More is my unrest (Plz read!)

[Kiara Johnson]

Your good at this!  You've got everyones personalities down to a tee.  And I like what your doing with Ginny. ;)

[Trixie Malfoy]

BTW I'm helping her write it, so I'll post some!
allie's doing most of the work, she thought of it all! But here's some that i whipped up ( Revised by Alllie)

The Library

Draco didn't know why he was bothering with the library tonight and yet he headed toward it distractedly, at high speed, hardly listening to the labored breathing of Crabbe and Goyle as they worked to keep up with this unusual pace. They were used to his lazy stride, but that wasn't good enough tonight. He couldn't concentrate on anything, least of all the piles of homework he had waiting for him this weekend. His mind was wholly occupied with tomorrow and with knocking Potter out of the sky. The match against Gryffindor was to take place in the morning and Draco was ready to strike. He had never been so filled with the desire to destroy. And since the afternoon in the broom shed he'd been on pins and needles, watching the crowds in the corridors around him, making perfectly sure to avoid her.

It wasn't difficult, really, seeing as she was a year his junior and rarely in the same areas of Hogwarts that he was, during the school day. He didn't have to try to avoid her. But more than once he'd seen her approaching and instinctively detoured on the way to his own classes. Just yesterday, he'd ducked behind an unfamiliar tapestry and ended up in a room he'd never before seen. Crabbe and Goyle hadn't really seemed to notice that anything was wrong with him. They hadn't even noticed that he was leading them in the wrong direction. And sometimes, he reflected, it was lucky that they were so entirely dim. He wouldn't have taken well to questions and he wasn't about to offer explanations.

He really didn't know if he could explain it anyway. He only knew it wasn't natural. It wasn't right. It was just a restless feeling that made his stomach writhe whenever she came around corners, but that was all. That was all. She was, regardless of her bloodline, only one step up from a Mudblood. She wasn't even pretty. Her freckles were totally lopsided – there were more scattered on one half of her face than there were on the other. Not to mention that outlandish hair. What was she trying to prove, with that hair? She was just a weak little nothing who looked like somebody had set her head on fire.

That thought was untrue, but it gave him a certain crude satisfaction and he reveled in it, pushing aside another tapestry and marching onward toward the library, his fine hair falling in his eyes. Yes. She was a stupidd, arrogant, poor, pathetic, Potter-loving little girl with too many miserable brothers stationed around her all the time.

Draco pushed back his hair contemptuously, turned another corner without breaking his stride and shoved open the library doors without consideration for who or what might be on the other side.

There was a loud smack as he collided with a student in his path, followed by several dull thumps and the sound of pages fluttering as a schoolbag and a stack of books toppled to the floor. Draco came to an abrupt halt, feeling Crabbe and Goyle pull up close behind him, still breathing hard.

Ginny Weasley faced him. Her things were all over the floor.

He'd just knocked entirely against her, and it was with incredible effort that Draco managed to ignore this fact and fix her with a hostile stare. For a moment they did nothing but stare, but it was only a moment, and then her eyes were gone. She had dropped down to gather her books from the floor.

Draco made no move to help her. He stood and watched her, bent at his feet, quickly retrieving her belongings. It was a gratifying position to see her in, really. He welcomed the sense of power and excitement that it brought. He could almost pretend that she was groveling.

Until she stood again, with everything in her arms, and caught his eyes.

Draco caught his breath, loudly enough that he heard it and worried that she had, too. Her hair was disheveled, her face pink from being bent over, and she kept steady eye-contact, clearly not afraid of him at all. Draco found himself unwillingly captivated by the disorder of her appearance. He'd never seen her flushed except in embarrassment, and she had to throw back her hair to get it out of her eyes. It was amazing that she could stand here, an absolute mess, and still manage to be somehow enthralling. That simply wasn't the way things should be. It irritated him greatly, yet another thing to add to the list where she was concerned.

It wasn't until Crabbe made a grunting sound behind him that Draco realized he was still staring, unmoving, at Ginny. He became aware again of Crabbe and Goyle at his back, and knew that they were awaiting some sign from him to tell them what to do. Ginny, too, was staring at him in silence, clearly awaiting some sign from him as well. But her expression now was full of suspicion, and also some confusion in the slight furrow between her brows. Even her eyebrows, Draco noticed, had a slight hint of gold in them, like her hair. He noticed - and immediately realized that he had better say something quick to end this dangerous silence.

He drew a deep breath, thinking to say something scathing about her keeping out of the path of her betters, when he suddenly remembered the sound of her voice in his head.

Do you ever stop being nasty for five seconds?

His breath caught again, but this time it was with indignation, not surprise. He hadn't had an answer for her back in the broom shed, and the truth was that she didn't deserve one. It was an impudent, s****d question, and he wasn't about to dignify it with a response, even though he'd had quite a few days to think on one. But right now, with her wary gaze on him, he felt the indignation of it filling him so that it was a struggle not to burst.

Of course he could stop. She had some gall to even suggest that there was anything he couldn't do. He could do whatever he set his mind to. Just as he was going to beat Potter in the match tomorrow, so could he prove her wrong. Stop being nasty? Of course he could. And wouldn't she be shocked, s****d, presumptuous little girl.

He said the first thing that came to his mind, and he said it slowly and clearly, just so that she'd be certain to catch every word. "Nice hair, Weasley."

But her eyes didn't widen with shock, much to his disappointment and frustration. Instead, she actually rolled them, and the openly wary and perplexed expression she had worn a moment before now turned to one of disgust. She made a sound half-way between a guffaw and a sigh, then tossed her head again to fling her mussed hair out of her face.

Was she taunting him with that move? Draco scowled, but before he could say anything more she clutched her books more closely to her chest and stepped around him, head held high. She spared no glance for Crabbe or Goyle, just stepped around them as well and reached out with a steady hand to open the Library door. She swept out in silence, and the door swung shut behind her with a dull thud.

Draco stared at it, stared after her, stunned. Unbelievable. She had just walked out. It was beyond galling, and it was utterly confusing. It made no sense, how Potter could treat her with such indifference yet still have her complete devotion, while a comment from him earned nothing but her apathy. She should be grateful for any kind of attention, Draco thought angrily. She wasn't likely to get it anywhere else. Especially not with that graceless attitude. But then again, what had he expected? She was a Weasley.

"What's wrong?" Goyle grunted suddenly.

Draco frowned and looked to him. He and Crabbe were both watching him with deeply confused expressions, which was not at all a new sight. But even they could sometimes notice that something was amiss if it was standing right in front of them – and Draco realized he'd been standing here staring at the door through which Ginny had gone for rather a long time.

"Shut up." He snapped, flushing with anger. Just anger. He deliberately turned his back on the door. "How many times have I told you not to ask questions? Just go sit down or something before you hurt yourselves. I'll find the books I need myself."

[Trixie Malfoy]

Behind him, Draco heard the stands erupt into cheers, foot-stomping and wild applause. Three-quarters of Hogwarts was screaming itself hoarse with happiness. He watched Potter for another moment, dully, suddenly too weary even to be revolted by the fact that the entire Gryffindor team had swarmed around Potter, shouting joyfully and throwing their fists into the air. Weasley was picking up his glasses and handing them back; Potter sat up in a daze and fixed them on his face, grinning with the full measure of his pretentious modesty.

Draco turned away. Unthinkingly his eyes found the Gryffindor section and traveled up its stands, fixing on the unmistakable flash of red and gold that was Ginny Weasley's hair. She was hugging Granger, and the two of them were clearly overcome with excitement; they were bouncing up and down childishly and making a terrible noise. After a moment, Ginny pulled herself away, threw both her arms into the air and hollered something unintelligible. Her face was alight with happiness – she shone at Potter. Her focus was entirely his. And Draco knew, with a nauseating thump of his gut, that the scene would not have been reversed had he himself caught the Snitch. Ginny wouldn't be yelling for him – shining at him. She'd be cursing him for knocking Potter to the ground.
Draco made a rocky landing and smacked his Nimbus Two Thousand and One back over his shoulder. He hated Potter. He hated Quidditch. He hated the fact that the members of his own team, far from offering brotherly support to him for the loss, were taking turns shooting him sour looks of disapproval and scorn. He hated that his father would want to know exactly what had happened, and that there would be nothing but censure and derision when he found out. He hated the Slytherin stands and the incessant, impotent snarls they were sending toward Gryffindor.

He hated that Pansy was already hovering in wait for him on the edge of the pitch, having squeezed between Crabbe and Goyle where he couldn't fail to miss her, a look of affected concern pasted across her face. He knew what she would say. She'd said it before, after every match he'd ever lost. She'd say that Potter had definitely cheated, that Draco had played wonderfully, that it was all so very unfair.

Not interested in her lying flattery, Draco cut by her without a word and left her with her mouth hanging open. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Potter and Weasley coming off the field. Granger joined them, still bouncing stupidly on the balls of her feet, her bushy head bobbing.

And with her was Ginny, for once apparently too thrilled to keep silent, reaching out to touch Weasley's arm as she smiled openly at Potter. "Brilliant catch," he heard her declare.

Draco slammed open the locker room door, wondering how difficult it would be to drown himself in the shower.

[Kiara Johnson]

 ;D ;D ;D

[Lily_Evans]

The Common Room

Almost as soon as he sat down at the table, Draco regretted having come up to the Great Hall for dinner at all. He should have gone with his instincts. He should have stayed down in the dormitory and brooded in peace.

The Hall was filled with the echoes of cheerful conversation. The Gryffindor table was practically riotous, and even across the distance of the Hall Draco could make out snippets of the conversation; Quidditch talk, all of it. Praise for Potter. As always. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables were only marginally less cheerful.

The Slytherin table was a bit more subdued, but he took no comfort in that. Nobody was really talking to him, as it was pretty obvious that no member of the Slytherin Quidditch team was much in the mood for conversation. Draco was pleased to be left mostly alone, but irritated nonetheless at the subtle current of excitement that still shot down the Slytherin table. This wasn't excitement about the match. He knew what it was about, and it did nothing to improve his mood.

Directly opposite him on the other side of the table was Pansy, and she was talking to Crabbe, of all people, on Draco's left side. Her words were directed at Crabbe, but Draco could feel her eyes straying toward him as she spoke. He refused to look up from his plate, scowling at his stew.

"You know, Vincent," Pansy was saying in a sympathetic sort of voice, "You could always ask Millicent to go the Ball with you. I rather thought you would have done so by now. You're perfect for each other."

Crabbe made an unintelligible grunting sound, translatable by those who unfortunately knew him as an expression of anxiety.

Draco scowled more fiercely and began to stir his stew with his sthingy, forcing himself to watch the clumps of meat and potato push their way through the thick sauce. It was better than watching other things. Better than lifting his head and being forced to face the Gryffindor table, where he knew exactly what he would see.

No, he shouldn't have come down to dinner. He should just leave, go to the Owlery, and send off the letter to his father explaining about the Quidditch match so that he could put it all behind him. He'd send the letter, his father would send a reply tomorrow telling him how severely disappointed he was in his son, speak harshly of his incompetence, and then it would be over. Until the next time.

Down at the far end of the table, he could just make out the sound of Blaise Zabini talking to a pretty fourth year, inviting her to the Ball. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Millicent Bulstrode approaching, making a threatening sort of advance on Crabbe. He could feel Pansy's eyes on him. Expectant. He stirred his stew more viciously.

"Well, I think I'm all full." Pansy said momentarily, with an air of forced casualness. "Maybe I'll just head down to the common room and work on that report on Love Potions." She paused, then said suggestively, "Should I wait for you, Draco?"

"No." Draco snapped quickly, without lifting his gaze.

Pansy gave an almost inaudible sigh, and stared at him in silence for a moment before finally leaving. Draco clenched his jaw against a relieved sigh of his own, and gripped his sthingy tightly in a fist, churning with even more vigor at the stew.

But almost instantly, he regretted having driven Pansy away. Because now the seat across from him was vacant, and he had a clear line of sight to the Gryffindor table. It was as though his hearing suddenly became ten times more acute. He could make out the sounds of individual conversations from those bloody Gryffindors. He heard one of those despicable twins talking loudly to a girl he was clearly inviting to the Ball. Draco wondered how any girl could be desperate enough to accept an invitation from one of those identical idiots, unless she did so out of sheer pity, because they really were pitiable. If he had a face like that and had to see it reflected every day on some awful twin, he'd curse himself.

More pitiful was the sight of Weasley, fumbling to talk to that awful-haired nag he was always sniping at. He wasn't sniping now, however. On the contrary, he seemed to be attempting to set up some kind of crude invitation of his own. Draco raised his goblet disdainfully and swallowed. Weasley clearly didn't have the slightest clue what he was doing, yet that idiot Granger was looking at him as if he were spouting poetry. Her standards were obviously nonexistent. Of course, what more could one expect, from a Mudblood?

Draco regarded the distasteful scene, realizing slowly that he didn't have to watch it. He could always decide to look over one seat to Granger's right. But he had an idea that what he would find there would be difficult to face and so he kept his eyes fixed on a spot just over Granger's head, willing himself not to move them. Unable to resist for very long, however, he shifted his eyes the necessary fraction.

She was there. Watching Potter. Predictably. Her brown eyes flitted from her plate to his face and back again and her face was pink beneath her freckles. Draco wondered if she was hoping to be asked to the Ball herself, and if so, was she expecting her invitation to come from her hero? Draco glanced at Potter's face and scowled to see him as oblivious as usual. He felt a sudden, cruel urge to inform Ginny it was never going to happen – to walk by and hiss at her for being so senselessly persistent – when Potter got abruptly to his feet and strode around the table with decision.

Ginny's eyes followed him. Her face paled as he came deliberately around toward her and Draco saw her swallow, hard. But Potter didn't stop at her seat. He didn't even seem to notice her. Instead, he walked behind her and came to a halt at the Ravenclaw table, where he went about quietly addressing Cho Chang. A moment later, Cho nodded briefly and Draco reflected with high satisfaction that it was fitting to see Potter running after Diggory's leftovers. It was an appropriate situation for him. For a moment, Draco felt much better about his Quidditch loss.

However, when he returned his gaze to Ginny's crestfallen face, Draco felt his breath do something odd. Either she was allowing her hurt to show in public, or she simply couldn't help it. She had thrown her head back slightly and was looking at the ceiling of the Great Hall in what could only be an attempt to stop tears. The ceiling's moon shone on her face and for a moment she seemed to have forgotten she was in a room full of dinner plates and raucous noise and people.

So had Draco forgotten. When Ginny pushed up from her table a moment later, heading with some speed toward the doors of the Hall, Draco rose and followed, waving a hand behind him at Crabbe and Goyle, who were prepared to trudge along after him as usual.

"Stay there."

He didn't want them now. He wanted out of the Hall. He just wasn't hungry, he told himself, moving quickly to the doors and going through them. He was full and there was no good reason to linger in a roomful of noise. Instinct propelled him directly toward the corridor that led to the Slytherin stairway, but the moment he realized where he was going he wheeled around to face the Hall doors once more. He wasn't even fully conscious of his reasoning, until he saw it standing in front of him.

Outside the doors stood Ginny. Draco couldn't see her face and yet he was arrested by what was happening. The curtain of her hair hid her expression as she endured an invitation to the Ball from a Gryffindor boy in her year. Draco only recognized him because he was so fantastically annoying. It was that miserable Potter enthusiast, Creevey, and he was actually asking Ginny as his dance partner.

Ginny listened, but did not reply at first. Draco watched as her head turned almost imperceptibly toward the Great Hall and she looked inside a moment before seeming to make a decision. Her spine visibly straightened and she turned back toward Creevey, tucking her hair behind one ear as she did so and revealing her profile. She was smiling kindly.

"Yes, of course, Colin. I'd love to."

Creevey beamed. Draco felt ill. That imbecile was going to take her, and she was going to spend the entire night wishing it had been Potter. Oh, she was chatting brightly enough now, but Draco had seen her face in the Hall when Potter had asked Cho Chang, and he knew the truth. And he wasn't going to stand here idly, listening to her laugh with Creevey and watching her maintain composure over Potter, and cursing himself for not following her out here five seconds sooner and...

And...

Feeling he might actually retch at what he'd been about to do, Draco turned violently on his heel and rushed toward the entrance to the Slytherin stairs, forcing his mind around a few truths. She was one of them. She was a Weasley and a Gryffindor. Filth just like her brothers. He, however, was at the top of his House and his father was at the top of the world. He was the Malfoy heir and even if he wanted – even if he really, really wanted –

[Lily_Evans]

Draco slowed his pace slightly, and forced his breath to be regular. He was halfway down into the dungeon and the light was dim. The stones were cold. He reached up to be sure of his hair. No Gryffindor was going to cause him an undignified entrance into his own common room, least of all some stupiddgirl who had the indecency to attach herself to Potter. He didn't want her. How could he? She was thoroughly contaminated by Potter; she had been his, first. And Draco would have nothing – nothing – that had once belonged to Potter. Potter, who had won another match. Potter, everyone's brave, endangered golden boy. Potter, who had gotten himself a date to the Ball and tossed blind devotion aside in the process.

Well, Potter was a simpleton. Devotion had its definite advantages.

He knew exactly what he'd see when he entered the Slytherin common room, and as he stepped into the greenish glow of the hanging lamps, his expectations were fulfilled. There, sitting at a small table near the elaborately carved fireplace, was Pansy. She was slumped over the table in a very dejected manner, staring down at the book in front of her with a morose expression that looked more like a pout than anything else on her pug-nosed face.

Before the dungeon door even closed behind Draco, she lifted her head and turned to face him, as though she could just sense his presence. She was always anticipating his every move, and usually Draco found it severely annoying. But at the moment, it was only gratifying. Here was devotion. Unlike Potter, he knew what it looked like. And it did indeed have its advantages. Even after he had shunned her at dinner, here she was, smiling a bit tentatively, and waiting for him. Because she had been waiting for him, there was no doubt about that.

Draco narrowed his eyes, inspecting her face by the light of the fire. She wasn't pretty, she never would be. Her hair was limp and dull, possessing no inner life, no fire. Her face was hard-angled and pasty, no expressive smile, no spatters of color. And of course, there was very little pleasing about Pansy's personality. She wasn't insolent or brave or captivating like....some people. But what did it matter? In the end, Pansy was one thing – she was ambitious. And her one real ambition was him.

He wasn't Potter. He wasn't going to walk around like a moron , oblivious to someone like Ginny Weasley and the utter devotion she offered him. He wasn't Potter. And there was no Ginny here. But there was devotion, and that, he told himself fiercely, was something he deserved. Far more than Potter. At least he could see it. And he knew how to use it.

Pansy's weak smile had faltered under his long, cold inspection. But when he strode across the common room directly toward her, she straightened in her chair and replaced the smile, looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

He didn't even give her time to speak. He stopped directly in front of her table and looked down at her. "My dress robes have silver this year." He said flatly. "Be sure you don't clash."

Her face lit up instantly. Her smile widened, a flush touched her cheeks. She beamed up at him. She positively shone. Just as Ginny - no, Weasley. Just as Weasley had for Potter.

So be it.

"Of course!" Pansy said breathlessly, the happiness evident in her suddenly high voice. "I already picked them out to match!"

Draco gave a curt nod of approval and then turned his face away. He didn't want to talk to her. He didn't want to look at her right now. But neither did he want to go upstairs alone, where he'd lie awake on his bed and think of another face, another voice...

So he sat down, in a seat facing the fire, the table between himself and Pansy. He kept his profile to her, and tried to ignore the sound of her continued, cheerful chattering. She could carry on a conversation quite well without his help.

He watched the fire. He stared into the heart of it, the purple ripples of color that streaked along the wood, trying not to think about how the surrounding orange flames brought other things to mind. No. Fire burned. One did not reach out for fire, no matter how mesmerizing. But he watched.

Draco sat in silence, and watched the fire burn for a very long time.

Rom: Is she a Capulet?

O Dear account! my life is my foes' debt.

Ben: Away, be gone, the sport is at the best.

Rom: Ay, so I fear, the more is my unrest.

~Romeo & Juliet, Act I, Sc. V

THE END!

The story's done! i finished a whole FF *Feels proud*

Oh ya and The story is based on an Romeo & Juliet plot since draco can't fall for Ginnny since she's a WEASLEY

[Kiara Johnson]

Standing ovation my dear.  Although I am going to miss it.  Hope you write another like it ... no presure---lol :)

[Lily_Evans]

o i have! I started it here to, Hermione Granger's Secret diary-Year 4.

[Kiara Johnson]

ooooooo---I must go read now--by by---lol