Draco frowned as he walked alongside the dusty bookshelves. And why were they always dusty, anyway? He knew this pathetic excuse for a school had house-elves, so there was really no excuse as to why the shelves were always dusty. It was quite ridiculous, if he did say so himself, especially when it had the unfortunate side effect of making him sneeze, which it did.
“Achoo!” sneezed the blond. “Achoo! Achoo!”
There was the sound of irritable huffs being, well, huffed, from behind the bookshelf. Draco sneezed again. Said huffy person then slammed a book down on his or her table, let out another dramatic huff, and then Draco heard the ominous sound of stomping feet coming towards him. He was expecting Madam Pince to round the corner, or perhaps the psychotic mudblood that had made the library her second home. He was not expecting a scowling, redheaded girl. A very familiar redheaded girl. A Weasley redheaded girl.
Draco’s lips curled into a contemptuous sneer. “What?”
“Stop sneezing!” snapped the Weasley girl, placing her hands on her hips and giving him a glare worthy of a basilisk. “Some of us are actually trying to study, but all I can hear is your stupid nose trying to imitate an elephant.”
The nose in question twitched at this rather crude assessment of its voice. It did not appreciate being likened to an elephant (that was a Muggle animal), and it certainly did not care for the redhead that had likened it so. The blond who sported this nose was also feeling quite offended, and was all ready to tell her that his nose did not sound like an elephant, or at least reduce her to a puddle of tears with one of his usual withering insults, when something quite different came out of his mouth.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sakes,” sighed the Weasley girl, obviously realising that he was not going to stop sneezing just because she asked him to—though why she thought she had any power over him or his nose (that did not sound like an elephant) was quite ridiculous in itself. “Fine, Malfoy, if you can’t stop sneezing, then I’ll just have to get rid of you myself.”
Draco raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow at her. It would have been a very snooty expression, were it not for the fact that he had the sudden need to sniff, and sniffing back the glutinous fluid found in one’s nose was anything but snootily done. More just snottily done.
The blond inwardly cursed his human weakness at surrendering to the vulgar powers of the sniff (he was a Malfoy; he should be able to withstand anything vulgar), but did not allow it to ruffle his calm. He did, however, allow his mouth to form into a sneer.
“And how do you plan to do that, Weasley?”
“You’re in a library looking at bookshelves, aren’t you? Then obviously you’re looking for a book. I am going to find this stupid book for you, and then you can leave, and I can go back to studying in peace.”
Draco opened his mouth to reply that he did not need her help—and perhaps add in an insult about her disease-carrying, Weasley hands—when it suddenly occurred to him that by letting her find the book that he wanted, he would not have to rummage around dusty bookshelves to actually look for the damn thing himself, nor would he be further subjected to those awful sneezing attacks. Besides, if Blaise could tolerate her (the treacherous Slytherin actually called the Weasley girl a friend) then there was no reason why he couldn’t as well for this all-important cause.
“Very well, Weasley,” he said with a little smirk. “I’ll let you find my book. I’m sure you’re used to fetching things for people, anyway.”
Her brown eyes flashed—she obviously had not missed the implications of his words—and he suddenly found himself faced with a dainty but menacing finger.
“One more word from you, Malfoy, and there will be more attacking you than dust mites. You may be Blaise’s friend, but you’re not mine.”
She glared at him, allowing the threat to sink in; then, not even allowing him time to come up with a witty answer, she swung around on her foot and started examining the shelves. “Now which book do you want?” she demanded in a business-like voice.
“It’s written in runes, so I can’t very well tell you that, now can I?”
“Runes?” The redhead scowled. “I can’t read runes.”
“Now why am I not surprised?” He rolled his eyes at her lack of competence. “I should have known that it would be too much to actually expect you to be of any help to me.”
Her hands found their way back to her hips again. He couldn’t help but notice that they were very nice hips.
“I can still find your book,” she snapped, now defending her pride more than her desire to study in peace. “What do these runes look like? Maybe I can go by picture.”
So Draco described what the runes looked like. After all, he didn’t really feel like hunting for the book, but the Weasley girl seemed to be rather dense and did not understand his explanations. She was pulling out the wrong books left, right and centre, and demanding of him, “Is this it?” with each book that she thrust under his nose.
At first he was annoyed, but as he watched her bend over to examine the lower shelves, his annoyance soon turned to appreciation. Weasley or not, he still knew how to admire a nice view when he saw one. In fact, he considered himself quite the connoisseur of female derrieres.
It then occurred to him that he could take advantage of this situation. She was hardly going to suspect his motives, as it wasn’t as if he had ever shown any interest in her before, and even when they had been forced on each other’s presence, he had only argued with her or ignored her. Besides, he deserved some compensation for all the trouble that he had been put through.
And so Draco started making suggestions of where the book might be found to the unsuspecting redhead, and she, as he knew she would, dutifully followed them. He particularly enjoyed it when she tried to reach for the higher shelves, as her already too small blouse tightened against her breasts in a way that was really quite sinful for the effects it had on a hormonal, teenage boy. Not that Draco was complaining, though he did wish he could stop sneezing.
The redhead pulled out another book. “Is this it?” she asked, and ruthlessly shoved it at his face, hitting his nose with one of the sharp corners in the process.
“Ow,” moaned Draco, rubbing the now doubly wounded nose. “You hit me!”
She merely tossed her head impatiently. “Stop being such a baby. Is this the book you wanted or not?”
Draco glowered at her, but then he lowered his eyes to the book still being waved hazardously in front of his face. He stared. That was the book.
“This is it,” affirmed the blond, and placed his hand on it to take it from her, but something about the cover must have caught her attention, for the redhead suddenly yanked the book back towards her.
“Wait a minute,” she mumbled, staring with a frown at the picture on the back-cover.
Draco grabbed it abruptly from her hands. “I’ll be taking that, Weasley.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” exclaimed the redhead, latching her fingers back onto the book with impossible speed. “I found it first. I get to look at it first!”
Draco tightened his grip. “But as I was the one who was wanting it, I think you can just wait.”
“Just let me have a look.”
She tugged on it harder, nearly pulling it right out of his grasp. “Why are you being so secretive about it?”
“I’m not being secretive,” he gritted out, struggling with her to regain possession of the book. He felt his fingers slip again and cursed. “Damn it, Weasley, let go.”
He gave one ruthless tug and did indeed manage to pull the book back towards him. Unfortunately, he also dragged her along with it. There was a brief moment where he saw exactly what was about to happen, even managed to catch the mixture of surprise and horror reflected in her brown eyes, and then her body collided with his, sending them both stumbling backwards against the bookshelf. The book slipped from his fingers as he tried to steady himself with the bookcase, his other hand grasping wildly at the only other solid thing near him. It wasn’t nearly as solid as he thought. Quite soft, actually, and—
“Get your hands off my sister,” bellowed a loud and very familiar voice.
Draco barely had time to turn his head before the girl was being yanked away from him, and something hard and very bony made impact with his nose. He didn’t like to think of why there had been a loud cracking noise, but then he didn’t really need to. The sharp pain was more than enough to tell him what had happened.
“You broke my nose!” exclaimed Draco in a thick voice, while glaring at the boy he had fondly labelled Weasel. “You broke my bloody nose.”
“I’ll break more than that if you touch my sister again,” promised Weasel darkly.
“Ron, it’s not what it looks like,” interposed the Weasley girl, placing herself between the blond and her brother.
“Don’t try making excuses for him. I know what I saw!”
Draco raised an eyebrow at this very vague declaration. From what he remembered, there had simply been a lot of tug-of-war going on between the two of them, and then the Weasley girl had lost her grip on the book and crashed into him, knocking them both into the bookshelf. There was hardly anything of a questionable nature in that.
That was when he suddenly remembered that he had grabbed onto something soft when he had tried to steady himself. Something a little too soft. And the only thing that soft on a girl’s body was—
Good Merlin. He had grabbed the Weasley girl’s arse.
Draco blinked as another finger was levelled at his face, though this one was much less dainty and a lot more menacing.
“I’m watching you, Malfoy,” growled Weasel. “One wrong move and you’re dead.”
The blond let out a derisive snort at that, but this proved to be the wrong thing to do, as it only succeeded in shooting out a lot of blood from his nose and causing him a lot of pain. Weasel burst into loud laughter at this unfortunate circumstance, which made Draco scowl, and even the Weasley girl was trying to stifle giggles, which made him scowl even more.
“Laugh it up, Weasel,” sneered Draco, while reaching for his wand. No magic in the library rule, be damned. No one broke his nose and got away with it. Especially some dung-splattered faced Weasley.
His fingers closed around the thin wood, hexes of the most horrible kind already forming on his lips, but once again his desires were thwarted. Madam Pince, batty old battleaxe that she was, seemed to have an innate sensing spell for magic (or perhaps she had just heard the commotion and had finally come to investigate) and was now bearing towards the group of students. It would have been impossible to miss her screeches for them to get out, nor her threat that their Heads of House were going to hear about this Muggle brawling of theirs. She was particularly vehement in her attack on Draco, complaining that he was getting blood all over her precious floor and books.
The blond in question thought it was all very unfair. It wasn’t as if he had asked the Weasley oaf to punch him in the nose, nor did he request to have a redheaded shrew throw herself at him and cause said oaf to behave so irrationally. His nose quite agreed. It had never been so mistreated in its life, but then Madam Pince did not particularly care for the feelings of Draco Malfoy’s nose, and so neither blond nor nose were spared from her shooing hands.
And so it was that the blond was given no choice but to leave the library with as much dignity as he could muster. He decided to go to the Hospital Wing, as his nose was still aching and needed to be healed. The Pomfrey woman had better do a damn good job of it, too. Merlin forbid that his nose should end up crooked.
Draco shuddered at the thought. His nose did too.
He reached the Hospital Wing and explained the situation to the Pomfrey woman. She was already scolding him before he had finished (really, one would think that he had been the culprit of this whole debacle with the way she carried on), but then her matronly instincts kicked in. She healed and straightened his nose, and then applied bruise salve to reduce the bruising, but Draco knew by the end of the day that he would still be sporting two black eyes.
Once she had finished healing him, the Pomfrey woman moved away to help a student who had managed to transfigure his own legs into toadstools. Draco picked up the mirror on the bedside table and anxiously examined his reflection to check to see if his nose was indeed as perfect as it had once been. He was relieved to see that no lasting damage had been made.
A scowl quickly formed on the blond’s face. He couldn’t believe the oaf had just punched him like that. And what kind of idiot went around doing that anyway? Even Crabbe and Goyle had more control than that, and their only role in life was to be walking, talking muscle-heads. Obviously the Weasley girl’s brother didn’t know what the word ‘restraint’ meant. Her brother didn’t seem to understand anything.
Draco sighed. It was all that Weasley girl’s fault. If she hadn’t tried to take his book, he would not have had to grab it back off her, and then she would never have fallen against him and knocked him into the bookshelf, and he would have never grabbed her arse. Then, of course, Weasel would not have got the wrong idea about what they were doing; though, to give the Weasel some credit, Draco supposed their position probably had looked very odd.
There Draco had been, one hand clutching the bookshelf behind him, while his other gripped a generous handful of the Weasley girl’s very shapely derriere. It did not help that she had been leaning fully against him either, nor that their faces had been so close that one would almost think they had been about to kiss.
Yes, Draco could indeed admit that it must have looked suspicious from an outsider’s perspective, but the fact remained that he had not been intentionally grabbing the Weasley girl’s arse, nor had the thought even crossed his mind to kiss her. It had all been just some ridiculous mistake. So why was he still he thinking about it? And why was he almost disappointed that Weasel’s assessment had been wrong?
He thought about the shrewish redhead, with her freckle sprinkled cheeks and glowering, brown eyes. He could see her now, scowling, glaring, or flinging back biting retorts, and yet his mind seemed to narrow in on those lips, those full, impossibly soft looking lips. What would it be like, he wondered, to kiss those lips? Would they be as velvety as they looked? He’d never really noticed before how taunting her lips actually were. They practically demanded to be kissed.
And that body. Merlin, if he had known the Weasley girl was hiding such a body under those second-hand robes of hers, he would have made a point of banging into her a lot more often. Of course, after having felt every inch of her body pressed up against his, it got him thinking of what those feminine curves actually looked like underneath all those clothes. That was when he realised he was imagining the Weasley girl naked. Even more alarming was the realisation that he didn’t mind this at all. In fact, he rather liked the image in his head, especially when it involved a bed and her calling out his name in breathy moans.
Draco shook his head. He couldn’t believe that he was having sexual fantasies about the Weasley girl, but then he couldn’t deny that she was attractive, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about it before.
Still, this was getting out of hand. He wasn’t supposed to think about her in that way. He wasn’t supposed to think about her full stop. Unfortunately for him, nothing could remove the redhead from his brain.
Every little moment that they had spent together flashed before his mind. There were so many arguments, so many snide remarks and lofty sneers and glares, but then there were the moments where they had actually shared a joke with each other (all at Blaise’s expense, of course), the rare smiles she would throw his way when he did something unexpected, or those undisturbed moments where he just watched her talk and laugh with her friends, without the antagonistic face she seemed to reserve just for him.
He had never considered her as a friend, but, whether he liked it or not, she had still become a fixed part of his life through her friendship with Blaise. Now he was slowly beginning to realise that he didn’t actually mind her presence; in fact, when he really thought about it, coming across the Weasley girl was often the highlight of his day. Things were just somehow so much more interesting when she was around.
Draco groaned to himself. What a fool he had been not to see it before. All this time he had thought he hated her, when really, like the blind idiot that he was, he was falling head over heels in love with her. It was a frightening realisation—not just because it made him recognise his inner-Puffle—but also because he had no idea how she felt about him.
It was in that moment that Draco decided he was not going to wait around to find out. Slytherins, after all, stop at nothing to get what they want, and Draco knew that what he wanted was the Weasley girl, freckles and all.
He just needed to come up with a plan.
“Blaise, I need your help,” declared Draco, coming to stand in front of the dark-skinned Slytherin.
“Well, I’m not called the Slytherin guru for nothing,” responded Blaise with a Cheshire-cat smile. “What can I help you with?”
Draco explained all that had happened, as well as his sudden realisation of his feelings for the Weasley girl. Blaise let out a shout of laughter, claiming that he had always thought something had been there, but Draco’s scowl quickly had the boy sobering again.
“Okay, so let me get this straight,” said Blaise, once the blond had finished his recital. “You like her and now want to know if she likes you back, right?”
“Tell me, Draco, do you even know her name?”
“Of course I know her name,” snapped the blond.
Blaise raised an eyebrow. “Could have fooled me.”
Draco ignored this scepticism. “Just tell me if I have a chance. You know her better than I do. Has she ever talked about me at all?”
“Sure, she rants about you all the time, but I hardly think her calling you an arrogant, narrow-minded jerk constitutes as a declaration of her love. She hates you, mate. She’s always hated you.”
“Maybe she just uses the insults to cover her true feelings?”
Blaise gave him a look that suggested the blond was now grasping at straws. Draco had to admit that this was probably true.
“Look, Draco, I’m not saying that she doesn’t like you, as she very well could. All I’m saying is that you’re going to have to work for this one if you really want her. She’s not some ripe plum ready to fall in your lap. In fact, I’m quite certain that she’d rather swing the whole branch of plums at your head rather than fall nicely into your lap.”
“Blaise, I know you have a penchant for analogies, but please, enough with the plums and trees. Just tell me what I should do.”
“Go talk to her. Be nice to her. You can do that, can’t you?”
“Of course,” responded Draco, rather affronted.
“Then you should be fine,” said Blaise. “By the way, you didn’t get that book, did you?”
“Yeah, I—” Draco reached into his bag and very quickly discovered that there were just the usual assortment of inkpots, quills and textbooks. There was no book in runes.
A memory of a book slipping out of his hands as he hit the bookshelf flittered through his mind. His face suddenly went very pale.
“This isn’t good,” muttered Draco, still very white.
“Weasley has the book. What if she figures out what it’s about?”
Blaise grinned. “Then you’re screwed.”
Draco clenched his hands into fists. “I need to get that book back.”
He was leaving on the words.
“Good luck!” called out Blaise to the blond’s retreating figure.
Draco just waved a hand in acknowledgement, and continued making his way back towards the castle. There was no time to worry about the impropriety of running around the school. He had to get that book back, especially now that he was trying to prove to the Weasley girl that he wasn’t as bad as she thought he was.
He spotted Longbottom crooning to some hideous plant on one of the stone benches in the courtyard, and came running over. The boy in question went rigid when he saw the blond rushing towards him.
“Longbottom!” barked Draco. “Have you seen Weasley?”
Longbottom shifted nervously. “Uh, which one?”
“The female one, of course,” snapped Draco. Honestly. What did they think he was?
Much to Draco’s surprise, Longbottom stood up and glared at him. The dumpy boy was also clutching his plant as if it were a weapon. Draco would have laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it all had he not been so stunned by the boy’s sudden defensiveness.
“What do you want with her?” demanded Longbottom, gritting his teeth.
Draco merely raised an eyebrow. “Please don’t tell me you believe yourself in love with Weasley and are now protecting her from me because you know that she would never look at you in anyway, and so it’s really the only thing you can do to give some purpose to your pathetic existence.”
Longbottom went bright red.
“I thought so,” sighed Draco. “Look, lumpy, we can do this the hard way or we can do this the easy way. Either way you’re not going to stop me from finding Weasley.”
“That’s what you think,” growled Longbottom, and pushed his wand into the ugly plant in his hands. Jets of liquid squirted out from the plant, splattering Draco’s robes and face. It smelt horribly of stinksap. His aristocratic nose did not like that at all.
There was a bright flash that momentarily blinded both boys. Draco opened his eyes again to see Colin Creevey grinning at him with a camera in his hands. That was the final straw for the blond’s already miniscule patience. He lunged at Creevey, who let out a very girlish squeak and tried to flee as fast as his little legs could carry him, but the blond was much taller and faster. He latched his fingers onto the boy’s collar, a nasty smirk curling his lips as he thought of the lovely hex that he could use on the squeaky Gryffindor, when someone grabbed onto him from behind.
“I’ve got him, Colin!” panted Longbottom.
“Good one, Nev!” piped the squeaky Gryffindor.
“I’ll show you a good one,” threatened the blond, now trying to hex both Gryffindors with his wand.
The three boys struggled together for a moment, shouting curses, and sending hexes careering off to hit any unsuspecting passers-by. Draco managed to elbow Longbottom in the face, letting out a triumphant ‘hah’ as he did so, and then he trained his wand on Creevey.
“All right, Creevey. Hand over the picture.”
“Hold it!” shouted a female voice.
Draco froze at the sound of the newcomer’s voice. Once again he heard the sound of stomping feet coming ominously towards him, but he didn’t need to check this time to see whom they belonged to. There was no mistaking that voice.
Slowly, he turned his head to face the Weasley girl. She was staring at him with an expression on her face that suggested he stunk of something nasty. That was when he realised that he did stink of something nasty.
“What is going on?” demanded the Weasley girl.
The two Gryffindors looked down at their feet in embarrassment. Her eyes narrowed on Draco, who was the only one not to move. She took two steps towards him. She then gave a small sniff.
“You stink of stinksap,” she observed.
Two pink spots came to his cheeks. “Yes, well you can blame Longbottom for that. He attacked me with his plant.”
The Weasley girl swung around to the shuffling Gryffindor. “Is this true? Did you attack him with your plant?”
“I was only trying to protect you,” mumbled Longbottom, blushing a dull red.
“Protect me? From Malfoy? Why?”
“That’s a good question,” interposed Draco, and smirked at the Gryffindor boy next to him. “Why don’t you tell her why you were attacking innocent people with your ugly plant, Longbottom?”
The blush spread on the boy’s cheeks. Draco smirked even more. He was quite enjoying himself now, even if he did smell like stinksap.
“Stop antagonising him, Malfoy,” snapped the Weasley girl, throwing him a glare.
“I’m not antagonising him. If anything, he’s the one that has been antagonising me. I’m completely innocent in this.”
“Sure you are.”
“Okay, then why were you trying to hex Colin?”
“Because he’s a little sneak that took a picture of me while I was covered in this foul smelling liquid.”
The Weasley girl stared at Creevey. “Is this true?”
Creevey only shrugged.
She sighed. “Would someone please just tell me what is going on?”
“How about we ditch the rejects, and I can tell you all about it?” suggested Draco with a cocky smile.
The Weasley girl rolled her eyes. “You know, that might have had more effect if you weren’t covered in plant excretion right now.”
Draco stopped smiling. “Fine, if you really want to know the truth. The reason why Longbottom, Creevey and I were fighting is because I was looking for you, Longbottom decided to play hero, and Creevey is an idiot. End of story, now would you get off your moral high-horse so we can talk?”
She stared at him suspiciously. “What do you want to talk to me about?”
“Yeah,” piped in Creevey. “What do you want to talk to her about?”
“I’d like to know that, too,” muttered Longbottom, scowling at the blond.
“Would you two mind your own damn business?” snapped Draco. “I’m trying to have a conversation with Weasley here. Now piss off!”
The Weasley girl gave an apologetic smile at her Gryffindor friends. “Excuse me for a minute.” She latched her fingers on Draco’s arm and then dragged him roughly away from both boys. Once they were in a more secluded area, she let go off his arm again and glared at him. “All right, we’re alone. Now what do you want to talk to me about?”
“Well you don’t have to be so snappy about it.”
“See, there you go again.”
“Just get to the point,” growled the redhead, tapping her foot impatiently on the ground.
Draco sighed. She was certainly not going to make this easy for him, and he still wasn’t sure if she knew about the book either, which presented an even bigger problem. But when she was scowling up at him like that, her tauntingly soft lips just begging to be kissed, he found himself forgetting all about the book and the many problems that could arise because of it. Indeed, it suddenly occurred to him that if he just lowered his face like so, then he would be—
The Weasley girl wrenched her lips away from his, her eyes wide with surprise. “You kissed me!”
Draco couldn’t help but smirk. “Thank you for stating the obvious, Weasley.”
“But why?” whined the redhead, looking quite disturbed by this fact.
“What do you mean, why?”
“I mean why did you kiss me, you great pillock!”
“Well, why not? You’re a very kissable girl.”
“There’s no need to get so offended, Weasley. I meant it as a compliment.”
“Offended?” retorted the redhead. “I’m just surprised, and I don’t believe for a minute that you kissed me because you think I’m kissable. You’re up to something. I know you are.”
“I’m hurt,” responded Draco, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Here I am trying to tell you that I like you, and you accuse me of being up to something.”
“You don’t even know my name! How can you possibly say that you like me?”
“Of course I know your name, Ginny. Now the real question is, do you like me?”
“What?” spluttered Ginny, going a bit red in the face. “You can’t expect me to answer that. We barely know each other, and besides, you’re—you’re—”
“Well, you’re you. I think that says it all.”
“Been taking a trip to Egypt lately, Weasley?”
“You did not just say that.”
He smirked. “I did.”
“That’s so lame.”
“So are your absurd protestations.”
“Why did you really kiss me?” demanded Ginny, glaring at him now.
“Because I wanted to, and because I like you.” He smiled at her stunned expression. “And now, my dear Ginevra, I am going to do it again, as I happen to have rather enjoyed it.”
He took a step closer to her, meeting her glowering eyes with a cocky little smile that dared her to stop him. When she didn’t move, he closed the distance between them, his lips just barely grazing her own, when for the second time that day he found the redheaded girl being yanked away from him and a brutal fist suddenly connecting with his nose.
Draco then said something that would have made his mother very displeased indeed had she been privileged enough to hear it. This was just fantastic. Weasel—and he didn’t even need to look to know it was indeed Weasel who had just punched him—had gone and made his nose bleed again, not to mention ruined a perfectly good moment.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” yelled Draco, rounding on the other boy.
“I told you to stay away from my sister!”
“Ron, would you just stop it!” shouted Ginny, grabbing onto her brother’s arms to hold him back from the blond.
Draco smiled a little smugly at that. It was about time someone started standing up for him.
“I found Hermione, Ron!” called out a new voice.
The blond turned and swore under his breath when he saw the raven-haired boy coming towards them with a very bushy-haired girl in tow. Great, now the speccy git and psychotic mudblood were also here.
“Looks like the whole crew has assembled,” muttered Draco, while glaring at the two newcomers.
“What’s this about a book?” asked the psychotic mudblood, and stared at Weasel with a frown.
“Book?” repeated Draco, looking from one face to the next.
Weasel smiled gleefully at him. “That’s right, Malfoy. Ginny explained all about your book and how protective you got over it. I knew you were up to something, and now I can prove it.” He handed the book to the psychotic mudblood. “Read the cover, Hermione.”
Draco watched in horror as the bushy-haired girl took the book from Weasel’s hands and read the runes etched onto the cover.
“It says…” The psychotic mudblood frowned down at the title and then stared at Draco with an odd expression on her face. “The Use of the Phallus: In Runes.”
“What?” exclaimed Ginny, throwing a disgusted look at the blond. “You had me looking all over the library for that? Ugh, you’re such a jerk, Malfoy!”
“Listen, Ginny,” said Draco desperately. “It’s not what it looks like. I’m just… interested in psychoanalysis. You know, Freudian theories and such. It’s all about phallic symbolism. I swear this has nothing to do with what you’re thinking.”
Ginny raised her eyebrow at that. “Do you take me for an idiot?”
“Of course not. That’s why you’re going to be a very smart girl and see that I am telling the truth.”
“I see. And I suppose all that stuff about you liking me before was the truth, too? Or are you just trying to add another notch to your belt?”
Draco opened his mouth to make a retort, but whatever defence he might have given was drowned out by the warlike cry her redheaded brother suddenly gave. He didn’t have time to react, and so it was that for the third time that day the blond found himself being punched in the face by Ronald ‘weasel’ Weasley.
There was a brief moment of pain, a blinding flash of light that he just knew belonged to the squeaky Gryffindor’s camera, and then everything went black.
The first thing Draco discovered upon opening his eyes was that he was staring at a now very familiar ceiling in the Hospital Wing. The second thing he discovered was that his nose hurt like hell. The third thing he discovered was that a very kissable redhead was sitting next to him, and no, it was not of the Weasel kind, but it was of the Weasley girl kind.
“I see you’re finally awake.”
“Thank you for stating the obvious, Weasley,” remarked Draco in an echo of his earlier words.
She smiled and pulled her chair closer to him. “How are you feeling?”
“Like hell. Your brother seems to have mistaken my nose for a punching bag.”
“Well, it is rather long.”
“Long? I’ll have you know that my nose is very distinguished.”
“Ah, distinguished. Is that what your mummy told you to make you feel better?”
“Just like your mummy told you your freckles are just angel kisses?” He looked her up and down. “I think those angels must have really taken a fancy to you.”
She laughed. “You always have a comeback for everything, don’t you?”
“Of course,” he said smugly. “Though I am wondering why you're here. I thought you’d still be mad at me for that book.”
“I went and talked to Blaise. It turns out the book really was about psychoanalysis and the use of the phallus in wizard literature.”
Draco blinked. “It was? I mean, of course it was.”
“Have you thought about what I said earlier?” asked the blond, hastily changing the subject.
“I may have.”
“Well, I’m not going to be making any declarations of love anytime soon, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
His heart plummeted.
The blond looked up again with renewed hope.
“I may let you take me out to dinner tonight.”
Draco grinned cockily at her. “Are you asking me out on a date, Miss Weasley?”
“Why, yes, Mr Malfoy, I believe I am.” She stood up from her chair and threw a saucy smile his way. “Who knows, if tonight goes well, I may even reward you with that kiss you’ve been wanting.”
Draco’s lips twitched into a smile. The little minx would be the end of him yet, of that he was quite certain, but there was no denying that she made things interesting. His nose was inclined to disagree. It felt that Ginny Weasley was a nuisance with no manners at all, and that her brother was a brute. However, as no one really cares about the thoughts of a nose, no matter how distinguished that nose may be, it is unlikely this stopped the blond from pursuing the redhead in question.
He’d had enough woes for one day. It was only fair that he got his compensation.
Author notes: Star Wars fans should be able to catch the modified quote I’ve inserted in here.
I must also give credit to Roma (Cadaverous Apples) for giving me the title of the book: “The Use of the Phallus: In Runes.”
is the author of 62 other stories.
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