To prove that PMS can do the craziest thing to a person, I just wrote a ficlet - could be viewed as Draco gen or H/D pre-slash. May or may not continue - depends on feedback ^__^ Just over 1100 words and in typical bunny fashion, untitled and
unbetaed (fourfreedoms was amazing enough to fix my odd grammar!).
It wasn't as if Draco would ever admit it aloud- not even after a night of drunken carousing with the boys - but as a more than decent Slytherin he wasn't oblivious to the truth.
Not just better than him but better than most people. Enough time had passed that he could look back at his school matches with a sense of wistful nostalgia. The blood pumping in his veins as he and Potter faced off, the love of the sport itself eclipsed by the desperation not to lose. It had become apparent in his third year that he couldn't really pass off defeat as Potter's dumb luck.
It had taken him until fifth year though to realize that he wasn't really going to win unless the Boy-Who-Lived was out of the game. And then Gryffindor had the Weaslette to carry on the mantle of victory.He'd had an inkling at that moment which when faced with, had him smashing things.
Perhaps he just wasn't good enough.
Though really, when Potter left the field it became more about unsettling the Weasel than catching the snitch. Games with Gryffidor weren't so much about a house win as it was about personal victory- whether it was by beating Scarhead or by destroying his friends. Of course then Ron Weasley had to get good at his position and it all went to shite.
Fifth year had been important in making him realize his limits. He was a decent player, he got very good OWL results but he never really, well, excelled at anything. So by sixth year, when the time had come to prove himself to everyone around him, he'd been ready to sacrifice anything and everything.
He wondered if Potter had missed him.
Which was silly really, since the git had been dogging his every step and fucking known somehow that he'd been up to something nefarious. In any case, some of the most exciting moments of his school years had been out on that quidditch pitch facing off with the Boy Who Lived. It was one of the many places where Harry Potter's feats proved to be legend.
He was probably among the few who understood why Potter went professional after the war. The public had been clamoring for a change in management at the ministry, most likely with the Chosen One playing a pivotal role in the scheme of things to come. But their golden boy had already done his part. He'd gotten rid of the latest Dark Lord and that was that. He contacted the Chuddley Cannons and negotiated a reserve spot. He was bumped up to first string after a single game. It wasn't really difficult to see why.
On a broom the man was a god.
Draco would listen to the Wireless Game Broadcasts and the roar of the crowd chanting "POT-TER! POT-TER!" could be heard under the commentator's deliveries. There was still a part of him that wanted the perverse satisfaction of hexing something, perhaps the nearest house elf. It was a hopeless cause though as Potter-mania swept the quidditch world by storm and there was no getting away from it.
Of course, one tends to grow numb to the constants in their lives - Potter in the press was the norm. Draco had matured enough to take it in stride. There was the fact that the man had destroyed the biggest threat to his family and been the key witness at his court hearing. He would have otherwise lost the entirety of the Malfoy Estate to the Ministry's greedy claws.
Not that it was anything personal.
Potter had simply accounted for his actions as a double agent during the war. There hadn't been much to say really - after Severus Snape's cover had been blown, it had been a matter of months before Voldemort was burnt to ash. Sure, the Dark Lord had had the last death eaters broken out of Azkaban but that had probably sealed his fate as Lucius Malfoy put survival before service to the master who had betrayed him.
It sounded fantastical when Draco thought about it. His own father, one of Voldemort's staunchest supporters, defecting with his wife and son. It had just taken the near destruction of the entire Malfoy line to do it, though if anything could be said about his family, it was that they were Slytherin to the core. This last ditch effort ensured that Lucius was exiled to the Americas for the next ten years rather than being imprisoned again. His wife joined him for the much needed change of scenery.
Draco had opted to remain behind.
It had taken months to sort out the family fortunes and almost as long to adjust to the responsibilities that came with being the sole Malfoy on the continent. Following his full pardon and an Order of Merlin (Third Class) commendation, there were fewer whispers behind his back. Whispers that were completely silenced after the size of the family vaults were leaked to the Daily Prophet. One of the few things that had kept his father sane in Azkaban was playing the muggle stock market.*
There is one thing in particular needed in the aftermath of any war and that is money. England's wizarding economy owed much of its recovery to Draco being a fast learner. Constant communication with his father via private fire chats had saved several business ventures from ruin. It had also led to a few vastly profitable enterprises across the Atlantic, spearheaded by Malfoy senior. In fact wizarding relations between the United States and the Great Britain had never been better.
Which was why Draco's parents were coming back.
Due to exemplary behavior and an army of the most ruthless lawyers money could afford, Lucius Malfoy's exile was reduced to little over five years. He and his wife would finally set foot on British soil again in less than 24 hours. Former business associates were clamoring for appointments and owls had besieged the Manor for weeks. Draco's ex-wife would be dropping by for dinner, much to the delight of his own devil of a son.
Come to think of it his father would get to hold his grandson for he first time. He could just imagine the plethora of gifts and knickknacks his mother must have collected simply for the occasion. It was no wonder Malfoy children grew up utterly spoiled. Still, it meant that Draco could finally spend some time with Marcus. He couldn't wait to step down from managing the Estate and take a much needed break. And he'd finally get to do what he'd always wanted: develop the first in a line of professional racing brooms.
He also knew just the person to test it out.
* the current state of the Malfoy fortune can be found here