemis, my eagle owl, was murmuring contently in his truffle-induced sleep.

I was almost about to drift off myself when a knock at the door woke me up sharply. Grumbling, I untangled myself from the warm folds of my blanket and shuffled across the room. Imagine my surprise when I find my visitor to be none other than Harry Potter.

He shifts, scratching his arm and looks up at me. I watch as a curious pink spreads over his cheekbones to the tips of his ears." U-uhm, is this a bad time?"

I frown and lean my hip on the doorjam."Well, I was about to find out whether the detective loves her or not, but seeing as I was moments from sleep anyway..."

He clears his throat and motions to my body. I look down and try to figure out what he had meant when it dawns on me. Haha. I'm in a worn white, long-sleeved thermal, faded fitted-jeans and thick white socks.

"Oh. Well, I imagine this is the most under-dressed you've ever seen me.Rest assured Potty, its not a sign of the Apocalypse. Was there something you wanted?"

The corner of his lips twitch and I dare say that was a SMILE. Hmm, well maybe it IS the apocalypse. "Well, uhm, I was actually hoping to talk to you some. Er, may I come in?"

I step back casually, opening the door for him. I can't help but wrinkle my nose as he walks by."Eugh.Is that Eau du Pomegranate?"

He blinks, startled, then blushes and rubs the back of his neck. So odd to see him do that cause of something I  said. "Er, yeah. Hermione got it as a present and she went a BIT crazy spraying it on herself. I think the entire common room's gonna smell like it for awhile."

I shake my head and make my way back to my couch, where I curl up under the warm cover once more."Fantastic. Even more reason for me not to come out until school starts."

He stands awkwardly near the door before a flick of my hand brings him closer and onto the other end of my couch. "Uhm...nice room. Doesn't even look like a Gryffindor dorm."

"That's what clean does to a room." I commented, staring at him evenly.

His ears turn redder."heh heh. Probably.Uhm..."

I tilt my head, for some reason having fathoms of patience I normally wouldn't bother with."You said you wanted to talk? I imagine not about the state of my decor."

He smiles and rummages in the pocket of his sweatshirt before producing a gold-wrapped gift no longer than his hand, which he then hands to me. I'm shocked, to say the least, and my face shows it apparently because he then chuckles. "I would've thought you'd be used to getting gifts by now, Malfoy."

"Ehm, I-I am. Just...not THIS Christmas. And not from YOU."I take it anyway and roll it between my fingers before looking back up at him." Why...?"

"Well..."He trails off and looks round my room. Seeing something he likes apparently, he gets up and examines my little shelf above my desk of books and framed pictures and a tiny painting."Who's this little boy? He's really cute."

I smirk lightly and tuck my legs under me." Why thank you."

He looks up, stunned and turns the brightest shade of red to date. I had always thought only Weasel was capable of such a color."Y-you mean..."

"That was painted by one of my mother's old friends when I went with her to visit her hometown. I must've been about, oooooh, 4? My blonde hair hadn't whitened yet."

He looks back at the painting and runs a finger along the curve of my younger self's jaw, making me pink with surprise. "You looked so full and fresh and happy."

"Hmm, well, my father always thought I was too chubby, so he cut down my meals. It was only my mother that encouraged a healthy appetite." I say, draping an arm along the top of the couch.

"I'm surprised you can talk so candidly about them." Potter says, gently picking up a portrait of my family and I.

"I always have. You've just never asked."

He turns around with an odd frown to his eyebrows before he motions to the gift." Go on and open it. I promise its not jinxed or anything."

I nod and give the ribbon a gentle tug." Cause if it is, I'm giving you pink hair and a horrible rash in an inappropriate pla--...oh my..."

I can feel his grin on me as I pick up three thin leatherbound books from the box. I can smell the deep, musky scent of old dragon hide and the jewels encrusted in the cover twinkle from the light through my window. I run my fingertips over the title, in awe." This...this is..."

"Volume I, II and III of Shoyru Tales, all First Editions."

I'm dumbfounded. Absolutely dumbfounded. These were extremely rare and incredibly hard to find books from a 3-long series by Munford Mullberry. It was originally transcribed back in the early 1300s and had gone through many an editing. Even I  had only managed to get the first volume in a later and much varied 17th century version. "This is my favorite book from when I was a child. How did...?"

He smiles and comes to stand near me."I did some research of my own. I remember overhearing you talking about it with Crabbe when I had passed you in the halls."

I nod, staring at the books in my hands as if they were made of delicate silk."He...he was the only one I'd talk to about it. He was the only one who didn't make fun of me for liking a children's story." I feel the threat of tears burning in the corner of my eyes as I shake my head.

"He was the one who told me."

I look at Potter, as if I barely REALLY saw him. This kind and considerate Potter was someone I had never encountered firsthand but had seen at a distance many a time. "Why...?"

He sighs and looks at his hands." I...I kept remembering what you told us a week ago in the courtyard. Hermione and Ron said to write it off as you just venting your frustrations, but I couldn't. I...I knew what you had said was the truth. I...we ALL had, looked down at you. When really, there was no reason. You haven't once let your situation get you down. You just stood and faced it all and not once have you let yourself falter. You're probably the strongest of us all."

I bite my lip and hug the books to my chest."If I disagree, will you take the gifts back?"

He sits down besides me with a frown and only now do I notice the way the tips of his hair curls against his jaw. "What?"

"I'm...not as strong as you seem to think I am. Only reason I haven't faltered is because...I was never allowed to. I was brought up to always hold my head up high and to never let circumstances grow out of my control. I'm a Malfoy. I'm supposed to ALWAYS be in control and be calm.It's not something I wanted, but I accepted it and lived with it." I hug the books tighter. "But I saw you with your friends and all these terrible things have happened and keep happening and I'm sure I don't know even the half of it, but yet you can still manage to smile with them. You get to feel all these things as they're happening but know you can atleast smile with those two once they're over."

"That's not true." He says, his green eyes a bit darker than I first remember. "I hid a lot from Ron and Hermione. More than I should, I suspect. But its...its natural, I think, to hide things we don't want others to know about ourselves. Its natural to protect those secrets. Its just...some of us are more inclined to hide than others. Like you and me. We've been through a lot and we hide just about as much. Only difference is you don't let it show and I deny it."

I look at him, I mean REALLY look at him and I see what he means. We're not different. We're not less or more than the other. We're much the same and I was too proud and hurt to really see it. All I saw were his grins and laughter and friends and fame. I didn't see the flicker of pain round the specks of green or the heavy limp to his long black hair or the shadow of something sinister beyond his left shoulder. Just like he didn't really see me, I didn't really see him.

So I laugh. A strange reaction to something as serious as this, but it seemed fitting. He looks at me as if I've gone bonkers, and I suppose I have. But he joins in a moment later and soon we're clutching the couch and our stomachs, rocking with laughter. He pats my knee, tears of mirth in his haunted eyes, and a shiver shocks my lithe body.

An ache makes my lips part and the last of my laughter dies away. He seems to be in much the same state as I am and I wonder absently whether I have the same flush to my face, too.

He leans in, I lean in, growing closer, closer, his breath on my face, my heart hammering in my chest, closer, closer, and at the last moment, we both jerk our heads away. I can feel the perspiration of stress and anxiety forming beneath my collar and my chest's heaving and my hands are shaking as they grip the books even tighter. He's in worse a condition. He's staring out the window, rubbing his hair into quite the rumpled state and chewing on his lip.

"So, ahhh..." He mutters, side glancing me cautiously.

I look down." Um, yeaaaah."

"Well, hope you enjoy the books," He says, quickly rising and heading to the door.

I follow hastily and hold the door open." Ah, of course! Thanks again, Potter."He smiles awkwardly and leaves and I sink against the closed door and hold my burning cheek. "Good Lord, Artemis..."

My owl hoots at me sympathetically, his head cocked with curiosity.

"That's the problem with Gryffindors. They seem one way then go ahead and completely change things on you."

He hoots once more, in either agreement or as if to say "if you say so, moron".

I smile a bit and fondly rub my thumb against the soft leather of my new books, lost in thought. Then a calm conclusion comes into me and I move. After stowing away my gifts on my bookshelf and throwing on a sweater, I go down to the common room and make a loud statement about the atrocious smell of rotten fruit.

Granger scowls at me and the others try to stifle their snickers of agreement. Potter breaks out in a blush as I sit next to him on the floor and offer everyone a truffle from my tin. Weasley's looking as if Hell froze over, Granger's trying to properly sniff her clothes for whatever offensive scent everyone seems to be conspiring on and Potter's rubbing his neck, chewing on a truffle nervously.

Finnigan asks me if I'd like to play Truth or Dare amidst many a protest (mainly about Finnigan's style of gaming) and I agree, much to everyone's shock. Finnigan doesn't think so. He's all grins and excitedly plops down next to me and declares that if I, Draco Malfoy, wanted to play Truth or Dare, then everyone should play. And they do. And it turns out to be a very entertaining game.

Seamus had to wear his briefs on his head the entire game (which he didn't seem to mind, the little weirdo), Ron had to sing "I'm a little teapot" pantless, Dean had to eat fudge off of Ron's lap, Neville had to eat what Dean didn't, Lavender had to paint a clown on her bum, Potter had to take off his boxers while keeping on his jeans and Hermione had to flash her bra to all of us. And after about a crate of butterbeer and a bottle of Filch's nicked Fire Whiskey, I was finally dared to kiss someone. So, I turn to my right and shock the hell out of everyone as I plant a soft, slow kiss on Harry Potter's...cheek.

Seamus groans along with Lavender and Neville and Dean shouts about wanting his money back. Hermione's all pink and fanning herself and I do believe that was Ron keeling over. Meheh. The party dissipates after that, all complaining that I had spoiled their fun, and trek to their dorms with full stomachs and bubbling laughter accenting every other sentence.

I crawl over and lay down infront of the fire, watching the last of the Gryffindors file away upstairs. It is a moment of contentment I never dreamed possible. I feel...full. Not just of butterbeer and sweets, but something else, something I can't quite explain.

I had never experienced a Christmas like this before. Sure, I've had tons of family over the Manor and parties and food, but it was all so quiet and forced. No one wore their underpants on their head or laughed so hard at someone who's lap was getting eaten that liquid shot out their nose. There wasn't any laughter or smiles or inconspicuous shoulders pressing into you or fingers gently covering yours.

So as I lie here on my stomach infront of the warm fire, sock-clad, hair askew, eyes droopy with liquor and exhaustion, I smile genuinely and gaze fondly at the carpet of gold and burgundy beneath me. It had snuck up on me. It had happened before I knew it, before I was aware enough to stop it.

A warm body plops down next to me and I sigh as a hand moves up my back and threads into my hair. I turn my head and smile lazily at Harry who's face is so close our noses brush.

"Did you have fun?"

I nod and let my eyes grow heavy as the hand in my hair starts to stroke.

"You know...it doesn't have to just be today. It could be forever."

I nod again, shifting my body into the one besides me just enough to get my point across. I can feel his grin as he presses a kiss to my hairline and I'm left with my nose pressed into his throat and a dizzying scent of butterbeer and chocolate and pine and just HARRY. "That's the problem with Gryffindors."

He pulls back and looks at me, a cute frown on his face." What?"

I smile and we finally share that kiss we'd been destined to have since the day we first met, fools be damned."They have hearts so big, they swallow you whole. But I'm beginning to not mind so much."

He chuckles and I see the shadow over his shoulder fade the slightest. "Yanno, you're a Gryffindor, too."

"Did I swallow you up yet?" I mumble sleepily.

I'm pulled into his arms and his chest is so comfortable I wonder why I was ever thrilled about goose feather. "You swallowed me up a long time ago."

I smile in reply and curl my arms round my fellow Gryffindor, slowly giving in to sleep. He's petting my hair and his heartbeat thumps in my ear and I realize that there was never a problem with Gryffindors to begin with. The problem was with ME.

Harry hugs me closer, sighing with contentment.

I let that silly thought go, along with the others like it, and enjoy the truth and life I had wandered into; I was a Gryffindor and I'd never been happier.