Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any part of the HP universe. No money is being made from this. I'm just a poor university student, so please don't sue me.

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Title: Malfoys Don't Get Jealous
Author: icicle33
Pairings: Harry/Draco, implied Harry/Anthony Goldstein
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~3000 (complete)
Warnings: swot!Draco, jealous!Draco, past H/D relationship, humour, some snogging and frotting
Summary: Draco is not jealous of Anthony Goldstein. He no longer has any interest in Potter or what the idiot does in his spare time. Their relationship is over—but if Goldstein so much as breathes on Potter again, he might have to kill him.
A/N: For all the lovely people who have read my stories even though I've been so bad at updating and have left me such wonderful reviews. A short 8th year fic that basically wrote itself.

Enjoy.

Malfoys Don't Get Jealous

: : : : :

Draco was not having a good day.

He received an E on his Transfigurations essay, Pansy had spent the entire lunch period forcing him to listen to the intimate details of her new affair with Nott—and worst of all—he was having a bad hair day. The horror!

Normally, he had an emergency bottle of hair potion in his trunk, but last week he felt generous and lent Pansy his bottle. The bitch had used the entire thing, claiming she needed to look extra sleek to get Nott's attention. Yes, Pansy got laid, but now Draco was suffering the consequences. He knew all this being nice business was rubbish. All he had to show for his good deed was a pounding headache and a frizzy head of hair.

Draco sighed. Regardless of his mood, he had a ton of work to do, especially now that he was behind in Transfigurations. He readjusted the strap of his heavy bag and entered the library, heading for his favourite table in the corner, where he wouldn't be disturbed. Thank Merlin it wasn't occupied or he would have cursed whoever was sitting there without a second thought.

Slamming his bag on the table, Draco sat down and organised his study materials. No, he wasn't a swot. And yes, he had colour coordinated notes. Shut up.It was normal to have colour-coordinated notes and matching quills. Absolutely normal, no matter what Pansy said. He ignored all the scornful looks from the nearby Ravenclaws and opened up his books, lining them up just so and arranged his quills in a perfect straight line. It was time for some serious studying.

: : : : :

Losing himself in his studies had been easy. As soon as Draco opened his Potions book, he started reading about the possible ramifications of abusing Dreamless Sleep, and already he was tweaking the brewing procedure in his head, attempting to construct a less addictive and safer formula. He scribbled furiously on his parchment, his essay practically writing itself. Before he knew it, two hours had past and it was time to take his mandatory stretching break.

Draco made a loud spectacle of pushing back his chair and slamming all his books shut, making as much noise as possible to irritate the other students and distract them from their studies. After smirking at all the annoyed students, he walked around the library, stretching his arms behind his back and a smug look on his face. During his little breaks, Draco loved to tiptoe through the stacks and sneak up on unsuspecting first years, whispering a soft 'boo' in their ears and watching them yelp and jump in the air like a startled cat.

Today, the stacks were strangely deserted. Disappointed, Draco was about to head back to his table, when he heard a familiar laugh, coming from the opposite side of the stacks. He would know that laugh anywhere. Potter. His heart started palpitating in his chest and a small flutter resonated in his gut. Even after all this time, Potter still had a flustering effect on him, not that Draco would ever admit it.

Curiosity took over and Draco gingerly removed a book from the shelf, so he could spy on his ex-boyfriend. He knew that it was wrong, but oh hell, he was a Slytherin. Doing the right thing was overrated. He leaned closer to the bookshelf and held his breath, making sure that Potter wouldn't be able to hear him, not that Potter was that observant anyway.

Potter was leaning on a bookshelf, his head bowed and focused on a book, while Anthony Goldstein hovered over Potter's shoulder, his face just inches away from Potter's cheek.

"What is that you don't understand, Harry?" Goldstein purred Harry's name and licked his lips as he leaned even closer, putting his hand on Potter's shoulder. Lust gleamed in Goldstein's eyes, and Potter, of course, was oblivious.

Potter sighed, never taking his eyes off the book. "Pretty much everything." His voice was exasperated. "I've always been rubbish at Potions and—"

"And—I'm sure you're just being modest...as always." Anthony removed his hand from Potter's shoulder and placed it on the book instead. His hand covered Harry's and Draco noticed a faint blush spreading across Potter's cheeks. That fluttering in his gut started again, but this time it was more of an uncomfortable churning as if all of his organs had decided to revolt. Why the hell was Potter blushing? Potter only did that when he...

"Sorry." Potter pulled his hand off Goldstein's as if he had been burnt.

The book fell to the ground in a loud swish and both Potter and Goldstein bent down to retrieve it. Since they were both clumsy idiots, their heads bumped, and Draco let out a sharp gasp.

"Oh, Merlin, Harry, I'm sorry." Goldstein offered Harry a weak smile and then put his hand on Potter's face, stroking his cheek. "Are you okay?"

Potter blinked at him stupidly, probably still recovering from the smack to his head. "Yeah, I'm fine." He didn't brush Goldstein's hand away and started blushing again, gazing straight into Goldstein's blue-grey eyes. "It was my fault not yours."

Potter beamed at Goldstein, using that same dazzling smile that Draco thought was reserved only for him. Or at least it used to be. His chest felt as if it were being sliced open, like that night in the Myrtle's bathroom. Fucking Potter.

Goldstein returned Potter's smile, a dreamy look in his eyes, and then held out a hand to help him up. Still smiling, Potter took Goldstein's hand, and Draco felt his heart lurch to the back of his throat.

It wasn't supposed to feel like this. Draco was the one who ended things with Potter. Life was too complicated to hide in empty classrooms and broom closets with the boy-who-live-to-be-a-pain-in-his-arse. He wasn't ready to come out and be Potter's boyfriend. He knew this. Then why the bloody hell did it make him so angry? He had seen enough and wanted nothing more then to leave, but it was as if he were spelled to the spot. He couldn't stop watching, no matter how much his body protested.

"You know, Harry," Goldstein said, who was now upright and still standing much too close to Potter, "it's getting late." He batted his long eyelashes at Harry, hunger evident in his eyes. "Why don't we go back to my room? Then we can study in peace and be more...comfortable."

Harry's eyes grew wide; he angled his head to the left, staring at the shelves of books rather than Goldstein. Draco knew that look—it meant that he was deep in thought, or at least as deep in thought as Potter could manage.

After several moments, he nodded. "Sure, Anthony. That sounds like a plan."

Draco sputtered, no longer caring that he might be discovered. Angry magic coursed through his veins and his hand jerked into a death grip around his wand. He had an uncontrollable urge to tear Goldstein apart limb by limb, all the way up to his stupid dirty blond hair. Or at least to transfigure him into a hideous, furry bug and squash him with his boot.

A spark of wild magic flew from Draco's wand, and he knew that he had to get out of there before he got himself expelled. Draco wasn't certain, but he figured that transfiguring a fellow student into an arthropod and squashing him was against school rules. He threw down the book he was holding and sprinted out of the stacks, and then out of the library, not even bothering to grab his belongings or to stop for Madam Pince's screeches. One of the younger Slytherins would retrieve his things later. He had more important issues on his mind.

: : : : :

The next morning, Draco paced around the Slytherin Common Room, hexing anyone that was thick enough to get in his way. He had barely slept the night, thinking about Potter and Goldstein and whatever vile acts they got off on. Potter was not his anymore; Draco understood that, but the thought of Goldstein placing his filthy hands all over Harry made him want to vomit.

He wasn't jealous. Of Goldstein? Please. Malfoys don't get jealous. Still, that didn't mean he wouldn't discreetly place some laxative potion in Goldstein's pumpkin juice first thing on Monday morning.

The utter nerve of Goldstein. Draco couldn't believe it. How dare he preposition Potter right in the middle of the library where anybody could see? And Potter, well, he wasn't any better, practically drooling when Goldstein asked him to go back to his room.

"Sure, Anthony. I'd love to have you bend me over your bed and fuck me...because I'm such a dirty slag."

Fury stirred in Draco's gut again. He didn't possess the will or energy to try and contain his emotions this morning. Yesterday had been bad enough. He had spent all night rereading the same chapter of Transfigurations and hadn't made any further progress on his Potions essay. All he managed to do was doodle pictures of Goldstein, suffering a painful death by Draco's hand—usually requiring Draco to pluck every single one of those bleached blond hairs from his head.

He was so tired of this. It was Saturday morning, and he should have been at the library, half way through his History of Magic homework by now. As usual, Potter was fucking up his life. And Draco had had enough. He checked his pocket watch and realised that it was quarter to eleven. Every Saturday, Potter ate an early lunch at eleven, not that Draco stalked Potter or anything. Clearly, he was just observant. If he hurried, he could catch Potter before the wanker ate his lunch.

: : : : :

Draco waited outside of the Great Hall, his arms crossed in front of him and a scowl on his face. There was no way that Potter was going to get by him. Even if he had to stun the git and carry him into a deserted classroom, he was going to talk to Potter. He opened his pocket watch again, 10.58. Potter would show his stupid face any minute now. He just had to be patient.

It was 11.03 when Potter finally showed himself. Draco was certain that the arsehole was late just to spite him. Like every Saturday morning, he must have been playing Quidditch because his cheeks were rouged and that ridiculous hair of his windswept. How predictable. He was about to open his mouth to tell Potter off for being so disrespectful of Draco's schedule when he noticed that Potter wasn't alone. Goldstein was with him. Again. Apparently, last night wasn't enough for the little slut. The bastard had the audacity to walk right behind Potter, his hand brushing against his shoulder.

"What do you want to eat, Harry?" Goldstein said, in that grating, nasal voice of his. "You must be hungry after all that flying. You were so amazing up there." He smiled and gave Potter an adoring look. It took every fibre of Draco's Slytherin need for self-preservation to keep himself from punching Goldstein right in the face. How dare he look at Potter like that?

"Potter," Draco growled, finally snapping himself out of his daze. "I need to talk to you." Draco felt his left eye twitch as Goldstein actually put his hand on Harry's shoulder.

Potter squirmed out of Anthony's grip and turned to face Draco, a confused look on his face. So Typically Potter.

"Draco," he said with a frown, "hello, to you, too."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Hello, Potter. Let's talk. Now."

"He doesn't want to talk to you, Malfoy. Do you, Harry?"

Draco's left eye twitched again and his magic surged in his fingertips. "Goldstein," Draco sneered, scrunching his nose and looking at Anthony as if he were a vile insect. "This is between Potter and me. Stay out of it." He sent Goldstein a scathing look and at least the prat had the good sense to back down.

Harry deepened his frown, his forehead creasing into tight worry lines. Draco needed to talk to him about that. He didn't want Potter getting any premature wrinkles. Vanquisher of Voldemort or not, wrinkles are not attractive.

Potter locked eyes with Draco, giving him a scrupulous look. "Draco, I was just about to have lunch. Can it wait?"

"No, it can't. I need to talk to you. Now!"

Potter sighed. "Alright." He turned to Goldstein. "Sorry, Anthony. I'll meet you in there, okay?"

Goldstein's entire face fell; he looked as if someone had just punched him in the gut. "But—Harry?"

Harry waved him off. "I'll just be a minute. Go ahead."

Draco snorted, stretching his lips into a smirk directed at Goldstein .There. That would show him. Potter still liked him better. Goldstein must be lousy in bed. With his head hung, Goldstein walked away, and Draco couldn't help but feel smug. Slytherin 1. Ravenclaw 0.

"What's so important?" Potter said, pulling Draco out of his thoughts. His entire demeanour had relaxed. His voice was soft and eyes affectionate. Draco had to remind himself to breathe; he hated when Potter gave him that look—as if Draco was the only person in the universe that mattered.

"Not here." He reached out and grabbed Potter's arm, dragging him towards an old broom closet and ignoring the static shocks that prickled his skin.

"Malfoy?" Harry looked at him with wide, concerned eyes. "Are you alright? You're not going to hex me are you? You've got that barmy look in your eyes again."

Draco laughed, a dark, manic chuckle emitting itself from his lips. If only, Potter knew the truth. He really was losing his mind.

"I don't want you seeing Goldstein again."

Potter frowned. "What are you—"

"I don't trust him." Draco's hands were shaking at his sides, his cock throbbing against his trousers. Being this close to Potter was disconcerting. All those feelings he thought he had packed up and hidden deep in the darkest corner of his mind were resurfacing, threatening to choke him. He closed his eyes and bit down on his tongue.

"I know you're fucking him. And I don't like it." He opened his eyes and stepped closer, his face centimeters away from Potter's. He was so close that he could make out the beads of sweat on Potter's brow, the smell of grass faintly radiating from his hair, how annoyingly green his eyes were.

Potter blinked at him. "Draco?"

"Shut up." Draco placed both arms on Potter's shoulders and shoved him against the wall. "You're mine." He wrapped his fingers in Potter's hair and tugged. "Don't you know that?"

Potter gulped. "Draco, I didn't—"

"My god, Potter, do you always talk so much?"

Draco didn't give him a chance to respond; he slammed their lips together, greedily devouring Potter's mouth with his own, his teeth nipping against Potter's chapped lips. Afraid that Potter would push him off, he removed one hand from Potter's hair and kept him pinned against the wall, his erection frothing up against Potter's cock, which much to Draco's delight was also hard.

They stayed that way for several minutes—all teeth, lips, heat, and sweat. Draco was reluctant to pull away, but eventually he needed to come up for air.

He was breathless and speechless. All of his courage seemed to have disappeared into that kiss.

Tension hung in the air between them; both of them just stood there catching their breath and staring. Potter gazed at him with those big green eyes, bruised lips. All Draco wanted to do was shag him right against that wall.

Potter spoke first. "Nothing's going on with Anthony."

Draco scoffed. "Liar—I saw you two in the library."

Understanding flickered in Potter's eyes, and this time, it was Potter who grabbed him and flipped their positions, pushing Draco against the wall. "Were you spying on me?" Potter's eyes flashed dangerously.

"As if, Potter." Draco snorted, avoiding Harry's eyes and pretending that he wasn't scared. "I was just minding my own business looking for a book...and the two of you were so loud and obnoxious that I couldn't help but overhear."

Potter let out a wry chuckle. "I don't believe you." He licked his lips and leaned in closer, his breath hot against Draco's lips.

Draco gulped. "It's the truth."

"You're jealous."

Draco squirmed underneath Potter's hold but didn't dignify his comment with a response. Malfoys don't get jealous. Potter should know this.

"You're the one who broke things off, Malfoy." Potter grimaced. "Don't you remember? Something about how you rather drop dead than come out of the closet and be the Boy-who-lived's boyfriend?"

Draco bit his lip. Fuck, he did say that, didn't he? Salazar, he was such an idiot. Most of Slytherin knew that Draco was gay; it wasn't a well kept secret. Well, except from his father, but who really cared what he thought? And being Potter's boyfriend wouldn't be all bad, not when the bloke could snog him like that. Daily ridicule and scorn were something Draco would have to endure. No one would be happy to hear that the hero of the wizarding world chose a former Death Eater and a Malfoy to fornicate with. But what was the alternative? He shut his eyes and pictured Goldstein, hanging off Harry's arm, pressing kisses to his face and whispering in his ear. Draco let out a growl. Potter was his. No one else could touch him. Malfoys don't share.

Draco shrugged. "Things change."

Potter blinked at him, angling his head to the left again, and reminding Draco way too much of an owl. "Did you just growl?"

"God, Potter. Are you deaf? You're mine and that's final. Any objections?"

For once, Potter kept his mouth shut and shook his head; then he slammed his lips against Draco's, tangling his hands in Draco's hair. That first kiss had been Draco's, but this one was all Potter. He forced his tongue into Draco's mouth, claiming Draco's tongue as his own, and then started trailing kisses all over his face, his jaw, his neck.

"Mmmm," Potter moaned, his teeth nipping at Draco's neck. "Your hair," he said, his voice, breathy, "it's so soft. I like it like this."

Draco whimpered. Potter would like his hair wild and unmanageable. "Thanks," Draco responded in between kisses. He wasn't in the mood to explain proper hair care. That was a lost cause.

Potter continued to kiss Draco, his fingers struggling with Draco's tie. Just as Potter was about to remove his robes, Draco's wand buzzed in his pocket, reminding him that he was late to go meet Madam Pince. The old hag wasn't happy that Draco had caused such a raucous in her precious library and had given him detention.

Draco pulled away from Potter. "I gotta go." He offered an apologetic smile. "I have detention."

Potter raised an eyebrow but didn't question him. "Alright." He grabbed Draco's hand and joined their fingers together, giving his hand a light squeeze. "Have dinner with me tonight?" His eyes were so bright and hopeful that it almost hurt to look at him.

"We can eat at neutral table if you want. Or even go down to Hogsmeade."

Draco sighed. Could he really do this? He had never eaten with Potter before-not in public. Everyone would know that they were an item before the end of the day. He exhaled sharply. "Fine."

He fixed his tie, rearranged his robes and trousers, and tried his best to flatten out his hair. Draco assumed that Madam Pince wouldn't find being snogged silly in a broom closet as a suitable excuse for being late to detention, even if it was by Harry Potter.

As he turned and left the broom closet, he gave Potter one last smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potter lean back against the closet wall and smirk, a smug, knowing look etched all over his face.

~Fin

A/N: Thanks so much for reading. This wasn't betaed, so please excuse any errors. Now that school is back in session, I'm writing again, so be on the lookout for more updates from me.

Comments are love.

~Icicle