Main Character Syndrome Vol. 1. Year 5: Lovers' Spat (One of Many)
Draco x OC fic, part of a series - check this masterlist for context!!
Word count: 1,058.
Draco stormed down the dark stone staircase, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy trailing behind him and babbling in excitement. When the group reached the landing and Draco threw open the door to the boys’ dormitory, Zacharie was already inside, sulkily lounging on Draco’s bed and reading a book. He had made sure to settle his scuffed combat boots on Draco’s clean sheets.
“Go away,” Draco ordered his cronies shortly.
Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other cluelessly. “Mate, it’s our room,” Goyle argued.
But Draco repeated “Go,” and slammed the door before turning to scowl at his boyfriend/sidekick. After a few tense seconds, Zacharie glared back.
“You’re welcome,” Draco sneered as he began to pace up and down the dormitory. “For letting you run off. But from what I hear, Umbridge has a list with all your club on it. She’s in Dumbledore’s office now, with Potter. You’ll be damn lucky if I can talk you out of that one.”
He shoved Zacharie’s shoes off the bed and sat beside him in their place. “You know better than this, especially after Diggory snuffed it last year.” he continued accusatorily, “What the hell are you doing with that lot? With him?”
Zacharie finally shut his book and tossed it onto his own bed. “Um, hello?” he snapped, “Dude, I’m muggle-born, have you forgotten? I obviously wasn’t about to join your stupid Squad.” Next to the Prefect badge on Draco’s lapel was a pin in the shape of the letter I, signifying his membership to Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad. That pin made Zacharie’s demon-tainted blood boil.
“But, Zacharie, Dumbledore’s Army?” Draco exclaimed, veering into Zacharie’s line of sight when he looked away, “You can’t put your neck out like that, that’s asking for trouble! And keeping it from me?”
Zacharie couldn’t argue that. Over the past year, he’d been meeting in secret with Harry Potter’s rebel self-defense club, Dumbledore’s Army. As the only Slytherin in the group, it made scheduling easy to simply arrange sessions during Slytherin quidditch practice, both to keep Draco out of the loop and to assure all other members were available. This system had worked out until tonight, when the club was caught and forcefully disbanded by the Inquisitorial Squad.
Zacharie shouldered Draco out of the way and stood abruptly, “Whatever! Not like it matters anyway now that you got it all shut down. They were just starting to trust me, dude, now they’re gonna think I sold them out! They’ll think they were right about me!”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” Draco stood as well, seething. “This is serious! You’ve been messing around with those powers, haven’t you? That—That demon stuff. You know, I don’t say this sort of thing much, but if Dumbledore told you to leave that stuff alone—”
“M’kay, you’re not about to lecture me about demons.” Zacharie started getting ready for bed, kicking off his shoes and picking out a horror graphic t-shirt to sleep in.
As well as rebelling against Umbridge and the Ministry, Zacharie’s involvement with the DA had allowed him to explore the newfound side effects of his demon deal. His wand magic had always been unnaturally zealous, even corrupt, but he had now advanced to practicing demonic telekinesis against Dumbledore’s orders.
Draco averted his eyes while Zacharie changed clothes, frustrated with his avoidance. “You know I’m right, will you stop being petty?”
“You’re obviously right, but it doesn’t matter!” Zacharie ranted, “Nothing matters! Except You-Know-Who’s back for real, and if I can, like, do something in the next five years—”
“Don’t say that.”
“I can’t just sit here, and I’m definitely not taking your family’s side. I sold my stupid soul for this junk, I gotta get the bang for my buck, or whatever.”
“Not if you get yourself killed five years early!” Draco shouted, his face an indignant pink.
Once Zacharie finished changing, a subtle movement drew his gaze to the dormitory’s door behind Draco’s back, where the knob was turning slowly. The door creaked open a few inches and the partial face of Pansy Parkinson appeared in the crack, apparently unable to eavesdrop satisfactorily with it closed. Zacharie scowled at the door, which then slammed itself shut and locked in Pansy’s face.
Draco looked between Zacharie and the door. “Did you do that with your mind just now? With them right outside?” he scolded. “Zacharie!”
“It’s fine,” Zacharie waved a dismissive hand, now plucking the contact lenses from his dark brown eyes to replace them with a pair of glasses.
“It’s not fine!” Draco lowered his voice urgently. “It's one thing to do stuff like that when it's just us, but them? They don't know what’s going on, they'll just see nonverbal, wandless magic! They could tell their parents, and their parents’ll tell you-know-who—and if he finds out there’s someone like that at Hogwarts—”
“I know!” Zacharie flopped onto his own bed with his hands over his face. His bed, the one next to Draco’s, was surrounded by posters of superheroes. Draco never cared much, as they were considered muggle heroes, but Zacharie had told him all about this “Justice League” that he idolized.
“IknowIknowIknowIknowIknow, Dumbledore made a whole big deal about it already. That’s, like, why I have to be so sure where I stand, just in case he does get any ideas….” Zacharie trailed off. “I’m on Potter’s side. That’s my, like, official decision, so I guess we’re officially enemies.” He glared at Draco between his fingers. “Are you gonna tell on me?”
Draco let out a bitter sigh and crossed his arms as he sat down on his bed. “Don’t be like that. I'm not your enemy,” he said defensively. “Come on, I’m not going to tell. You know as well as I do father would kill me if he knew I was dating a mud—a—a muggle-born.”
Zacharie stared at Draco blankly, his face tired and inexpressive as ever. Draco’s stomach dropped out of his body.
“I said muggle-born. Zacharie—”
“I heard what you said.”
Zacharie swept closed the curtains of his four-poster (without touching them) and disappeared behind them.
“Love, don't do this. I didn't mean it.”
Zacharie didn't respond.
“I’m sorry,” Draco tried.
No response.
The next morning, on her way up for breakfast, Pansy found Crabbe and Goyle snoring in the Slytherin common room, still locked out of the boys’ dormitory.
my tomodachi life posting will go on this blog officially bc it's self insert adjacent
i don't understand why we can't upload clips directly to our devices. like i understand it's because the game's not censored, but obviously we can still share stuff other ways so why are we making things difficult guys
went looking in my old sketchbooks last night so have a little selfship sketches 9 years apart?? i changed my house and my gender and became a demon but i never got over him i rly was done for the moment i picked up that stupid book
Main Character Syndrome Vol. 1. Year 4: Yule Ball Confession, but Not How You Think
Draco x OC fic, part of a larger self insert universe. First fic kinda nervous... advice appreciated!! - Word count: 1,833.
Based on this comic page I did.
After three years at Hogwarts, Zacharie had gained a reputation as Draco's shadow. Malfoy’s weird little sidekick, his “friends” called him. So when the yule ball came around, it surprised few that the two attended together. Not on a date, per se, but as a duo, sure.
Of course, it was never that easy. Zacharie, a muggle-born, had wormed his way into the Slytherin gang on a technicality for being Malfoy's sidekick. He got a pass because Draco wanted him around. Oh, Zacharie could do better, he was sure. He still felt a pang of hurt when he remembered their second year, the betrayal on Draco's face when he'd learned he was muggle-born. And what he'd called him. But he'd been so relieved when Zacharie survived petrification, it seemed he was able to move past his blood type, even if the rest of the group wouldn't.
Their judgement showed on their faces when the duo took to the dance floor at the ball. Draco led Zacharie far away from Pansy and the others. "Don't they understand, it embarrasses me when they act like that?" he muttered, shaking his head. "Gawking like a bunch of old ladies."
"You're just like them, y'know," Zacharie rolled his dark eyes, but smiled. He appreciated Draco’s attempt at kindness.
“You’re just like them, y’know,” Draco mocked Zacharie’s American accent as the two began an awkward slow dance. "Yeah, well... they shouldn't do it to you."
"I can take it, I'm sure."
Draco sighed and dropped the subject. Instead his eyes fell on Zacharie's face, his faint freckles, his nose studs glinting in the soft light. Draco remembered once offhandedly asking if he would pierce anything "crazy" when he was older. "Yeah," Zacharie had said, "When I'm older," and he was quiet the rest of the night.
As Draco’s mind wandered, their dance slowly became more comfortable, Zacharie's hand relaxing into Draco's. Zacharie wanted to write off the buzzing feeling inside of him as the usual anxiety, but he recognized his ridiculous heart racing in his chest as it did whenever Draco came a little too close. He wasn't much of an eye-contact person, but he couldn't avoid it with Draco right in front of him like this. And when he finally looked up at Draco’s pale face, his stupid face, one loud thought struck him: oh no.
He'd told himself, when he started at Hogwarts, that he wouldn't do this. Wouldn't get attached, or rather, get others attached. He realized now, all at once, that the ball, the music, the decoration, Draco, it was all so beautiful. Too beautiful.
"Something wrong?" Draco's voice cut through the music as Zacharie suddenly drifted away.
"No, I'm cool," Zacharie muttered as he tugged the sleeve of his dress robe over his wrist, hiding the bracelet that had come into view. When asked about it in the past, he had muttered something about "protection, or whatever" and changed the subject. "It's just kind of a lot in here, don't you think?" Zacharie said vaguely, now making his way through the crowd and out of the Great Hall.
Draco stood uncertainly for a moment, pretending not to notice the surrounding stares and whispers, before setting off after him.
.
Breathless and in a sour mood, Draco caught up with Zacharie at the top of the Astronomy Tower. He spotted Zacharie leaning on the guardrail and gazing up at the night sky, his black dress robes contrasting his bleached hair and dark, overgrown roots. An annoying dash of fondness mixed itself in with Draco's bitter annoyance, and he begrudgingly bit back the harsher of remarks that came to mind.
"You didn't have to come up here to see the stars, they're on the bloody ceiling," Draco said irritably. When Zacharie didn't retort, Draco softened. He joined him at the railing, leaning over to survey the Hogwarts grounds. "What's your problem?"
Zacharie didn't look at Draco. "I didn't ask you to come with me," he moped. "I dunno, I got overwhelmed. You know how I am."
Draco sighed, "Yeah, I know."
The two stood in silence for a long few minutes. Draco started to shiver in the cold December air, but Zacharie was noticeably still. "Did I do something?" Draco asked reluctantly. He searched Zacharie’s face, but his sidekick frustratingly avoided eye contact, as usual.
Zacharie made some noise between a scoff and a laugh. "No, not you. Not this time."
"Oh," Draco said quietly, "Good."
After another long pause, Zacharie spoke up. "Malfoy, I have to tell you something," he said, so softly that Draco might not have listened if he hadn’t grown accustomed to his friend’s mumbling. "It's... not good. But I guess at this point you deserve to know."
Draco's head snapped up. He hoped Zacharie didn't notice how that sentence had made his heart jump, how he suddenly felt breathless as if he'd run up the stairs to the tower all over again. And though he knew better than to jump to conclusions, he couldn't help the overexcitable voice in his head.
Oh my god, he fancies me, the voice said. This is it, he's about to confess. Okay, shut up! Calm down, Malfoy, act natural. Act surprised. And for the love of god be nice.
"Zacharie, if something's wrong, I want to know," he said instead, managing a soft smile. "Promise I won't laugh."
Zacharie finally met Draco's eyes. "I'm dying," he forced himself to say, before he could remember what the words meant.
Draco's face fell. "Y-... You're what?"
Zacharie looked away again and ran a hand through his hair, making the brown roots show even worse than usual. "Ugh, I know, I should've told you earlier," he complained, stumbling into an explanation, "I shouldn't even be here—I got this magic through, like, nefarious means—and I've been trying to ignore it, but it's seriously acting up, and I think something's wrong with me—"
Draco grabbed Zacharie's wrist, cutting him off. "Zacharie, what do you mean you're dying?" he snapped. Zacharie caught the look in Draco's usually cold gray eyes, now sharp with anger and confusion and a hint of fear, and he froze.
"Ah... Okay," Zacharie said slowly, "Not yet. I'm not dying yet."
"That doesn't help!" Draco shouted.
"Just shush and let me explain then, okay?" Zacharie waved his hands impatiently. He pulled away from Draco and sat on the floor at the edge of the tower, looking out between the guardrail's posts.
"Just don't tell anyone.” He took a deep breath and let it out. "There's no way to explain this without sounding like a crazy person, so I'll just say it straight up. When I was 11, I... sold my soul. I was a muggle, but I wanted to be a wizard, so I sold my soul for it. And you get 10 years, they give you 10 years to live, usually. I'll die when I'm 21."
He almost hoped Draco didn't believe him. He could feel Draco standing behind him, but he didn't want to look. He stared out at the forest for excruciatingly long before he heard his dreaded response. "What—is—wrong with you?"
Zacharie shrunk under Draco's words, but they kept coming. "How could you do something like that? How the hell does that even happen? And you're only telling me this now? After I've already— already— god damn it..."
Zacharie heard Draco sniffle and looked up just in time to catch him frustratedly wiping his eyes.
"Oh no, don't," Zacharie said awkwardly, "I didn't mean to— I mean, I don’t want you to— It's not for another, like, six years, eight months, you probably won't even care by then, y'know? You probably won't even care when it happens."
This failed to calm Draco's worries. "I won't even—" he stammered, swallowing hard to fight more tears, "How heartless do you think—" But then he registered the waver in Zacharie’s voice, and he bit his lip to make himself stop talking.
Draco let out a shaky sigh and furiously rubbed his eyes again as he moved closer to Zacharie. He had the urge to reach out and pull him into a painfully tight hug, but he settled for sitting beside him at the railing. He'd never hugged Zacharie before, and the idea made him stupidly nervous.
“I didn't even want to tell you just now, I don't even know if I should’ve,” Zacharie complained, resting his head against a post. Draco wondered how he’d never noticed the darkness under his eyes before. “But I was just, like, starting to…” Zacharie rolled his eyes in exasperation, “Oh, this is so stupid. I was starting to like you too much, so I had to tell you, that's why. So… So maybe it won’t be as bad when it happens.”
Draco’s heart gave another half-hearted jump, though he struggled to find any hope in the situation. “You like me?” he said stupidly. When Zacharie glared at him, he backtracked. “Er—Not like that, obviously. I mean, what? I didn’t say that.”
“Malfoy,” Zacharie warned.
“Right. Obviously, I’m going to care when you die, you idiot,” Draco said, trying not to bang his head on the guardrail in flustered frustration. He was often annoyed with the lack of expression Zacharie’s face showed, especially at a time like this, when a concrete slab of dread had settled in his own stomach. “Six years… Zacharie, how could you think that’s worth it? How could you do something so ridiculously, exaggeratedly stupid?”
“Hey now, don't give me that,” Zacharie spat, his temper finally rising defensively. “I don't need to hear it, I’ll have plenty of time to reflect in hell.”
“In— huh?”
“Huh?” Zacharie’s face went blank again. “Uh, did I not say that part? Um… When your time’s up, that’s what happens. They take your soul and you go to hell and, like, suffer forever and stuff…” he muttered, rocking slightly on the spot and rolling the hem of his dress robe between his fingers. "I try not to think about it yet."
Draco suddenly felt very nauseous. He’d always seen Zacharie as something of a cartoon character, but it all made sense now. That “protective” charm bracelet he dismissed as muggle rubbish but refused to take off; His habit of looking over his shoulder, of staring for too long into dark corners as if worried something hid there; How Zacharie’s own magic seemed too much for him to handle at times, and how Snape kept an extra close, almost distrustful watch on him in class. He realized it now in Zacharie’s dark eyes that saw too deeply, that consumed all the light from the stars; Zacharie was right: his magic was not like Draco’s, it was tinged, tainted with something else.
“Zacharie, who… Who buys a soul?” Draco asked, dreading the answer.
“Oh, y’know…” Zacharie shrugged and stifled what might’ve been a laugh at the absurdity of what he was about to say, though he found no humor in it.
