Eight Days A Week
By: Bunny
Chapter Two – He Said…
Nursing my jaw, I slowly made my way to the school infirmary to see Madam Pomfrey for an anti-swelling potion. The Weaselette hit me today, the stupid bint. What did she care that I called her a slag? Everyone knows it isn’t true. She’s barely even kissed a few blokes, and I would know. I make it my business to know everything about everybody. After all, knowledge is a very powerful tool, and I like having power over others.
The girl Weasel though is special. I know more about her than I do about anybody else. She’s my special case, my favorite subject if you will. Not that anybody else knows that. Not that I would ever admit to that. In fact, even if someone had proof, I would deny it through torture, and even to death. I have a reputation to live up to after all. A reputation that most certainly didn’t involve an obsession with the brassy, spirited, overprotected and overlooked youngest member of the overgrown, shoddy Weasley clan.
I’ve always had a problem with developing obsessions. When I was younger, and didn’t know any better, I was obsessed with my Father. With good reason, my Father was a very powerful man. He always got exactly what he wanted, and never took no for an answer. I admired that about him, and I wanted that power for myself. I took everything he said as law, and imitated him to the best of my abilities.
My first year at Hogwarts, I was obsessed with Harry Potter. After all…it’s not everyday someone outright refuses your friendship in front of a lot of people. I went out on a limb when I offered my friendship, knowing that my Father wouldn’t approve, and the ungrateful git turned me down and made a point of continuing to make a fool out of me. So naturally, I was obsessed with proving myself to him. Thankfully that obsession didn’t last long, and I was freed of it just before the beginning of my second year.
My greatest obsession is one Ginevra Molly Weasley. In fact, I don’t remember a time that I wasn’t obsessed with her. I’ve known the little spitfire since we were practically born. I was always fascinated with her, from the moment we met back when we were still tots. I saw her frequently at Ministry functions and other times in Diagon Alley when she was out shopping with her Mum when we were young. It increased greatly though when I was twelve and I spotted her for the first time in over a year at Flourish and Blotts, standing up to me on behalf of one Harry Bloody Potter. Seeing her again had sent all of my senses into overdrive, and not knowing what to say to her, I ignored her comment and continued my usual banter with Potter.
The whole incident incensed me to no end though. I thought about it constantly that year, taking out her stupid crush over Potter on her; and Potter every chance I got. At the end of that year, Potter saved her from the Dark Lord in the Chamber. I backed off a bit from teasing Ginny; after all I had almost lost her. This incident caused my obsession with my Father to end abruptly when I discovered it was he who had almost killed the most fascinating person on the planet, at least to me. And I was in debt to Potter for saving her life. Not that I ever showed Potter I felt that way. If anything, I’ve been nastier to him since then. I should have been the one to save her. After all, I’m the one who’s secretly loved her my whole life, and Potter barely even acknowledges her existence.
Last year though, things changed between Ginny and I. First, she started dating some prat from Ravenclaw. Looking into the matter, I discovered that she was using the poor bloke to get over Potter. I wanted her to get over Potter, but I still hated seeing her with the stupid git, so I tried to ignore the relationship. It wasn’t like I could have really done anything about it anyways. Father would kill me if he even thought there was a possibility of me liking the Weaselette.
Then it happened. She hexed me. The stupid bint put a Bat-Bogey hex on me that lasted for hours. Much as I hated being hexed, it only made me want her more. There was something incredibly sexy to me about a girl who could throw nasty hexes with the best of them. Then Father was put into Azkaban. With Father locked away, my obsession increased a hundred fold. I could have her. I could have her, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Only problem was, by now she hated me. So I’ve done the only thing I knew how to do. I’ve resorted back to engaging in verbal spars with her every chance I get. I would do anything to have her attention on me, even if only for a few minutes.
Which brings me back to the infirmary, with a busted jaw from our most recent encounter. I politely asked for an anti-swelling potion, which thankfully was quick to be administered. Pomfrey took it upon herself to question me about the injury. I refused to tell her. I wasn’t about to snitch on Ginny and have her thinking I was some kind of nancy that went and told because I couldn’t take the heat. I could take her damn heat. I welcomed it her heat. Like I said, it was attention, and it got her to notice me. Regardless, Pomfrey got angry with me and called Dumbledore down to handle the problem. I think the old bat knew what happened, because when he got there he just winked at me and told me to see Snape at 8 that night to serve detention for not divulging the information to them. I just smirked at the old codger and asked for a hall pass to get to class.
With my excuse note in my hand from Dumbledore, I made my way to my History of Magic class I had been missing and spent the rest of the day analyzing just what the hell had set off Ginny today. She certainly wasn’t her cool and collected usual self. If anyone could figure it out, it would be me. I know more about her than anybody else, and I had always prided myself on being able to read her as easily as a book.
By the end of my final class of the day, I was restless and still had no logical conclusion as to her strange behavior. Setting off to dinner with a heavy heart, I had decided that perhaps a real chat with the littlest Weasel was in order, and not just our usual bantering. Her reactions to my comments seemed to hit a little to close to home for her, and that was something I certainly needed to investigate. Casually. The last thing I needed was to have the stupid chit having any sort of inkling that I harbored anything besides unrestricted hatred towards her. Just thinking about the conversation made my nerves twitch unmercifully. We haven’t had a civilized conversation since she started coming to Hogwarts, and that in it’s self would probably alert her that something was amiss. What she would conclude, I wasn’t sure, and that was my biggest hang up. I hated plans with flaws. I was a perfectionist after all. But the chance of her fancying me even a little bit was worth the risk…maybe. I don’t know why I was so worried. After all, I was a Malfoy: the epitome of calm, cool, detached interrogation. Only problem was, this was Ginevra Weasley I was dealing with, and her feelings and knowledge of me meant entirely too much to me than they ought to.
During dinner, things got even worse. She seemed to be having a very interesting conversation with her little loony friend Luna Lovegood. I couldn’t help myself from staring at them sitting on the end of the Ravenclaw table. I observed them without let up, even at the risk of being discovered. It incensed me to no end, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. The Weaselette kept blushing and smacking Lovegood on the arm. Then the two of them would dissolve into giggles. They had to be talking about a boy. Which boy I didn’t know, since they never looked at anyone else in the great hall to give me any clues. Finally, not being able to endure their giggles for another minute, I slammed down my fork as I stood, getting stares from everyone else at the Slytherin table. Scowling at them, I made my way out of the hall and through the dungeons to my dorm room, changed my clothes, grabbed my broom and headed out to the pitch to do some flying. I knew I had a good hour or so before detention, and I badly needed to do the one thing that allowed me to think all the fantasies I wanted about the littlest Weasley without the risk of being discovered.
End Chapter Two.
By: Bunny
Chapter Two – He Said…
Nursing my jaw, I slowly made my way to the school infirmary to see Madam Pomfrey for an anti-swelling potion. The Weaselette hit me today, the stupid bint. What did she care that I called her a slag? Everyone knows it isn’t true. She’s barely even kissed a few blokes, and I would know. I make it my business to know everything about everybody. After all, knowledge is a very powerful tool, and I like having power over others.
The girl Weasel though is special. I know more about her than I do about anybody else. She’s my special case, my favorite subject if you will. Not that anybody else knows that. Not that I would ever admit to that. In fact, even if someone had proof, I would deny it through torture, and even to death. I have a reputation to live up to after all. A reputation that most certainly didn’t involve an obsession with the brassy, spirited, overprotected and overlooked youngest member of the overgrown, shoddy Weasley clan.
I’ve always had a problem with developing obsessions. When I was younger, and didn’t know any better, I was obsessed with my Father. With good reason, my Father was a very powerful man. He always got exactly what he wanted, and never took no for an answer. I admired that about him, and I wanted that power for myself. I took everything he said as law, and imitated him to the best of my abilities.
My first year at Hogwarts, I was obsessed with Harry Potter. After all…it’s not everyday someone outright refuses your friendship in front of a lot of people. I went out on a limb when I offered my friendship, knowing that my Father wouldn’t approve, and the ungrateful git turned me down and made a point of continuing to make a fool out of me. So naturally, I was obsessed with proving myself to him. Thankfully that obsession didn’t last long, and I was freed of it just before the beginning of my second year.
My greatest obsession is one Ginevra Molly Weasley. In fact, I don’t remember a time that I wasn’t obsessed with her. I’ve known the little spitfire since we were practically born. I was always fascinated with her, from the moment we met back when we were still tots. I saw her frequently at Ministry functions and other times in Diagon Alley when she was out shopping with her Mum when we were young. It increased greatly though when I was twelve and I spotted her for the first time in over a year at Flourish and Blotts, standing up to me on behalf of one Harry Bloody Potter. Seeing her again had sent all of my senses into overdrive, and not knowing what to say to her, I ignored her comment and continued my usual banter with Potter.
The whole incident incensed me to no end though. I thought about it constantly that year, taking out her stupid crush over Potter on her; and Potter every chance I got. At the end of that year, Potter saved her from the Dark Lord in the Chamber. I backed off a bit from teasing Ginny; after all I had almost lost her. This incident caused my obsession with my Father to end abruptly when I discovered it was he who had almost killed the most fascinating person on the planet, at least to me. And I was in debt to Potter for saving her life. Not that I ever showed Potter I felt that way. If anything, I’ve been nastier to him since then. I should have been the one to save her. After all, I’m the one who’s secretly loved her my whole life, and Potter barely even acknowledges her existence.
Last year though, things changed between Ginny and I. First, she started dating some prat from Ravenclaw. Looking into the matter, I discovered that she was using the poor bloke to get over Potter. I wanted her to get over Potter, but I still hated seeing her with the stupid git, so I tried to ignore the relationship. It wasn’t like I could have really done anything about it anyways. Father would kill me if he even thought there was a possibility of me liking the Weaselette.
Then it happened. She hexed me. The stupid bint put a Bat-Bogey hex on me that lasted for hours. Much as I hated being hexed, it only made me want her more. There was something incredibly sexy to me about a girl who could throw nasty hexes with the best of them. Then Father was put into Azkaban. With Father locked away, my obsession increased a hundred fold. I could have her. I could have her, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Only problem was, by now she hated me. So I’ve done the only thing I knew how to do. I’ve resorted back to engaging in verbal spars with her every chance I get. I would do anything to have her attention on me, even if only for a few minutes.
Which brings me back to the infirmary, with a busted jaw from our most recent encounter. I politely asked for an anti-swelling potion, which thankfully was quick to be administered. Pomfrey took it upon herself to question me about the injury. I refused to tell her. I wasn’t about to snitch on Ginny and have her thinking I was some kind of nancy that went and told because I couldn’t take the heat. I could take her damn heat. I welcomed it her heat. Like I said, it was attention, and it got her to notice me. Regardless, Pomfrey got angry with me and called Dumbledore down to handle the problem. I think the old bat knew what happened, because when he got there he just winked at me and told me to see Snape at 8 that night to serve detention for not divulging the information to them. I just smirked at the old codger and asked for a hall pass to get to class.
With my excuse note in my hand from Dumbledore, I made my way to my History of Magic class I had been missing and spent the rest of the day analyzing just what the hell had set off Ginny today. She certainly wasn’t her cool and collected usual self. If anyone could figure it out, it would be me. I know more about her than anybody else, and I had always prided myself on being able to read her as easily as a book.
By the end of my final class of the day, I was restless and still had no logical conclusion as to her strange behavior. Setting off to dinner with a heavy heart, I had decided that perhaps a real chat with the littlest Weasel was in order, and not just our usual bantering. Her reactions to my comments seemed to hit a little to close to home for her, and that was something I certainly needed to investigate. Casually. The last thing I needed was to have the stupid chit having any sort of inkling that I harbored anything besides unrestricted hatred towards her. Just thinking about the conversation made my nerves twitch unmercifully. We haven’t had a civilized conversation since she started coming to Hogwarts, and that in it’s self would probably alert her that something was amiss. What she would conclude, I wasn’t sure, and that was my biggest hang up. I hated plans with flaws. I was a perfectionist after all. But the chance of her fancying me even a little bit was worth the risk…maybe. I don’t know why I was so worried. After all, I was a Malfoy: the epitome of calm, cool, detached interrogation. Only problem was, this was Ginevra Weasley I was dealing with, and her feelings and knowledge of me meant entirely too much to me than they ought to.
During dinner, things got even worse. She seemed to be having a very interesting conversation with her little loony friend Luna Lovegood. I couldn’t help myself from staring at them sitting on the end of the Ravenclaw table. I observed them without let up, even at the risk of being discovered. It incensed me to no end, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. The Weaselette kept blushing and smacking Lovegood on the arm. Then the two of them would dissolve into giggles. They had to be talking about a boy. Which boy I didn’t know, since they never looked at anyone else in the great hall to give me any clues. Finally, not being able to endure their giggles for another minute, I slammed down my fork as I stood, getting stares from everyone else at the Slytherin table. Scowling at them, I made my way out of the hall and through the dungeons to my dorm room, changed my clothes, grabbed my broom and headed out to the pitch to do some flying. I knew I had a good hour or so before detention, and I badly needed to do the one thing that allowed me to think all the fantasies I wanted about the littlest Weasley without the risk of being discovered.
End Chapter Two.
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