Blowing Origami Or Those Things That Really Suck
by zahra

The first step when you have a problem is admitting you have a problem. If Draco doesn't admit there's a problem though, then he can just pretend that everything is fine; but if Draco won't admit the problem then he can't actually get past it, and since there's no way on Mordred's grave that he's going to admit that there's a problem, he's hit a stalemate before he's actually gone anywhere to start with.

This does make sense, just not to anyone who isn't used to circuitous Malfoy logic, but since Draco is his father's son this is all as clear as... mud.

The fact of the matter is that in Draco's entire life there hasn't been a problem that couldn't be solved by a well placed curse, his own charm or an owl from his father. This problem, however, doesn't seem to fall under any of those problem-solutions, and that makes Draco very unhappy.

When Draco is unhappy, everyone suffers.


Draco's mother taught him how to fold origami when he was six. He had been in the west garden breaking in his newest broom, an imported OrbItalia 6, when he crashed broom first into the wall by his mother's sunroom.

After she had come out to see what the shrieking was all about, she had tended to his cuts and bruises as only a mother with an arsenal of house elves could. Once she felt that Draco had been sufficiently placated, she had ushered him back through the stained glass doors and shown him her afternoon activity, folding gorgeous paper into lovely little animals to be sent to those she loathed.

When Draco had asked when she went to so much effort for those she hated, she'd replied that hate was a special kind of a love and that everyone deserved to have some sort of happiness before they met such an untimely and unpleasant demise as opening a cursed letter.

Then she'd called in a house elf to show how merely touching the paper without gloves caused the recipient to turn blue and shrivel up like a Shrivelfig while their guts exploded in their chests.

It had been a very satisfying afternoon for Draco even though he'd lost his broom; and as he's grown older, he's resorted to creating origami when he's been feeling particularly sadistic.


Draco's never seen a Hufflepuff with rabbit ears before, but there's always a first time for everything. It's the third year Ravenclaw that ends up with the whiskers though, and if Pansy hadn't moved her arse as fast as she did, she'd've had a long furry tail to show for her insolent prying and transparent concern. Draco just throws a Jelly-legs curse at Ernie MacMillan because he can.

Draco's rather is vindictive and cruel, and has absolutely no rationale whatsoever. It's what Draco does best: acting without rhyme or reason, ignoring whatever might be a problem in order to get what he wants.

Draco is a selfish, petty, closed-minded sixteen year-old boy, but he's a boy with a problem and for once acting out all his vindictiveness still doesn't make him feel any better.

He goes to visit Madam Pomfrey because she's as close to his mother as it gets in this Merlin-forsaken place.


Draco's problem is Potter's fault because it's always Potter's fucking fault. If there were ever anyone born with the sole purpose of giving Draco someone to scapegoat, while at the same time causing him impossible loads of grief and indigestion, it's Potter. Not that Draco's been dwelling on this at all. Or that much. It's just that Draco's problem is making him more high-strung than normal, and Potter is, as always, insufferable with his spiky hair and his wide shoulders and his ridiculous Muggle trousers and the whole business, well, it's problematic. More problematic than Potter and his insufferable maggots. Mates. Minions. Whatever they are.

Potter may call them his 'friends' but Draco knows minions when he sees them -- he's got enough of his own to know. Of course Potter can't have more minions than Draco -- that's not allowed.


Punching Potter in the nose is very soothing to Draco's nerves.

Correction: having Goyle punch Potter in the nose is very soothing, because Draco's not stupid enough to start a fight like that without someone to do the dirty work. And even though violence of this sort doesn't solve Draco's problem, it certainly makes him feel better in the short run.

Malfoys are always interested in instant gratification, plus, it serves Potter right for not appreciating all the time and effort Draco put into making that origami crane for him in third year.

The only thing more problematic than Draco fancying Potter is how unappreciative Potter is of his affections.

Doesn't Potter know who he is?


There are several truths that Draco has come to accept since he was a very small child, sitting at his father's knee while he Crucioed the weak and feebleminded:

1. Fancying members of your own house and social stature is to be expected and encouraged.

2. Fancying members of your own sex is somewhat taboo, but under certain circumstances, perfectly excusable and on occasion, thoroughly encouraged.

3. Fancying members of your own sex who are pin-ups for The Self-Righteous Pricks is not permissible under pain of all Unforgivable Curses, even if they look very fit in their Quidditch robes

4. When in doubt, one should refer to Numbers 1-3.


It takes Draco quite some time to realise that problems do not go away by themselves, even when you wish very hard and repeatedly insult the object of your affect -- problem. And no, buggering someone else who somewhat resembles Potter does not make things better. Even when Draco squints and zaps Blaise with a Glamour Charm.


Sometimes there's nothing to be done but face the problem head on, which is exactly what Draco tells himself when he orchestrates a spectacular mid-air collision with Potter late one evening when Potter is practising his flying and Draco is practicing his watching.

It's only after they crash onto the Quidditch pitch, and Potter charges him like a mad hippogriff that Draco suspects that meeting problems head-on is not all it's cracked up to be. When he's staggering up to the infirmary twenty minutes later with a swollen eye and a split lip he's fairly certain of it.

When Draco leaves the infirmary several hours later and finds Potter lurking by the stairs to the dungeons, Draco decides he is never going to admit to anything ever again. Except that it's hard to remember to lie when Potter shoves him against a wall by his windpipe and all that comes out is, "I hate fancying you."

Draco drops to his knees when Potter releases him, and from this angle he can see all the dirt on Potter's cheap Muggle shoes. Draco's hands reach instinctively for his throat, and he coughs as he tries to relearn how to breathe. The urge to spit on Potter's shoes comes a distant second to making sure there's enough air in his lungs.

"So that's what your problem is." Potter's voice is disembodied noise in Draco's head.

"Of course that's what my problem is," Draco snaps, sitting back on his haunches and looking up at Potter. He can do haughty on his knees. It's not a problem. "What did you think was wrong with me? That I'd had a change of heart and wanted to join your side? Daft prick. Not bloody likely."

While Draco's talking the look on Potter's face changes from confused pity to complete and utter derision, which is good. Draco can do derision. He will not do pity.

"Then I guess there's no point in continuing this conversation," Potter says, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Draco's voice carries after him. "Tell me something I don't know."


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