More is my unrest (Plz read!)

[Lily_Evans]

The Great Hall

The pitch of noise in the Great Hall bothered Draco. It was too loud, as usual – people practically yelling at each other down their tables. Laughing. Especially those Gryffindors. For a group that was supposed to be so respectable, they generally made a ridiculous noise. Tonight was no different, and it was with irritation that he pushed his golden plate toward the kidney pudding. Crabbe sthingyed a heap of it for him, a routine so long established between them that it went almost entirely unnoticed. Draco only noticed it now because it was still, somehow, slightly satisfying. After all, he didn't notice anybody getting things for Potter.

Potter was deep in conversation with Weasley and the two of them seemed to be discussing something quite intently. Draco had been watching them for years; he recognized the difference between their general chatter and matters of importance. He saw their expressions sober, saw the Mudblood lean in to contribute some quiet piece of information. They were probably plotting something against school rules. Again. And whatever it was, Draco thought sullenly, they wouldn't be getting in trouble for it. They never did.

It was incredibly unfair.

"Did you hear, Draco?"

It was Pansy's voice, high pitched and almost breathless with excitement. She sat down quite suddenly in the chair on the opposite side of Goyle, giving him a very brief frown, her pug nose wrinkling slightly, her look saying very clearly that she thought he should move and allow her the seat next to Draco. But Goyle didn't move. Probably because he was too dense to even notice her glance, and for once Draco was silently grateful for his stu.pidity. He really didn't want to deal with Pansy right now.

When she got no immediate response from him, Pansy pressed on, "Did you hear about the Ball?"

"Of course I heard." Draco snapped, stabbing irritably at his jacket potato, his eyes straying back to the Gryffindor table, where Potter and his two idiot friends were now bent so close together in conversation that it was difficult to make out their expressions. Like some horrid three-headed beast, Draco thought sourly, and then with some pleasure, as he imagined Potter and Weasley drooling at the mouth.

"It's only a few weeks away." Pansy was still talking. Didn't she ever shut up?

"I know that."

"You have to plan ahead for a Ball, of course," she went on, leaning forward on the table so that she could see clearly around Goyle to stare Draco in the face. She was smiling at him in that way she always did, her eyes wide and limpid, and there was a slight simper to her voice.

He had no doubts about what she was implying with all of this, but he wasn't going to pay any attention to it. Not this time. He had no intention of going to the Ball this year. He'd gone in the past, of course, because he'd been taught all his life that social functions were important – to see and to be seen. It was important that he attend them with a person of proper wizarding family on his arm, and the Parkinsons had always fallen under his family's definition of "proper." And Pansy was always there. But not this time.

"Why don't you go and start planning, then." Draco snapped, his potato mauled into a veritable mush by the inattentive stabbings of his fork.

Pansy continued talking, saying something about the latest fashion in quality robes, but Draco didn't spare her any attention. He was too preoccupied with throwing frequent and increasingly irritated glances toward the Gryffindor table. Potter and his friends had hardly touched their plates for minutes now. Granger was gesturing energetically with her hands, and Weasley was nodding in agreement with whatever she was saying.

[sweetlikepoison]

Oooh! It's good! More please!

[Lily_Evans]

And that was when he noticed Ginny. Ginny Weasley, the youngest of that whole pathetic family.

She had come into the Great Hall late for dinner, apparently, and now she was making her way to where Potter and the others were seated, aiming for the empty seat beside Granger. She approached slowly, almost hesitantly. He always saw her like this, tagging along in Potter's shadow, moving with care as though she were afraid to disrupt something.

It sickened him. It was so like a Weasley, to embrace that kind of debasement. And it was so like Potter, to not even notice that he was, once again, getting special treatment. Not that it could really be considered special, having a plain, empty-headed little girl running after him all the time. And she did run after Potter. All the time.

Ginny settled herself in the chair beside Granger, her face all the time turned slightly in Potter's direction. She opened her mouth as if to add to the conversation, but at that exact moment, Potter, Weasley, and Granger rose together, as they usually did, and headed toward the door of the Great Hall, still deeply involved in their own conversation to the exclusion of all else. Ginny watched them go, her mouth still slightly open. She shut it again, after a moment, then turned to face her plate and gave an almost imperceptible sigh. But Draco saw it.

It was obnoxious.

Potter proved with every action that he didn't deserve the special treatment that he got from everybody. And yet everyone persisted in lavishing it on him. Especially the little Weasley brat. Didn't she have anything better to do than to spend her time chasing incessantly after Potter?

"Draco, are you listening to me?"

"No," he said flatly, unwilling to cater to Pansy's relentless attempts to capture his attention. He pushed back from the Slytherin table and stood, not bothering to excuse himself. In his peripheral vision he noticed Crabbe and Goyle stuffing their faces quickly with as much food as their mouths could carry, before rising alongside him and following him out of the hall. He glanced one last time at the Gryffindor table as they passed it. Ginny was in the same position she had been before, her mouth now shut, picking morosely at her food.

Good. At least he wasn't the only one who'd had a lousy dinner.

[Lily_Evans]

The Lawn

"Hurry up," Draco snapped, pausing halfway up the lawn to jerk his head toward the castle. It was an unseasonably hot day, and his school robes were heavy and stifling. He wanted to get inside and down into the dungeon, where the stone kept everything cool. He hated sweating over those ridiculous plants in Herbology, as if the Malfoy heir should be cutting and gathering his own Potions ingredients. Draco snorted quietly to himself. When he was out of Hogwarts, he'd never have to wrestle another Python Blossom as long as he lived.

But at least he could do it, if he had to. He threw a dark look over his shoulder, toward Crabbe and Goyle. They stood together, still at the very bottom of the lawn, clapping a mess of pollen from their robes with their oversized hands. They never could do anything right.

"Hurry up," he repeated, turning fully around to glare at them. But either they were deaf, or their paddle-hands were making too much noise, because they only continued to smack at themselves and each other. Clouds of violet pollen rose around them, and Draco sighed in disgust. He wasn't going to stand here, hot and irritated, and wait for them much longer.

A breeze picked up suddenly, which should have been a relief, in the heat. Instead, it drove the pollen clouds uphill toward Draco, who whirled toward the castle to avoid a face full of it. But he couldn't avoid it entirely; he felt it settling in his hair and reached up his hands in disgust to shake it out before the sticky, violet substance could work his hair into messy clumps. Unlike Potter, he wasn't going to walk around the school with his hair sticking up in all directions like a street urchin. He brushed his hair back into order, flattening it with his palms and making sure to consider the part.

Thoroughly fed up with Crabbe and Goyle, he finally continued striding up the lawn - without them. If they didn't catch up in five seconds, he was going to pull his wand and make them. He marched toward the oak entrance doors and had almost reached them when they swung open, and he was greeted with the unwelcome sight of the Gryffindor fourth years emerging.

At their head was Ginny Weasley. Some girl was whispering to her and Ginny leaned in close, listening. A moment later she threw back her head and laughed, freely and loudly.

It was a startling sound, and Draco stared at her for a second before sweeping his eyes over the fourth years' heads for a glimpse of Potter - but he was nowhere to be seen. Draco glanced back toward Ginny, who was still in the center of her friends, laughing and poking playfully at them as she headed toward the Care of Magical Creatures paddock. Draco couldn't remember ever hearing her make so much noise, and he'd certainly never seen her so animated. But then, she was usually within earshot of Potter. Apparently she only acted like a normal human being when her big hero wasn't around for her to trail after. Out of Potter's shadow, Draco reflected, Ginny was almost noticeable in her own right.

Not that anybody could miss that awful hair. Especially with the sun glinting on it. She tossed it off her shoulder.

Draco tore his eyes away and pulled his wand, pointing it at Crabbe and Goyle, feeling immensely angry for no reason at all.

"Now!" he barked down the lawn at them. As if they shared a brain - or half of one - they raised their heads, left off paddling themselves and lumbered up the lawn toward him. Draco turned to the door and waited. A moment later, Goyle opened it, and he went in.

[Kiara Johnson]

That is great!!! You need to write more, more, more ;D ;D ;D

[Trixie Malfoy]

BUMP!

[Lily_Evans]

The Entrance Steps

Draco was rarely happy to be out of bed and active early in the morning on Sunday. Back at the Manor on Sundays he was often served breakfast in his room, at whatever hour he chose to wake. But today he had risen early, the sun was already bright and high in the clear sky, he hadn't even had breakfast, and yet he felt oddly satisfied. The Slytherin team had booked the Quidditch pitch for early morning practice, and for once Draco hadn't complained about it.

This year, he swore to himself. This year he would defeat Potter. He would. He had no intention of facing the rest of his housemates, not to mention his family, knowing that Slytherin had lost the Cup because of Harry Potter. Not again.

Draco propped his broom carefully on his shoulder and walked off the pitch at the end of practice, heading back toward the castle. Crabbe and Goyle descended from the stands quickly and fell into step on either side of him. They supplied a few grunting comments of admiration for his performance in the practice, as they always did, and Draco accepted it with almost indifferent silence, as he always did.

He wasn't particularly in the mood to talk. Not that conversation with Crabbe or Goyle was ever very rewarding. But right now he was too involved with his own thoughts to dredge up the effort. He was still running over the practice in his mind, their new strategies, the flying techniques he'd been practicing all summer. Unfortunately, he wasn't pleased with the practice, or his own performance in it. In spite of his willingness to be awake in the morning and high above the pitch, he had still found it difficult to truly concentrate. He'd been feeling very .... preoccupied... for the last few days. He couldn't quite put his finger on the reason, but it was really starting to bug him.

Crabbe reached the entrance doors first, and pulled one open. Draco walked through it, not really noting where he was going. He wanted to get clean, get to the Great Hall for breakfast, and get rid of the unsettled feeling he had. He began to climb the stairs.

Potter, Weasley and Granger were walking together down the other side of the wide marble steps toward the Great Hall doors, clearly on their way in for breakfast. They were talking - Weasley was laughing his raucous, ill-bred laugh and the Mudblood looked highly annoyed. Potter just smiled.

Draco swept by them without acknowledgment, too focused on his own agenda to bother insulting them. And why bother, really, when he would beat Potter in the next Quidditch match? He'd wipe the smug smile off his scarred face for good. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Weasley shoot a dirty look his way, but that hardly mattered. Weasley was a nothing. A nobody.

Like his sister. She was four steps behind the three of them, her eyes trained, as usual, on the back of Potter's head. And she'd apparently lost the freedom of expression that Draco had seen in her the other day. She was practically mute.

He felt himself turn toward her - he tossed his head sharply - he opened his mouth.

"Does he have you on a leash, or do you just like following him around?"

Ginny froze. She blinked, then turned her head toward him, her face pale, her eyes wide. She looked truly shocked. More than that, she looked wounded. And that look was so completely mesmerizing for some reason, that he hardly even noticed Potter, Weasley and Granger turning around to face him, all of them looking vaguely surprised that he wasn't actually addressing them, and all of them looking absolutely furious.

"You....you...." Ron was stammering, apparently speechless with fury.

Draco tore his gaze away from Ginny, who was now flushing as red as her hair, and still staring fixedly at him in something very like horror.

Potter and Weasley both had their wands out, and were leveling them at him with furious looks. Even Granger, who, as always, had placed a restraining hand on Weasley's arm, was looking angry and on the verge of pulling a wand herself. She tossed her bushy hair back with a furious shake, and said, "How dare you?"

Draco didn't even need to gesture or speak; Crabbe and Goyle stepped in front of him, their massive hands already in fists. Weasley shook off Granger's arm and took a step forward, his wand still aimed past Crabbe and Goyle and directly at Draco. His mouth opened, and Draco knew that an angry insult was forthcoming. He knew the look by now. He'd deliberately provoked it more times than he could count. But right now, it brought him no pleasure. He didn't want to hear it, and the entrance hall at breakfast time was not the place to pick a fight to his advantage. This wasn't a fight he'd intended to pick at all. And there was little satisfaction to be gained from the look on Ginny's face – especially since he wasn't certain why he'd bothered stopping to insult her in the first place, and he didn't know how to continue with it now that he had.

Before Ron could speak the angry words clearly boiling over in his expression, Draco turned his back on the lot of them with a disdainful little shrug. He wasn't worried about being hit in the back by curses; Crabbe and Goyle were there as living shields, and in the end he knew that Potter considered himself too ridiculously noble to hit an enemy in the back. Potter had so many exploitable weaknesses. But Draco wasn't going to bother with them today.

Broom still carefully gripped and perfectly propped on his shoulder, he continued on down the hall, and down the stairs toward the dungeons. Behind him, as he went, he could hear Weasley swearing fiercely, Granger speaking soothingly to Ginny. Potter was completely silent. And then there was only the sound of Crabbe and Goyle's shuffling footsteps, and Goyle grunted a thick laugh. They knew he always wanted them to laugh at his attacks on Potter and his cohorts.

But at the moment, Draco didn't feel much like laughing.

He made his way down to the Slytherin common room, and thought that maybe he'd skip breakfast entirely today. He didn't particularly want to look across the Hall and see Ginny Weasley's face.

[Kiara Johnson]

ooo...thank you...please more.  You do have more, don't you?---lol ;D ;D ;) ;D

[Lily_Evans]

The Stands

By the end of the afternoon, Draco had almost managed to block out his earlier encounter on the stairs. Shortly after lunch, an idea had struck him which made all his remaining discomfort disappear. He sat in the common room, idly drawing stick figures on his homework, most of which ended up with scars on their foreheads and stakes through their hearts. It was an image he never tired of doodling. He stabbed his quill to the paper with contempt and satisfaction. He was going to get them back. Today.

The match against Gryffindor would take place the following weekend, which was why the Slytherin team had been up so early every morning practicing. It was why they'd worked so hard on the pitch this morning. It was why the Gryffindor team was going to be out doing the same thing this afternoon. And it was why the Gryffindors would be drilling all their most effective, and often secret, strategies. They were down to the wire. Now was the day to spy them out.

In about five minutes they'd be up in the air - they wouldn't notice him if he came around from the far side of the pitch and stayed close to the lockers. It occurred to Draco briefly that he wouldn't be able to bring Crabbe and Goyle, but he waved that concern off in seconds. They'd be much too cumbersome; they spoiled anything that required the slightest finesse. And no one would see him anyway.

Tossing his homework to the table, he rose and left the common room, climbing up the dungeon stairs, going quickly down the corridors and out into the late afternoon sunlight. Upon reaching the pitch, he cut left around the stands and entered the field from behind the locker room building, keeping in its shadow so as not to be noticed. He stood against the wall and squinted up, just as Potter dove.

For one moment, it seemed Potter's Firebolt would hit the grass - no, it was definite, he was going to plow directly into the ground - Draco watched, holding his breath, hoping for it. Half a second too soon, Potter pulled up his handle and soared upward again. Draco wanted nothing more than to stop watching this display, but he had to watch the continuation of the move - it was the sort of thing he was supposed to be stealing, after all. His eyes followed the sweep of Potter's rise, arcing up from the grass, past the lower stands, hurtling to the top of the risers, where Draco's eyes stopped.

Potter's broom continued upward and into the sky, but Draco wasn't watching. A flash of color at the top of the distant stands caught his attention and held it, something golden and red, and it took him a moment to realize that it was the rays of fading sunlight on Ginny Weasley's hair. Draco squinted into the light to see her more clearly.

She was sitting alone, hunched down on the bench as though trying to make herself smaller, less noticeable. A futile attempt, Draco thought, so long as she had that hair. But he had no doubt why she was trying; in spite of the way she always tagged along at Potter's heels, Draco felt certain that she was somehow ashamed of the very fact. That just made it all the more disgusting.

And here she was, no doubt sneaking out to watch her precious Potter at practice. Even though she had three brothers on the team as well, Draco somehow doubted she'd be hunched out here all alone if it weren't for Potter. And that thought filled him with the usual hatred that came always with thoughts of Potter - only this time it had a different edge, and he was suddenly feeling almost nauseous.
He was walking around the pitch and toward the stands before consciously making the decision to do so. But once he'd started, it seemed too late to turn back.

There was really no reason for him to be talking to Ginny Weasley. What could she possibly say to interest him? What could he possibly get out of the exchange?

I just want to know, he thought to himself, scowling. I just want to know WHY she bothers with bloody Potter in the first place. He was up the steps and in the stands before he'd even considered what he would say when he got to her, and, upon reaching the end of the row where she sat, he hesitated. She hadn't even heard him approaching; her gaze was fixed on the sky, her eyes following the plays. Following Potter. It was disgusting that she even found ways to follow him when she was sitting still and though Draco still had no idea what he wanted to say, he knew he wanted her to quit watching Potter. He took a step closer to her, letting his shadow fall across her seat.

She turned. Her eyes widened. Her entire posture changed. She had been curled and unnoticeable a moment before. Now she straightened, throwing her shoulders back and tossing her hair out of her face.

"What are you doing here? This is a Gryffindor practice." She spoke with surprising venom. Considering her obvious weakness where Potter was concerned, Draco hadn't expected her voice to have that kind of fire in it. Of course, he'd rarely ever heard her speak.

She continued to glare at him, her expression demanding an explanation for his arrival, and Draco realized he hadn't answered her. Why was he there? His mind raced for a moment and no answer came to him. He felt the same pang of nausea he'd had earlier, watching Ginny's face as she looked from himself to the Gryffindor team in the sky and back again, obviously putting two and two together.

He was there to spy. Of course. Draco was relieved to have stumbled across the explanation in his mind, though he was hardly about to say it out loud. And anyway, he didn't have to.

"Get out of here, you're not allowed to watch them!" Ginny was suddenly on her feet. "It's obvious why you're here!"

[Lily_Evans]

And just as suddenly, Draco found his voice. "Not really a mystery why you're here, either, is it, Weasley?" he shot, narrowing his eyes at her, enjoying the fact that this comment caused the anger in her face to falter slightly. He pressed on. "Watching the fabulous Potter fly? Thinking how amazing he is?" His own voice dripped with sarcasm, and Ginny flinched, her eyes flitting back out toward the players in the sky, confirming his suspicion. She was so stupidly transparent - didn't she know it? "Or maybe..." he continued in a malicious drawl, bringing her eyes back toward him, "...maybe you're just waiting for him to fall off his broom so you can run down there and kiss it better."

Ginny's jaw dropped and for a second, Draco felt the satisfaction of a direct hit. But it didn't last. With speed and dexterity he hadn't anticipated, Ginny had drawn her wand and pointed it straight at his chest. On a self-preserving instinct, he drew his own wand and aimed back at her, feeling an unexpected tingle of excitement. It wasn't the same as when he pulled his wand on Potter. The air between himself and Ginny seemed to be charged, somehow. It was an almost heady feeling.

She spoke first, and though her voice shook, Draco had a feeling that she wasn't afraid. She was simply furious.

"You have no right," she managed. "No right! I'm so sick of you, Malfoy! You think you're so important just because your dad has money - well, you're not - and the things I do are none of your business." Her breath was short, her eyes were flashing, her wand was trembling in her hand. "Get away from this practice and get away from me!"

Draco stared. That she had stood up for herself so plainly was a shock, and the fact that she had dared mention his father... He knew what his response ought to be. Family pride required him to hex her to the ground without a second thought. She was a Weasley, and none of her worthless family deserved to say a word about his. But to his chagrin, he found that her final jab was the one that truly made him want to hex her, and he opened his mouth on a spell.

Unfortunately, every curse he knew seemed suddenly to have vacated his brain. Taking advantage of his pause, Ginny tensed slightly and raised her wand. Draco experienced a brief shock; was she really going to curse him?

He never found out. From below on the pitch there was a shrill, piercing sound that he recognized at once as the referee's whistle. He spun toward it, seeing Ginny do the same, and saw that Madam Hooch was speeding up the stands toward them on her broom. Her yellow, hawk-like eyes blazed even from a distance, and she had never looked so like a bird of prey as now, swooping upon them.
PUT DOWN THOSE WANDS!" she shouted, coming to a hover beside them.

Draco dropped his wand arm to his side as Madam Hooch glared from himself to Ginny. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny lower her wand also, her face flushing guiltily.

"What are your wands doing out on my field?" Madam Hooch asked sharply, looking to Ginny first.

Ginny opened her mouth and stammered. "I was only – I just –"

Draco turned fully toward her, incredulous. She was going to try and pull the Gryffindor innocent act – to pawn this off on him. Suddenly he didn't care how guilty she was feeling for being caught. He wasn't going to be blamed for this.

He cut across her with practiced ease and addressed Madam Hooch coolly.

"She pulled her wand first. This was self-defense."

Madam Hooch turned her hawk eyes on him, looking anything but convinced. Of course. As usual. The prejudice – the unfailing prejudice of so many of these teachers against Slytherin House – was just unbelievable. And to make matters worse, coming up behind Hooch at high speed were Potter and Weasley and those hideously duplicated twins.

For the first time since arriving at the pitch, Draco became suddenly, acutely aware that he had left Crabbe and Goyle behind in the dungeon.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, MALFOY?" Weasley was barreling toward him ahead of the rest, leaning forward on his broom as though he had every intention of spearing Draco on the end of it.

Madam Hooch shot them a warning look, which made all of them pull to a halt beside her. But they hovered together, all four of them, glaring at Draco as though they'd be happy to dismember him if they could only get their hands on him.

"That will do," Madam Hooch said curtly.

Ignoring her entirely, one of the twins advanced a few inches on his broom. "If you were trying to curse our sister, Malfoy..." he threatened, leaving his sentence ominously unfinished. The other one filled in the blank with a grim nod of agreement. They didn't look to be joking now, yet Draco had to smirk. The mere fact that there were two of them was their worst joke of all.

"Enough." Madam Hooch's tone was final. She turned back to Draco. "You say she pulled her wand on you first?"

At these words there was an explosion.

"As IF!" Weasley hollered.

"She was provoked!" yelled Potter at the same time.

Ginny drew herself up slightly at these last words. Draco saw it out of the corner of his eye, and it infuriated him.

"Shut up, Potter!" he snapped.

"Quiet." Madam Hooch looked around at them all, her gaze coming back to Draco and Ginny. "I saw two wands drawn," she said evenly. "I'm giving two detentions."

There was a noise of outrage from the three Weasleys and Potter. Ginny made no protest, but threw Draco a look of such open contempt and frustration that he recoiled slightly. He was once again momentarily surprised by the fierceness of her reaction. This was not the spineless little wisp he'd grown accustomed to seeing in Potter's wake.

And this time, he couldn't help noticing, she wasn't toning it down in front of Potter, either. Draco was satisfied to think that he had managed to force her out of her usual timidity. It was like being one up on Potter, in a way.

"Be here at four-thirty tomorrow," Madam Hooch instructed them. "You'll be serving your detention in the broom shed."

Weasley muttered profanely under his breath. Madam Hooch ignored him.

"Is that clear?" she pressed.

[Lily_Evans]

Yes, Madam Hooch," Ginny answered, her tone resigned.

Draco gave a nod of bare acknowledgment. Madam Hooch returned it, regarding him with a gaze so pointed that Draco knew she could guess why he'd been on the pitch in the first place. Then, satisfied, she turned away and returned to the rest of the Gryffindor team, where they were waiting by the goal posts, watching curiously.

Ginny turned as well and stalked past Draco, going down and out of the stands without so much as a look at him. Her brothers and Potter immediately pivoted their brooms to follow her, but all of them made certain to shoot him one last dirty look before they went. Draco sneered at their retreating backs and left the stands in the other direction.

He headed toward the castle, seething inwardly. What had he been thinking? He hadn't gotten a single Gryffindor strategy. He had only gotten a detention, and Potter had seen him get it. Why had Madam Hooch been on the pitch anyway? She never watched over the Slytherin practices.

It was a moment before the answer dawned on Draco. She'd been out there for Potter's protection. That idiot Dumbledore had probably set her out there to look out for Potter's safety. Everybody was always shielding Potter this year, vigilantly, as if his life was ten times more important than anybody else's.

Of course, Potter was in danger. Draco permitted himself a smile, thinking for a moment of his father, and of the things he'd overheard at home last summer. Oh, Potter was definitely in danger.

His anger now somewhat abated, he turned his thoughts back to other matters, musing about the detention he'd have to serve. He was going to have to fabricate some kind of story about where he'd be going tomorrow afternoon. He certainly wasn't going to admit that he was serving a detention in the broom shed with Ginny Weasley.

And he certainly wasn't going to admit that something about the idea was almost appealing.

[Kiara Johnson]

*Eyes popping out, sitting on the egde of her seat*   WoW!---love it

[Lily_Evans]

Grr!!! Admin changed the colours again! I liked them bright yello and orange! i hate Black and red, lucky to the Slytherins.


The Broom Shed

Draco was making himself walk slowly down the lawn. He wasn't going to rush toward the stupid broom shed and work himself into a sweat, not even if Potter and the Weasleys knew the time and place of his detention. Draco looked both ways, however, assuring himself that none of them were nearby to intercept him. He didn't have Crabbe or Goyle with him after all. He'd had to put them off with an excuse – not that it had been difficult. They would have believed him had he said he was off to have tea with the giant squid. He'd actually toyed with telling them that, and in fact had only decided against it because he didn't want them spreading such a rumor around the common room as if it were the truth.

By the time he arrived at the broom shed, his lingering amusement and disgust had faded, leaving him with an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. He attributed this to the fact that Madam Hooch stood waiting for him, her arms crossed. When she spoke, her tone was clipped.

"You're late, Mr. Malfoy."

"I was kept after class," Draco lied smoothly. "Professor Trelawney needed to speak with me about my star chart." Draco assumed that no teacher in her right mind would seek out Trelawney to verify this information, and after a moment, Hooch nodded. She pushed open the broom shed door and gestured him inside. Draco went, swallowing for no reason as he did so and finding that his throat was suddenly dry.

Ginny was in the shed already, seated with a broom across her lap. She kept her eyes fixed on its tail, though there was no way she could have been unaware of his entrance.

Without ceremony, Madam Hooch took a pair of clippers from the wall and handed them to Draco.

"I want every broomtail in this shed clipped into shape by the end of two hours, and no magic. Miss Weasley has assured me she knows how to do this. Do you, or do you need a demonstration?"

Draco was instantly affronted. "I've been maintaining brooms of better quality than this my whole life," he informed her coldly.

"Then I'll expect yours to look twice as professional," she returned, with equal frost. Draco heard a sound from Ginny that sounded suspiciously like a snicker, though he couldn't be sure. She still hadn't lifted her head.

With that, Madam Hooch left them alone, shutting the door behind her and leaving the shed in a dead, uncomfortable silence. Draco glanced at Ginny, then quickly turned and snatched a broom from the wall. He looked around for a chair, realizing at once that there was only one bench in the room. Ginny was sitting on it. There was room enough for him to sit beside her, but everything in him balked at the idea. He wasn't sharing space with her.

Fastidiously, he cleared a space for himself on the shed floor and sat down, wrinkling his nose in distaste. His robes were going to be filthy after this. For a long time, the only sound in the shed was of twigs being clipped. Draco didn't look up. If she wasn't going to look at him, then he wasn't going to look at her.

It must have been half an hour before he heard a particularly violent snip, followed immediately by a stinging sensation in the middle of his forehead. A second later, a small bit of twig fell from his head into his lap. He stared at it a moment, then raised his head to find Ginny's eyes already on him.

She was obviously trying not to laugh. There was something very smug about her face... she was smirking at him. Draco felt himself flush with irritation and embarrassment. He wasn't going to sit here and be a target of amusement for a Weasley.

"Do you think this is funny, Weasley?"

She raised an eyebrow slightly, shrugged almost imperceptibly, and returned her gaze to the broom she now held, continuing to clip it. But Draco couldn't simply allow this to pass. She still looked far too satisfied with herself. More infuriating was the fact that she seemed able to dismiss him with so little effort. It was insufferable; he wasn't going to have it.

"Are you deaf?" He paused, waiting for a reply. Nothing. "Have you no breeding?" he drawled. "You answer a person when they ask you a question."

But the only sound from Ginny was the ongoing, deliberate clipping of broomtail twigs as she steadfastly ignored him.

It was too much. Feeling a need to break through her resistance, Draco raised the level of his taunts, aiming for the place where he knew her to be especially weak. He spoke with casual venom.

"Or does Potter like you mute?" he continued softly. "Is this required? Are you practicing for when he finally gives you the time of day?"

Ginny stopped clipping, but her head remained bowed. Her hand relaxed on the broom and as she took a shallow breath, Draco could just see her brow wrinkling slightly. A flash of triumph shot through him. He had done it. He had broken her resolve.

But when Ginny raised her head a moment later, he knew at once that he'd been wrong. She didn't seem wounded at all this time. Rather, she was clear-eyed and calm, regarding him with something between amusement and... perhaps concern. Or was it pity? Indignant at the very idea of such a thing, Draco opened his mouth, ready to tell her to wipe the look off her face. But Ginny spoke before he could get a word out.

"Do you ever stop being nasty for five seconds?" she asked simply, still looking at him.

Draco felt himself freeze slightly. What kind of a question was that? He held Ginny's gaze for a moment purely out of surprise, and searched for a reply that wouldn't come. Could he stop being nasty? What was she aiming at? At first his mind was almost flustered, and then it flooded with serious irritation. He'd thrown his best at her and yet she sat unfazed, while he was left feeling disconcerted.

She was still looking at him, waiting for his answer. Well, she wasn't going to get one. There was no way he was getting into a personal discussion with Ginny Weasley – no way. How dare she even ask a question of him? He wouldn't condescend to reply to her. Not that he could have, if he had wanted to. He still didn't know the answer to her question himself.

Forcing his eyes away from hers, Draco returned his attention to the broom he held and gave the tail a violent clip. After a moment, he saw Ginny drop her head again, and heard the sound of her resuming her task. Draco continued to clip twigs angrily, snipping them one by one with new, unnecessary force, hoping one would fly across the shed and smack the Weasley brat right on her freckled face.

[Kiara Johnson]

lol---tea with the giant squid00good one :D

[Lily_Evans]

The Dormitory

When Madam Hooch returned to the broom shed at the end of two hours, not another word had been spoken. She inspected the brooms – taking up one of Draco's and inspecting it with what he knew to be exaggerated criticism. He watched her, irked. These teachers were truly full of themselves and Draco felt it was time for another letter to his father about it. When Madam Hooch finally opened the door and announced that their work was good and their detention complete, Draco stood, brushed at his robes and swept past her, out onto the pitch.

A moment later, he felt the air move next to him and saw Ginny pass him by, striding off the pitch and up the lawn. Her pace said clearly that she had no desire to be near him, or to have another encounter with him. It was offensive, and Draco's first instinct was to follow her and plague her just for that. But instead he slowed, and watched her continue toward the castle. The sun was very nearly down. Hogwarts was bathed in burnt orange light, and Ginny's hair absorbed and reflected it as she walked.

She'd hit him in the head, Draco reminded himself quickly. She'd laughed at him. She'd been the reason they'd had a detention in the first place, and Draco knew there was no reason at all for him to hang back watching her like this. He put two fingers to his forehead where the twig had stung him and rubbed the spot, scowling. He continued to rub it as he traveled back inside and down into the Slytherin common room, though it certainly no longer hurt, and he only dropped his hand when he entered the fifth year boys' dormitory and caught sight of himself in the mirror.

The center of his forehead looked red and irritated. Even from across the room, Draco was arrested by this strange addition to his reflection. He couldn't help but think what it reminded him of. And even though he certainly didn't want one – it was revolting to see a scar in the middle of someone's forehead – Draco couldn't help but reflect that if he had one, life would be a little different.

Feeling sullen and wronged, Draco shoved back the hangings on his four-poster and fell back onto his bed to sulk. If he had Potter's little past, he wouldn't have gotten that detention. Of course, if he had Potter's past, Ginny Weasley wouldn't have pulled her wand on him in the first place. And she would never have dismissed him. Draco could still see the look she'd had on her face when she'd so easily brushed him off, and he was enraged. He should be the one brushing her off. But he wasn't. It seemed he couldn't. And in a rare moment of honesty with himself, Draco realized that the problem was he didn't even want to.

Sickened by the thought, Draco sat up abruptly. He couldn't lie here entertaining any more abhorrent ideas – this was unthinkable. Absurd. He had homework to do before tomorrow, and he'd be d**ned if he was going to show up in Potions tomorrow without it perfected and make a mess of his elixir with Potter and his convoys looking on. He got up from his bed and strode into the common room, determined to maintain his usual command.

"Goyle," he barked, upon seeing him making a mess of his potion ingredients across the room. "Get over here and bring your dandelion roots." Goyle got to his feet unthinkingly and made a lunge past Crabbe, tripping and knocking both his own and Crabbe's ingredients to the floor. Goyle grunted at the mess and bent over awkwardly to try and clean it from Crabbe's boat-like shoes. Crabbe leaned forward to assist in this, and in doing so he smacked his head against Goyle's.

Draco made a noise of utter impatience, appalled by their futile attempts at something so simple. The two of them were useless apart and even worse together – one day they would be trained. He settled himself in the best chair by the fire and crossed his arms, waiting for them to recover themselves and bring him what he wanted.

"Here, Draco –" a familiar, breathy, tittering sort of voice cut across his thoughts. "I've cut twice as many as we need for tomorrow while you were gone." Pansy alit in the chair nearest his by the fire and gave him her usual syrupy smile, holding out a handful of perfectly clipped dandelion roots. Draco snorted softly at this not at all unusual offer and gestured to the table, where Pansy dutifully deposited the roots in a pile for him. He watched, detesting her for being so absolutely servile. Hadn't she learned anything, growing up in her house? The Parkinsons were in his own circle, but Pansy was practically a disgrace.

"The Ball was officially announced this afternoon, you know. For Christmas day," she continued, pausing to allow Draco to volunteer an invitation. When he refused to reply, however, her smile did not falter. She simply scooted closer to him and found another topic.

"Where did you go after class?" she asked, making her eyes wide and expectant.

Draco looked at her briefly. Her pug nose, half-lit by the fire, was very unattractive. Even less attractive was the way she leaned forward, raptly attentive to him, hanging on his every word.

"Were you outside practicing something new for Quidditch?" she guessed, giving him a silly little smirk that Draco supposed was meant to be flirtatious.

No, Draco imagined replying casually. I was down in the broom shed with Ginny Weasley.

He snickered aloud at Pansy's imagined reaction. She frowned in confusion at the inappropriate sound, and Draco shifted his eyes to the roots she'd cut for him. They looked about the same size as the twigs he'd been clipping earlier and he wondered what Pansy would do if he threw one at her head.

"I was busy," he said shortly, shaking his head at her when she opened her mouth to pry further. That was all she was getting out of him. And it was true that he'd been busy – he'd been held in detention with a Weasley, who, considering her family's position, ought to be acting toward him the way that Pansy was acting now.

Ought to. But she wouldn't.