Dedicated to my fellow Slytherins at Hogwarts Online. Here's to house points!
Title inspired by this quote (which doesn't really have much to do with distractions, but oh well): "Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with," the Mock Turtle replied, "and then the different branches of Arithmetic Ambition, Distraction, Uglification, and Derision"- Lewis Carrol
To Begin With, and then the Different Branches
She doesn't mean anything. Anything. Get it? Got it? Good, and don't you- yeah, you- don't you dare try to say anything on the contrary, because he's a Malfoy, and he'll ruin you without a second's hesitation. He'll make you lose everything you've ever worked for; he'll stab each of your hopes and dreams over and over and over again until they're deformed, useless, dead, and so are you.
Don't make that face; of course he wouldn't give a damn. Why would he? He doesn't care about you, or your family, or your life; he cares about himself, and his life, and [sometimes] his family. That's the extent of his cares, too, which is why she doesn't mean anything. If she was any more than just a distraction to him, then he would be going against everything he's been raised to believe, and he can't do that, because he's as loyal to his beliefs as any Hufflepuff. He doesn't conform himself to be who everyone else wants him to be (so say what you want as he sneers at that Muggle; he's got the bravery of a Gryffindor).
No, she's just a distraction, and eventually he'll crumble her up, just like a sheet of doodles made during class, and throw her in the bin.
It's ironic, really, that he refuses to let her be more than a distraction because he doesn't want to go against his beliefs, while them associating at all is practically blasphemy, because she's not a pureblood; she's not a high-paid prostitute; she's not even a witch. She's a random girl he met in a pub the one time he ventured out into Muggle London. They were both nearly incoherent at the time, and the fact that their drunken sex was so good that they could actually remember it in the morning was so astounding that she gave him her number, telling him to call her the next time he was "in the mood."
Not wanting to look stupid or poor, he didn't tell her that he didn't own a telephone, let alone know how to use one. Instead, he decided that the next time he needed her "company," he would simply come to the same pub and wait around until she showed up. And if she didn't, then oh well- he would find another Muggle girl to shag.
As it turned out, she frequents that pub, and whenever the young Malfoy's there, she turns up without fail. It's so convenient that sometimes, he wonders if she's really a witch and has a tracking spell on him, charting his every move because she lusts after him just as much as he lusts after her. This is impossible, however, so he comes to the conclusion that she simply goes to the pub every day in hopes of finding someone to shag. In all honesty, he finds this entirely plausible; probable, even. After all, as far as he knows, most girls at least exchange names with whoever they have sex with; then again, Muggles are an entirely different species. He wouldn't be surprised if whoring is perfectly acceptable in their society.
So maybe he's not paying her, and maybe she isn't technically a hooker, but she's clearly worth as much as one, which means that she's meant to just be a distraction. Which means that Draco really shouldn't find himself wondering what her name is, because it doesn't matter. At all. Nor do any of the other questions that he finds floating through his mind sometimes; things like how old she is, or her favorite color, or other meaningless little details that he's not sure his father even knows about his mother and that he could only figure out by talking to her, and talking means paying attention to someone, and you don't really pay attention to a distraction, do you?
(He chooses to overlook the rather obvious fact that him thinking about her in the first place means she isn't quite a distraction anyways.)
He can't help it, but he actually starts to notice things about her. Little things: how her brown hair shines red when the sunlight hits it at just the right angle, the way her blue eyes sparkle when she laughs, her regally high cheekbones. At first, he tells himself that this doesn't matter; he's only noticing her looks, and those are a vitally important part of lust. But then, he starts observing things about her personality. Like how she's sarcastic [and he likes it] and witty [and he likes it] and as ambitious as they come [and he likes it].
It's almost a shame that she's a Muggle, he thinks, because she would've made a sublime Slytherin.
Using all the training he's ever received at controlling his emotions, he masks these thoughts. However one day, in a drunken stupor, he can't help but blurt out, "I think I might actually like you."
She, in a state that he doesn't think is quite as intoxicated as he is, smirks and continues to unbutton his shirt.
He's stuck at this pureblood ball and it's really a shame, he thinks, because if there was ever a time he would rather be making lust (since it's not love, nononono, she's just a distraction), it's now. But it's not like he can just leave- after all, it's Blaise Zabini's engagement party; the Zabinis are as high-class as the Malfoys, and to rudely walk out of such an important event of theirs would mean ruin for the Malfoys' already tarnished reputation. Not to mention that Draco doesn't actually loathe Zabini which, for him, means a lot.
He stands, leaning casually against a wall as he sips his glass of wine. It's impossible for him not to hear various snippets of conversation:
"The Greengrass girl, I hear-"
"-Can't believe Blaise is going to marry her, she's practically a Mudblood-"
"-Didn't know Daphne and Astoria even had another sister-"
"-A Squib, raised in the Muggle world, it's why the Greengrass' didn't get involved in the war-"
Finally, the voices die out when the butler announces the arrival of "The future Mr. and Mrs. Blaise Zabini!"
Blaise walks out, in all his handsome, composed glory, and latched onto his arm is her. She walks like a queen, smiling to all the guests in an obviously fake way that is perfectly acceptable in a society of Slytherins. Her eyes land on Draco, and she winks so quickly that had his gaze not been trained on her disbelievingly, he would have missed it.
Eventually, everyone begins to socialize again, and the happy couple mingles amongst the guests. Draco stays where he is, processing this new, shocking information, and almost doesn't notice when Blaise and her walk up to him.
"Good evening, Draco," Blaise says cordially. "Thank you very much for coming; I hope you are enjoying your time. May I introduce my fiancée to you, Miss Medea Greengrass."
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Malfoy." She curtsies (he's entirely sure that she wore a neckline that short solely for the purpose of torturing him) and then extends her hand expectantly, waiting for him to kiss it. He does not hesitate to do so, for to wait even a second would be to exhibit a lack of manners that is simply unacceptable, and then looks into her eyes.
"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Greengrass," he responds, even as his mind turns numb, because it's one thing for him to have a distraction; it's another story for him to be one.
I actually kinda like this one… I think the idea of having a third Greengrass sister is pretty original. Then again, that's just me. What do you think? Please tell me in a review! Thanks so much!
P.S. If you recognize it, I disclaim it.