by Valentinia
“Oh yes, precious Potter, still mourning his precious Weaselby… Ever the hero, aren’t we Potter?”
“How dare you… How dare you insult her memory…”
“She was worthless, Potter. And you didn’t love her. I could see it, Potter, I could see how fake it was…for both of you…”
The rage “ he always was easily enraged “ is evident on his face. Self-righteous Saint Potter, ever the hero.
“Because you and Parkinson had such a meaningful relationship…” he tries to goad.
Ridiculous. As if it were that easy to get under the skin of a Malfoy.
“Was that an attempt at sarcasm, Potter? Because I’ll tell you freely that that slut meant nothing to me at all. She was easily thrown aside.”
“You’re disgusting. You really only care about your sick little self, don’t you? You just don’t give a damn, even about your so-called friends.”
He’s never really had friends, so he can’t tell if Potter might be right. He scoffs. Since when has Potter been able to tell him “ or anyone for that matter “ about emotions. Poor, abused, neglected Saint Potter with his scar and his famous parents. What does Potter know of real pain?
“She wasn’t a friend, even in the broadest definition of the term, Potter. She was there for amusement “ to be used and then got rid of. She served her purpose.”
“You’re pathetic, Malfoy. You think you’re tough “ but you’re just a Mommy’s boy, aren’t you? Always trying to impress your dear Death Eater daddy…”
“How dare you insult my father Potter! Worthless half-blood, you’re not worthy of licking my boots, no matter what some Muggle-loving idiot tells you.”
He can’t believe that Potter has brought his father into this. What does his father have to do with anything? His father who has fallen out of favor with the Dark Lord because of Saint Potter and his need to play the hero every chance he gets.
“Oh, you mean the Muggle-loving idiot you had to get Snape to help you finish off?”
This isn’t the way he’s supposed to react! Saint Potter staying calm? And how does Potter know about that moment of… of weakness? Of compassion? No. Weakness. It was weakness that stilled his hand and Potter has no right to know of… to speak of…
“Nothing to say, ferret boy?”
He has to say something, he can’t let Potter get away with knowing and with rubbing it in his face. He’s always had one over Potter, he’s always been the stronger, hasn’t he?
“I finished off the Weasley slut, didn’t I?”
He’s done it. With satisfaction he sees the anger alight in Potter’s eyes. It’s not true, of course, but Potter doesn’t know that now does he?
“You… you disgusting… pathetic…You’re just a… weak… sick…”
He grinds his teeth, because Potter isn’t even being coherent and he’s still making him furious. Malfoys are not weak. Malfoys are not pathetic. Malfoys are proud and powerful and even Saint Potter should have the sense to show some fear, damn it. Well, he’s played his trump and he’s going to get every second of pleasure out of it. It’s all or nothing now.
“Oh no, Potter, I am not weak. She screamed Potter, she screamed for you and where were you? Ever the hero and you couldn’t even save your own precious girlfriend.”
This is true, she did scream for Potter up until the end. Even he had felt cold when the Dark Lord had finished her off, even he had expected Potter to the rescue. But too late. Too late. And somehow he wanted her to live, but he’s relieved that she’s gone and it all doesn’t really make sense anyway. Potter isn’t responding. Good. He doesn’t know what to say. Malfoy can see Potter’s anger behind his bright green eyes and he takes pleasure in knowing that he caused it.
“Nothing to say, scar-head?” he taunts, mocking Potter’s earlier attempt at wit.
Suddenly, Potter’s wand is up against his throat. He hadn’t seen that coming. Why not? Malfoys are always prepared, and he’s been trained by the best, hasn’t he? So why could Potter, Mr. Rash, take him by surprise? The wand is biting into his sensitive flesh and he hates the feeling of weakness.
“You’re lying. You’re lying,” Potter grinds out. Malfoy is surprised he can even get words out in his righteous anger.
“You’ll never know will you, Potter?”
He can’t help shaking a little bit, because he knows that Potter is near using an Unforgivable, and because of something else, but he’s not sure what it is. His anger at Potter, his enjoyment in watching the filth squirm… it’s different now. More personal. It’s not just Saint Potter he’s going after, it’s Harry, of the bright green eyes.
Where the hell did that come from?
“I’ll kill you, Malfoy.”
He knows that the Gryffindor Hero isn't brave enough, no matter what the Sorting Hat thought. He knows that Potter is just as weak as he is, he knows that Saint Potter could never kill anyone. He knows that Potter is just talking, that he would never. That he is too weak. But is he? Is Potter really weak like him or is Potter truly compassionate?
“Do it then, Potter,” Malfoy hisses, knowing that he won’t, and almost hoping that he will, but mostly just beyond caring.
“I will, I’m warning you, I will…”
Malfoy just laughs because he knows that Potter doesn’t have the guts, that Potter is just as much a coward as he is. And it’s so good to know that Saint Potter is just as useless, just as weak, just as scared.
Here he stands, quivering a little, Potter standing over him, holding a wand to his throat but shaking just as much. And he doesn’t really know what makes him do it, because he knows that it’s wrong and it’s disgusting and he isn’t like that , and especially not with Potter.
And he tells himself that he’s just doing it to get Potter to lower his wand, but somewhere, a part of him is yelling that no, this is right, no, this is courage, no, this is good.
And that part wins, and even when the wand is thrown aside, he doesn’t stop, and when Potter opens his lips, Malfoy doesn’t really care if this is wrong or right or disgusting or beautiful, and he doesn’t care what his father would think and he doesn’t care about being powerful anymore, even.
He just knows that he’s kissing Potter. And that it feels so good.