Word of the Day Drabble. H/D
Odious: adjective: Highly offensive; inspiring and deserving hatred.
Draco Malfoy stood aghast in the doorway of the Charms classroom, staring at Potter's retreating back in utter disbelief. The remaining students filed around him, muttering malcontentedly, but he didn't even hear them. Moments before, he'd been trudging, same as the rest of them, in the general direction of the door, eyes on his bag as he shoved a mass of book and crumpled parchment inside, only to be knocked brutishly into the door jamb. He'd been disoriented for a moment, but as soon as he'd gathered the presence of mind to look up, he'd met brilliant green eyes and an all too familiar smirk, one that he'd always considered homogeneously Malfoy. Draco hadn't even known Potter was capable of a smirk like that.
Draco blinked, several times in quick succession, and was jarred back to reality. He stalked after Potter, eyes flashing.
Dirty, half-blood, odious, muggle-loving, gorgeous, hero-complexed arsehole! How dare he?
The point of his wand made contact with the small of Potter's back, just as he shouted his name. Several students stopped to watch, interested, as Potter stood motionless. A moment later he began to turn, slowly, to face Draco. He was smiling.
“You'd better watch where the fuck you're going Potter,” Draco spat the name, trying for all the world to seem as though he were addressing something putrid that overflown from his cauldron, “or you'll go the same way as your mum and dad.” Potter scoffed, and fuck but Draco wasn't expecting that one bit, but he wasn't about to let it show. However, he couldn't help betraying just a twinge of anxiety when Potter took a step toward him. A quick glance over Potter's shoulder told him that Weasley and Granger were equally flummoxed by the Chosen One's mysterious behaviour, and that served only to unnerve him more. Draco shifted his weight backward almost imperceptibly before catching himself. His father's voice rang in his ears, “Stand your ground.”
The tip of his wand pressed firmly to Potter's chest. A list of hexes came to mind, but none reached his tongue. The blonde's heart pounded and his lips parted slightly in shock as Potter grabbed his wrist, forcing his wand away, toward the watching crowd, and continued to advance. He held his breath, thinking that maybe this time he'd pushed Potter to his limit and the ponce was just going to kill him outright. 'Well,' he thought, 'at least I'll take his hero image down with me.'
Suddenly the prat was mere inches from his face and looking him straight in the eye. For a split second he was utterly still, irises dancing from side to side as if they couldn't decide which of Draco's to focus on. Potter seemed to find something there, seemed to find whatever it was he'd wanted because an instant later their mouths had crashed together and Draco felt the tiniest swipe of tongue across his lower lip. He tried not to curve into it, but dammit if Potter wasn't fucking immovable. His wand arm still thrust out at an odd angle and his other hand clenched in Potter's robes-when had that happened?-so there was simply nothing to do but stand there and be kissed the the sodding boy-who-lived.
But it was over quicker than it had began and when Potter pulled away the Slytherin had to fight not to lean forward at the abrupt loss. He opened his eyes, not aware he'd closed them, just in time to see Potter turn on his heel and sweep down the corridor, sycophants in tow. The crowd began to disperse as he stood rooted to the spot. Their whispers echoed off the stone walls and they couldn't seem to decide whom to stare at. Once again, Draco found himself staring dumbfounded, stricken, as Harry Potter walked away from him.