"Ugh, boys" said Myrtle, before flying into the ceiling. "If only you weren't so hormonal"
Harry had long made his peace on having to share the castle with malfoy, even the occasional class with him. He didn't like it, but it's not as if he was going to duel him every time their paths crossed. He'd figured it was a matter of years and of defeating Voldemort once and for all, and he could forget about the greasy git.
That was the plan. Not anymore.
Digging a particularly sharp quill out of his bag, Harry decided to be particularly creative this time. It would be too easy to turn Malfoy into a mindless slut, his personal slave, or worse, a Hufflepuff. Harry reasoned that he could've chosen to remain as that hunky Malfoy hybrid to seduce Ginny too, that would've been winning too. But he wanted to win on his own terms, to see Malfoy defeated just the way he liked it. Some dirty magazines he'd seen under Dudley's bed had given him some particularly nice ideas as to the particulars. With a smirk on his face, Harry finished his paragraph with a particularly sharp period.
Now, all he had left to do was play the waiting game.
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