The True Story of Harry Potter

A mildly amused Draco walked back to the Slytherin sixth year boys' dormitory. He realized he hadn't felt so lighthearted in months, despite learning all the ridiculous lies the Gryffindors had carved out of history in homage to Potter. Not that he cared what any Gryffindors thought or said. He couldn't help but deem it very Slytherin of Potter to skew the truth of events the way he had. At least one Gryffindor, a very pretty one at that would know the truth, he mused.

Upon entering the cold, dank dungeon's sleeping quarters, it was obvious that his dorm mates were up to something, as all four of them plus Pansy Parkinson were huddled around one of the beds, speaking in hushed tones. When shocked eyes fell upon Draco, they instantaneously became quiet.

“Obviously, I'm interrupting something. Do carry on; I won't be any bother,” he drawled.

Standing up from the bed, Blaise Zabini took the role of leader for the detached group, saying in an anxious voice, “Look, Draco, it's not like that. We weren't scheming or anything. We just, well, we noticed….” He looked down at his shuffling feet as his voice trailed away.

Pansy authoritatively rescued the withering Slytherin. “What Blaise is trying to say here is, er… how are you feeling?”

“Fine,” said Draco stiffly.

“Oh, don't lie, Draco,” she said impatiently. “You've been hiding from everyone since school began. Vincent and Greg say you won't even let them accompany you anymore.”

“They do, do they?” said Draco, glaring and Crabbe and Goyle. Greg stared down at his hands, but Vincent seemed quite unabashed.

“Well, it's true!” Vincent said. “And you won't even look at any of us!”

“It's you lot who won't look at me!” Draco said angrily.

“Maybe you're taking it in turns to look and keep missing each other,” suggested Pansy, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“Very funny,” snapped Draco, turning away.

“Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood,” Pansy said sharply. “Look, we all know about your father -”

“Yeah?” growled Draco, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched the snow now falling lightly outside. “All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it….”

“We wanted to talk to you, Draco,” Vincent said, “but as you've been hiding since we've returned to school -”

“I didn't want anyone to talk to me,” Draco said, feeling more and more nettled.

“Well, that's a bit stupid of you,” said Vincent angrily, “seeing as both Nott and I have fathers locked up in Azkaban, too; we know what it feels like to have jailbirds for dads and being the gossip of every common room here.”

Draco remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he spun around and said, “I forgot.”

“Lucky you,” Vincent and Ted said in unison.

“My a-apologies,” Draco said, having a difficult time uttering the words. “So what is the meaning of all this?” He gestured to the group before him, his eyes piercing Pansy's.

“We were getting concerned, Draco. We're your friends, regardless of your father's name, status, or whereabouts,” Pansy said with affection.

His heart leapt at her words. It was what he had seen in that strange mirror while hiding from Filch that night he he'd gone out for the sole purpose of making peace with Potter. It had shown Draco, in its reflection, with a group of friends who shared his life from childhood through adult years, people who supported him, encouraged him, and cared for him. It was here, now, in this room - everything, that is, except the beautiful redhead who had stood next to him, holding his hand and looking at him with adoring eyes.

“Enough of this Hufflepuff lovey-dovey crap.” Greg's cracked voice interrupted Draco's thoughts.

“Here, here,” chimed in several others.

Vincent got to his feet and handed a piece of parchment to Draco. “Oh, thought you ought to know Snape stopped by with the new Quidditch practice schedule. He said McGonagall had booked the pitch for the ickle Griffies every weeknight until the hols; of course, he had to book us every afternoon then. Here you are, Captain,” he said casually, changing the topic of conversation.

Draco took the timetable and mulled over it for a moment. If the Gryffindors would have their training session after dinner, his meeting with Ginny was off. They would just have to find a way to meet later, as there was no way in hell he was going to let her get off that easy with his chocolates and not hear him out. She was going to listen to what he had to say about the Forbidden Forest and clear up all her misconceptions, one way or another.

******

The next day, Draco barely remembered the euphoria he felt as he lay in bed the previous night. Things started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four house tables were laden with porridge, eggs, bacon, toast and pitchers filled with pumpkin juice. Taking his seat next to Pansy, he filled his plate with eggs and toast while searching the room for Ginny. He needed to find her in order to rearrange their meeting. Gazing over to the Gryffindor table, he merely saw the three pests that could certainly ruin his appetite. Where was she? Didn't she see the Gryffindor practice schedule? She couldn't be uninformed, as she was one of their Chasers, their best Chaser, as a matter of fact. In frustration, Draco jabbed his food with his fork as if it were a half-dead doxy.

“Draco! What is the matter?” Pansy sighed, eyeing his odd behavior.

“Nothing. I just need to talk to someone I can't find,” he said with a slight stiffness that told her not to ask details.

“Well, you don't need to act like a child. Honestly! Whatever it is, it can't be that bad.”

“You don't know the half of it,” he said.

Pouring a cup of tea, she impatiently said, “Then enlighten me, or behave properly so we don't have to be subject to your moods.”

“Do you know what the Gryffindors think of me? What they say? You would never believe it!” he spat, dropping his fork on the plate.

“Oh, is that all? Of course I know their stupid stories. But it works to your advantage, keeps them all under your thumb.”

“Well, maybe I don't want them all under my thumb. Maybe I'd like something more than that, more than power!” he quietly snapped.

“What, then? A friend? I doubt it, at least not with Pothead or the Mudblood, and I know you hate the Weasel. Really, Draco, I think you're being a bit dramatic,” she answered, patting his hand in a patronizing manner.

“What do you know?” he pouted.

Pansy's brows knitted together as she assiduously studied his face. Her eyes shone with a knowing look as a smug grin spread across her face. “I see. What's her name, Draco?”

Two pink spots appeared on his cheeks as he rose from his spot. “Never you mind,” he gritted, walking away from a giggling Pansy. He passed the Gryffindors without incident and continued on to his first class of the day.

Classes were boring as usual, as Draco sulked the entire day, avoiding Pansy and her snickering inquisitions. He skipped lunch to keep from being under the scrutiny she was certain to induce. He would not give her the satisfaction of knowing the truth; there was nothing to know, after all.

As if Pansy and her jesting weren't annoying enough, Snape had booked the pitch for the Slytherin Quidditch practice each afternoon, making Draco's daily walk around the lake impossible. There wasn't enough time to do both before dinner, so Draco had to concede his leisurely activity for the duties he accepted with the captaincy. Merlin knew their team needed all the grooming they could get after losing several players last year. This point was proven by the dismal practice he had just overseen.

Just when he thought the day couldn't get any longer, fate proved him wrong again. As he opened the double doors to the Great Hall for dinner, he ran into Ginny on her way out, followed distantly by her prat brother and Potter. She paused in front of Draco, glancing hastily over her shoulder and then capturing his eyes she whispered, “I can't meet you tonight.”

“Why not?” Draco hissed.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “I only meant I couldn't meet after dinner, but I can after Quidditch practice. There's no need to be rude,” she said coolly. “Seven o'clock work for you?”

“Don't be late,” he said.

“Don't be early,” she cheeked.

“What's the problem here, Gin? Is the Ferret bothering you?” Ron's voice bellowed from behind Ginny.

“No, there's no problem. Come on; you don't want to be late, Captain,” she answered, pulling Ron's elbow.

“Yes, you need all the practice you can get, Weasley,” Draco drawled

Leading her irritated, garbling brother away by the elbow, Ginny's amber eyes pierced Draco's, glaring at him with an exasperated expression. He stuck his tongue out at her, inwardly grinning to himself at the shocked expression on her face, completely unaware of a set of green eyes taking in the flirtation.

“I don't know what you're playing at Malfoy, but I don't have time for it. Just stay away from Ginny Weasley,” Potter snarled as he exited the dining area.

Leave it to Potter to stick his spec-faced nose where it wasn't wanted. Draco had no intention of listening to anything Potter said, much less following his directives. This just sealed the wax on the parchment that Potter was an egotistical, fame-chasing git. If Scarhead hadn't run out of the Great Hall like a scared, little rat just then, Draco might have hexed him back to Madam Pomfrey's care. As it was, he had to eat another meal aggravated by Gryffindors and probably interrogated by Pansy.

Sitting down at his place, flanked by Pansy, Greg, Yorkshire pudding, lamb chops and roast potatoes, Draco filled his plate inattentively, dropping bits of food all around the table. His mind was elsewhere, as Pansy too quickly pointed out.

“Ginny Weasley has you in this state, Draco? A Weasley?” she said disgustedly, gesturing to the mess surrounding the dishes.

“I don't know what you're talking about, Pansy,” he rebuffed, busying himself with his dinner.

Rolling her eyes, Pansy gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Don't think half the school didn't see that sickening display of puppy eyes, though,” she said sharply, leaving him to eat his dinner in semi-peace, as Greg's eating noises next to him were reminiscent of thestrals.

******

Draco climbed the stairs to the seventh-floor, considering what Pansy had said, and wondered if there was any truth to the statement. He did not give puppy eyes! Could half the school really have witnessed what he did do? He was just giving back as good as he got. So what if they noticed? He was a Malfoy, and he could do what he pleased, even if it was rude and immature, or highly suggestive. Besides, she started it, for Circe's sake.

Walking down the corridor, he smirked as he passed the vase he'd hidden behind last year when he caught Potter breaking school rules. He arrived in front of the moth-eaten tapestry five minutes before seven. There weren't any doors or rooms conducive to conversation that he could see. She must be delusional. This wasn't the first time she had her facts mixed up. Probably one of the hazards of being a Wesley, he mused. Smirking, he wondered if there were benefits to being a Weasley; that was something he would need to explore.

“I told you not to be early, and here you are. Early. Apparently quite smitten with yourself, too,” Ginny quipped from behind him.

Draco wheeled around to see her standing within reach, flashing a brilliant smile, panting like she had just run the last section of steps. Her eyes glittered like brown diamonds, and her face was flushed; her hair was dark auburn, glistening and dripping wet. A small drop of water trickled off her brow and down her cheekbone, stopping at the crook of her smile.

“You're…wet,” Draco plainly stated, his fingers itching to touch the droplet.

“Er—well, yeah, I had to rush after practice, so I showered but didn't take time to dry my hair,” she said as her hands grabbed at her locks, pulling them and wringing out any excess water.

Raising his wand, Draco preformed a drying charm his mother always used, transforming the tresses into a smooth coiffure. Betraying his thoughts, one long, manicured finger traced the trail of water down her cheek, smoothing it from the corner of her mouth across her perfectly bowed lips as she closed her eyes.

“Um, let's go inside, then. Shall we?” she said with a little shiver and walked back and forth in the corridor several times until a door suddenly appeared just opposite of where Draco stood.

“What is this place?” he asked her, intrigued.

“It's the Room of Requirement, available only if you need it,” she said complacently, opening the door and beckoning Draco inside with a jerk of her head.

Once inside, they found an oblong, oak table, two Queen Anne leather chairs the color of burnt sienna, and a roaring fire illuminating the room with light and heat from a large hearth beyond the sitting area.

“It isn't much, is it?” Draco commented insolently.

“Well, it only becomes what you need it to be. We don't really need anything else,” Ginny huffed. “Sit and let's get this over with.”

Draco took his time walking the room, giving the appearance he was scrutinizing every inch rather than let her think she could order him around. She immediately sat down in one of the chairs with the grace of a hippogriff, propping both feet on the table, crossed at the ankles, and her hands neatly folded in her lap.

“I don't have all night you know,” she said impatiently.

“What do you want to know?” he said coyly and walked behind the empty chair, drawing his hand across the top. Stopping to lay one forearm across the uppermost part of the chair he leaned his chin into a hand propped up on his elbow.

“You were going to tell me about your detention,” she said, looking annoyed.

“Ah, yes, that's right. Do you know what landed us in detention?” he asked, genuinely curious. She shook her head no as she watched him carefully, her eyes searching his, but for what he didn't know.

“That oaf, Hagrid - oh, don't look at me like that. You know he is a danger to everyone, especially himself,” Draco defended himself against her angry glare. “Well, he had a dragon's egg, and I watched it hatch from outside his window.”

“What are you, some sort of voyeur?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at him.

“No! I overheard Potter, Granger and your brother talking about Hagrid hatching the egg. He came to get the threesome after our Herbology class, and I followed them. I have a thing for dragons. It's who I am, you know,” he sneered.

“I get it, Draco, dragon. You don't need to be so dramatic. It's rather girly,” she teased.

That was the second time today a female called him dramatic, and now she was attacking his masculinity! How much was he supposed to put up with in one day?

“I assure you, Ginny.” He purred out her name, pulling his chair next to hers, causing her legs to drop as he languidly seated himself, leaning forward, his eyes inches from hers. “I am not girly.”

Her eyes widened, and that delicious, pink tongue moistened her lips as she bit her bottom lip. Looking down and shifting uncomfortably, Ginny swallowed and murmured, “No. No, you most certainly aren't.”

******

Dialogue in the Slytherin sixth year dormitory is a parody on J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix conversation between Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny, Chapter Twenty-Three.

Chapter five will be written by Monday and then off to the Beta…so sorry I can't get it to you sooner. :o) Please review and let me know what you think and what you want to see Draco explain away.