Notes: Look-I'm updating in less than a month. Thanks to study hall, less time is needed for homework. Life is suddenly good.
More importantly, thanks to everyone who reviewed. Your feedback truly means a lot to me. I really mean it.
Disclaimer: Sometimes, if you wish for something hard enough, it comes true. Other times, it doesn't. Harry Potter still isn't mine.
The Hopefully Non-Magic Diary of Ginny Weasley
Chapter 8
--
December 26
Hermione just told a joke. She and Ron were in a discussion over his abysmal grades. Ron argued that they were not too bad. (They are. Mum is going to kill him. Finally, after nearly eighteen years of waiting.)
"Denial isn't just a river in Egypt," she said in reply to Ron's adamant defense of his marks.
"Yes it is! And don't even bother arguing-I've seen it," Ron said.
"Are you serious?" Hermione asked Ron. Ron said that yes, he was.
"Ron--it was a pun--a play on words. Denial? The Nile?" Hermione looked desperate, and Harry-sympathetic. Ron, however, only slipped further into confusion.
"You…made a funny?"
"Hermione's a very funny girl," Harry defended. Ron scowled.
"Shut up, Harry. Just because she's your girlfriend."
So I suppose that if Ron can try and not deny the truth, I can too. Today I woke up today and owled Malfoy. Fine, I admit it. But does it really matter? We still pleasantly dislike one another, so there is no need for anyone to get their knickers in a twist.
Let's talk. Meet me outside at 8:00. Will punch you if you don't show.
Ginny
I thought my note was quite diplomatic, but I don't think Malfoy understood. He lacks depth of perception. He lacks perception period. Such a dull boy.
Weasley
It is bloody 7:00 in the morning. I see 'no incentive' to go carousing on outside in the freezing cold with you at this godforsaken hour. Why don't you busy yourself and write me later, when I am not so tired and can actually see the words I'm writing? You know. Think about how pathetic you are; that should occupy you for a few hours at least.
Malfoy
I can't believe him. One minute, I let myself think that he will be nicer from now on. I'll bet anyone that he's one of those blokes that love one-night stands. You have a wild, passionate night of sex, and the next morning, it's like he's had a severe blow to the head and can't remember for the life of him who you are. Or at least, he won't remember until you grab him by the bollocks and threaten to avada-kedavra him.
He's so tactless. Good thing we have school uniforms, or else I'm quite sure he'd be the type to always wear the wrong shirt with the wrong pants. Lucky for us, it seems that his clothes are not handpicked by Draco himself (he could never take the pains of actually trying on his own clothes-never!) but are instead bought by his mum, most probably. And his mum has some degree of taste, since she only seems to buy white, black and green. And in those colors, he looks decent. Well alright, so he looks smashing. Injustice ranges far and wide.
Nevertheless-back to the letter. I figured I could not leave it at that. Someone had to pull his head out of his arse. And I, being the brave soul that I am, willingly take that job.
Touché, Malfoy. But two can play that game. If you come, I'm sure I can tell Draco how proud I am of him and shower him with other sappy compliments. Draco certainly liked that last night, didn't he? I've never seen you blush before, but I must say, pink is an interesting color on you.
Weasley, laughing.
I think I'll go downstairs to the kitchens to see if there's any food.
--
Bloody hell. Malfoy's owl is disturbing. First, he nearly gouged my brother's eye out (not that I would have complained, but I suppose it's the concept of the thing)-and now, he gave all the poor house-elves the fright of their lives. I was enjoying myself a cup of hot chocolate, and all of a sudden there was a big, black thing swooping in from the portrait hole. I guess I had forgotten to close it. Oops.
"SQUAWK, SQUAWK!" he demanded, poking my forehead with Malfoy's note. Demented thing doesn't even know he's supposed to hoot, not squawk.
"Alright, alright," I said submissively (to an OWL, no less.) I guess the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree. Malfoy's owl reflects him perfectly. The bird is haughty, proud and absolutely shameless, flaunting his feathers as if he is really something. A bit furrier than Malfoy, though, I must admit in order to be completely fair. (But who knows? Malfoy could secretly be a furry. God, I hope not.) Other than that, they could pass as blood brothers. I swear they have the same insolent stare.
Anyway, I read Malfoy's letter and I think I may have a chance at winning this round. I have successfully broken down his surprisingly weak defenses. It seems that all one has to do to see a submissive Malfoy is to attack his vanity. It's too easy.
I DID NOT BLUSH. It was the poor lighting of the lower levels, I assure you. I have told father to tell that idiot Filch to do something about it. And anyway, do I have a choice in meeting you or not? Just want to know what my options are.
Non-Blushing Malfoy
Oh, how cute. He's embarrassed to know that I've caught on. I must find out more about what makes his skin turn such hues. Poor lighting my arse.
Of course you have a choice, Malfoy. Either you do as I say, or I hurt you. You have five minutes to make your choice, or else you can say goodbye to any potential Little Draco's you had in mind.
P.S. Your owl is mental. Don't you have anything else you can use?
Well, I suppose I should go back to my dorm. The house-elves look nearly mutinous, and I don't want to lose my only connection to the world's best chocolate. Also, Malfoy's Owl has attached himself to my hair and is refusing to go back to Malfoy with note. My owl persuasion skills are not as honed as I would like, I suppose.
--
You bloody women are so hard to please. Bring me something to eat, will you?
A Very Sleepy Malfoy
P.S. My owl is not crazy-I've just trained him to recognize commoners. He has taste.
I decided not to tell him that I'd had to coax him with owl treats for ten minutes straight before he would let go of my hair, which he seemed quite taken to. Malfoy might cry at the knowledge.
Needless to say, must go. I have some things to discuss with His Blondness and would rather do it before the rest of the school wakes up and realizes that there is one less negligee loving dark lord roaming the streets.
--
Will dive straight into Meeting Outside since I am rather hungry and ready to go down to breakfast, where there will, no doubt, be a lengthy and abstract speech from Dumbledore. And half of us will not know what the bat is talking about, but I am told it is part of his charm. Also, I am currently in no mood to gaily talk about him (Malfoy). God, I can't even think up a new and creative insult for him. A sad day indeed. Please tell me you'll weep for me.
"Here," I said to Malfoy as I rounded the corner and saw him standing, eyes half closed. I handed him a doughnut.
"Mmmehag," he mumbled incoherently. He reached for the doughnut-missed, tried again with the same result, then finally snatched it on the third try. And threw it back at me upon closer inspection.
"It has a bite taken out of it!" he said. Oh, so now he could speak clearly, couldn't he?
"So? I got a little hungry on the way here. It's quite a long walk," I said in defense of myself.
"Grrr." He grabbed the poor, abused hunk of dough back and stuffed it in his mouth. He refused to talk at all until he was finished chewing (and he chews meticulously-he says he just likes to mind his manners and eat slowly and gracefully, but I know it is spite.)
"What do you want?" he asked when he had swallowed the last morsel. I stuffed my hands in my pocket and gave him a suspicious look.
"We have some things to discuss Malfoy…things like-" I stopped. Malfoy's eyes were completely closed. I swore I could hear a slight hitch in his breath, signaling that he had traveled into the otherworld. "You git! Wake up--I'm speaking!" How dare he! I swatted at his head and he came to his senses with a start.
"Can we please concentrate?" I asked impatiently.
"Well, it's not my fault! It's only five past eight, Ginny, and I didn't go to sleep last night until four, as you should well know."
"You can sleep later," I said. "And I even went through the trouble of getting you a doughnut. The least you could do is pay attention."
"I don't want to."
"Oh, I see," I said with narrowed eyes. "Pity then. I'm sure your mummy and daddy would have liked to have grandchildren."
"FINE," Draco said hastily. "Prattle on all you want." He smiled mockingly. "I'll pretend I care."
"Ooh, you," I said. "I just came here to clarify a few things with you, since it seems that you like to be vague about things."
"Er-"
"And I don't like to be vague at all. So why did you want me to meet you on the tower last night?" I gleefully noted how fidgety Malfoy looked. It looked like I had reason to be suspicious after all. Perhaps some sneaking around was in order. Secret Agent Ginny was on the prowl, searching for irritating blond vermin and uncovering the truth behind their various shady schemes.
"Nothing, really," he said, his tone attempting to sound indifferent. Ha. Like I would let him brush it off like that.
"Like I'm going to let your brush it off like that! If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have been traumatized by the disturbed man that is Voldemort."
Draco frowned and pointed at himself. "And if it hadn't been for me, the possibility of being traumatized by the disturbed man that is Voldemort would still exist today. Don't you forget it."
"You are completely missing the point, Draco!" I informed him. "I would just like an explanation as to why I had to spend my Christmas in such strange company. Is that so much to ask?"
"Yes," he said childishly, before opting to simply cross his arms and look the other way. "And it's all about you, isn't it? What if I don't want to discuss this? What if I didn't want to be here? Why are you being so selfish?"
"Yes, Draco, give me a lecture on selflessness, because I'm sure you stay up late at night, tossing and turning as you think desperately about the wants and needs of other people."
"You give me less credit than I deserve," he said darkly. "Don't pretend to know me that well, Weasley." I scoffed.
"No, I give you exactly what you should receive. I consider you as someone who is extremely impossible to live with. And I've got you pegged, don't I?" I put my hands on my hips. His lips drooped into a sneer.
"Good thing I'm not living with you then. Especially since I'd be living in a cardboard box, if I were I lodging with you."
"Oh? Does it make you feel all better, Draco, to throw in that extra derogatory comment, though it is completely irrelevant to our argument?"
"Yes," he sniffed. "It does. And I still don't want to talk about anything you've mentioned."
"Honestly, it's like babysitting a four-year-old," I muttered.
"Then why don't you leave? You're the one who's forcing me to talk to you. Maybe I don't want to speak to you ever again! It's not like you've been trailing me for this entire bloody month!"
I was shocked. How could he be so…wrong? Of course he wanted to talk to me. That was virtually all he did-and oh, he was just much too proud and foolish to admit it. He would call that dignity, but it wasn't. He just had an extremely squashed brain. Maybe he was not getting sufficient oxygen through to it.
And need I say this? I was pissed. Besides, I did not trail him-he was the one that followed me around. And for the record, it had only been 29 days--not a full month. Showed what he knew-nothing. Nevertheless, one must appear to be unaffected by these things from time to time.
"Works for me," I said as coolly as I could with a shaky voice. "From now on, you and I are strangers."
"Goody," Malfoy responded to my retreating figure. "It's like having Christmas two days in a row, really!"
That pompous bigot. Am never talking to him again. I swear it.
After Breakfast, In Library
I was right; breakfast was quite an affair. When everyone was seated, Dumbledore stepped onto his podium for a speech.
"As some of you may already know-" he began.
"Yes, yes, we know--well, I do. Harry Potter is a girl," Luna said matter-of-factly. "Read about it in The Quibbler today. Front page stuff, you know."
"Er-I'm afraid he's not, Miss Lovegood," Dumbledore said. "At least--not that I'm aware of." However, Ron looked suddenly suspicious of his best friend.
"Can I poke around at your bits then, Harry? Just to make sure."
"Holy hell," Harry groaned tiredly.
"Oh, don't be silly! Of course Harry's not a boy. I would know."
"Yea, I'm sure you would," Ron muttered. "You two were really loud last night, just to let you know. Neville Longbottom's face is still red."
Hermione looked mortified and Harry looked halfway between being pleased and embarrassed. I turned my attention back to poor Dumbledore, who looked like he hadn't washed his beard in weeks.
"…And indeed, what I have to say today does involve Harry. Yes, children-last night, Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort, right here in the depths of our beloved castle."
Us children were silent. Then, a roar of applause slowly rose, and Harry was ushered to stand up. I took at peek at Draco Malfoy and saw him looking rather sour. Serves the git right-
"However, I believe a very special mention is also owed to Draco Malfoy, who, when presented with a choice, chose wisdom over foolishness," Dumbledore said.
In case you're not yet familiar with our resident crackpot--Dumbledore is…a very crazy man. I state that fondly. However--you can't just say things like that-people will get confused. Consequently, the only people that clapped were the professors. Dumbledore was not fazed by the students' lack of ardor for the blond one. Neither did Draco seem to mind-he was too busy being pink again. He did not even notice the murderous glares his house mates were shooting him. I shouldn't have been thinking of how cute he looked when he was blushing, but those sorts of thoughts come instinctively now. I guess my condition is degenerative.
"It takes much bravery to stand in the face of death. We are honored and proud that such great-hearted people reside among us."
Blah blah blah. People cried, congratulated and thanked Harry, Hermione and Ron, and there was generally a big hubbub over The-Boy-Who-Lived. As bloody usual. It was rather sentimental, but I am not a very sentimental person. I hope it is not as if Malfoy's influence is getting to me. I don't want to become the cold, misogynist that he is. Well, I'm definitely not a misogynist. Just not cold then. My goal from now on is not to be cold.
Currently, I have found refuge in the library. Because honestly, who wants to study, when everyone is partying over Voldemort's defeat? And with the addition of hip music, which I can hear all the over here?
But I am not in much of a partying mood. I should be studying for potions, anyway. That's my reward for helping in the capture of the world's most dangerous villain.
Also, if I surround myself with books, the chance of running into Draco lessens by about ninety percent. If there is one thing I have learned from my short time with him, it is that he does not like libraries.
--
Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. I see Draco. I liked it better when he was Mr. Predictable.
--
So he walked over to me and at first, acted like nothing had happened. This is fairly normal, since we were only in the early stages of the Silent Treatment. When considering the Life Cycle of a Fight, neither of us would look ashamed or the slightest bit guilty until (at least) the 30th. Such is the rule. But Draco likes throwing the rulebook to hell anyway, the snotty little rebel.
"I suppose I should apologize," he said suddenly, with his back still turned against me. I choked on my saliva.
"Ex-excuse me?" I stuttered. I jammed a finger into my ear to check for anything wonky. Draco turned around and rolled his eyes.
"I said I was sorry. Please don't squeeze this for all it is worth. Save me from too much embarrassment, will you? I'll never ask you to be merciful again."
"Uh-well," I said intelligently. "I'm just shocked. You-you're-"
"Shut up, Weasley," he said. I did as he told me to as he swooped down kissed me thoroughly.
Oh, geez. I don't know if I can write about this without making my face permanently red.
Oh, well-must not get distracted. I have to remind myself that I am simply an unbiased outsider recounting this events from an objective point of you-but bloody hell, do you know what it feels like, to be snogged like that? One feels quite content.
Except this time, he wasn't stopping. He was having to strain, as he was quite tall and had to lean quite a bit to reach me (sitting) on the other side of the table.
"My back," he said, beginning to pull back. I decided to compromise (since it wouldn't do if he injured his spinal chord) and instead climbed onto the table, before grabbing his face back and smashing his lips to mine.
"Mmrgh," he mumbled pleasantly. I took it as a sign of approval--especially since his hands started to wander towards my bosom-regions. It's a wonder he knew where to find them, since my entire body is virtually a vast, flat wasteland.
I yelped, though, when I felt my shirt getting looser and looser-and when I realized that my blouse was completely open, for all of the world to see my modest cotton brassiere.
"Malfoy…" I half squeaked, half whispered. "How far do you intend to go with this?"
"Don't know," he said, his breathing ragged. When he saw my eyes open and lucid, he stopped moving for a moment. I leaned my face against his. "Hadn't really planned on anything, you know."
"Just a question then, " I said. I was glad that he was not holding my hands-then he would have known how sweaty they were. "Do you like me, Malfoy?"
He nearly sprang backwards. He would have run into the bookcases if I hadn't been holding onto his face, which happens to be connected to the rest of his body.
"Er-what?"
Ugh. I felt entirely and thoroughly embarrassed. Here I was, sitting ungracefully on top of a rickety library table (thank God Madam Pince was not around), being paid much attention by the lips of an Olympic God, I swear, and I had to go and ruin it all with a silly and inconsequential thing like whether or not we liked each other. Although it would have been nice for him to like me, since he did seem so intent on being attached to my face…and really, it was a bit bastard-like of him if he was just kissing me so he could get off….
But boys will be boys.
"Well, alright," I said, pushing myself away from him and carefully climbing off of the table. "It's okay, of course, if you don't-you know. And I accept your apology."
"Actually, Ginny, that's not what I really meant-"
"It's quite alright, Malfoy. I have to go…ah, get some schoolwork done."
I rushed out of there without a second glance to him. One question worth asking, though-how do I manage to make a fool of myself at every given opportunity? Is it a curse that I don't know about? Possibly a curse bestowed on all Weasley. Would certainly explain horrendous red hair and freckles as well as our 'natural grace.' By which I mean lack thereof.
I suppose it was nice knowing him for a while. Well, nice knowing his ruddy lips, anyway.
I'll finally face the ugly truth, then; I have a bloody crush on Draco Malfoy.
You may laugh now.
--
Have been attempting to starve myself all evening. But stomach finally persuaded me with a particularly loud and ferocious growl. It does not like being mistreated. I suppose I agree-my stomach doesn't deserve to pay for what my stupid brain has done.
If I want to return to safe sanity as soon as I can, I must banish all thought of That Boy starting now.
--
Is it possible for one to oblivate oneself?
--
Maybe I shouldn't try. I rather enjoy knowing what my own name is.
--
Will go down to dinner. I wonder if Lavender or Parvati has any wigs handy.
--
Malfoy was not at dinner. He must be truly disgusted with my forwardness. But honestly, how was I to know that I had been deluding myself in fantasies all this time? He had certainly seemed like a willing participant all along. I don't remember blackmailing him to be near me.
That's it. He is such a jerk! All this time, he's been leading me on. I suppose he enjoys doing these sorts of things to poor unsuspecting girls like me. It is a nefarious thing to do, so naturally it has his stupid name written all over it. I've always hated that name anyway. What kind of name is 'Draco'? It sounds ridiculous.
--
Er. According to Hermione, Draco means 'dragon' in Latin. Can you see me rolling over the floor? His parents must be truly affected to think of naming their only son after a terrible, fire-breathing beast. How cute and cuddly!
Ah. Hermione also says Malfoy means 'bad faith' in French.
"Why is it you know so much about Draco Stinking Malfoy's name anyway?" I asked.
"It was an interesting name, alright?" Hermione cried, thrusting a book titled 'Names and Their Origins' at me. She's making a habit of throwing her favorite possessions at people. "I was bored! SUE ME. GEEZ."
And then she stormed out of the room. One would think that she would be in a good mood, considering she had just had a tumble in bed with Harry, but I guess not everyone gets off on the same thing.
But it really does work out great for me. I'm obsessed with a boy named Dragon Bad Faith. Be honest-is there any hope left for me? Was there any hope, ever?
Later
I was just outside to wander around the halls, and I saw something peculiar. No, I did not run into my sibling. I saw Malfoy round the corner and nearly collide with me, and I was about to be mortified, but then I noticed that Lucius Malfoy was right behind him. Which made me too surprised to be anything else.
"Er," I said awkwardly. "Hey."
"Is this that Weasley girl?" Lucius Malfoy asked his son in a very hoity-toity manner.
"Obviously," Draco muttered, shrugging at my redness.
"Don't give me your sass, Draco," Lucius snapped. "I haven't even had my daily massage yet." With a disdainful glance down towards me, he strutted on.
"Come along, Draco," he said.
"Going somewhere?" I finally remembered that I had a voice. Draco gave me a dark look.
"Yes. Father-son bonding sessions-you know-"
"Death Eater meeting," Lucius butt in, his voice saccharine sweet and mismatching his cold eyes. "We hope that Draco will make us proud. Or else."
"Bloody hell!" I cried. Wouldn't you too? To find out, on top of it all, that the object of your distorted affections was secretly training to become cohorts with Voldemort?
"Pardon me?" Malfoy (Sr.) asked.
"I'm sorry," I gushed. Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Haven't you heard? Your leader's kind of dead." Take that, you bastard who spawned Draco.
"Yes," Lucius agreed. "Quite regrettable, I know. Luckily, I'm capable enough to be executive dark lord in his place. Can't say the same for this lump of a boy, though." Lucius shoved Draco. Draco scowled.
"Tell me, since you go to school with my son-is he the sissy I think he is?"
I moved uncomfortably, not knowing how to address the question. Draco gave me an eager look.
"No!" I said. Why was I defending him anyway? I was in the process of trying to hate him. I begged my cranium to remember that teensy fact. "Draco is very manly! Big, strong, capable and heroic!"
Draco had nodded along to each of those adjectives-except for heroic. And judging by the expression of distaste on his father's pale face, I had said the wrong thing.
"Heroic?" Lucius spat, eyeing Draco like an insect. "I have failed as a father." Then, much more harshly-"Come along! We have much work to do. It takes time to mend such gaping holes in character, Draco."
"I don't think so," Draco said pensively. I blinked in surprise at him.
"What?" Lucius asked.
"You've been in a bad mood all week. And the more and more you talk about how magnificent it will be to be lord over the world, guess what?" Draco shrugged. "I don't know if I want to take over the world."
Lucius sputtered. "Draco! This-this is what we've been talking of since your birth! This was-it was the plan! You can't abandon it! It's absolutely blasphemous."
Draco donned a saddened look on his face. Saddened but determined.
"Look, dad. I'm willing to duel you here in an overly dramatic father-son face off scene if need be, although there are way too many in fanon as it is and the author doesn't really want to write another duel scene. The only kind of action she does involves snogging."
"Now, listen here, sonny-if this is one of those teenage rebellion concepts-"
That was when he lost it. (Draco.)
"GOD! I don't bloody want to have people bow down to me and call me 'lord', okay? That's never really been one of my life goals!" Draco shouted, looking quite irate now. "Although the theory is nice, in reality, I find it creepy. To have a bunch of men and women follow me around just so I can try and rid the world of mudbloods and halfbloods and muggle? It's tiresome--it requires a lot of my time. I'd much rather bathe in money, in peace, at my manor while house-elves serve me hand and foot-and did I mention not having aurors constantly after my blood? Because that would be a major plus for my life, not having to worry about being killed. As you can see, your plan doesn't work out for me. So bugger off, Dad!"
"Well I never!" Lucius exclaimed. After a moment of fuming, he eyed Draco speculatively. "Where is your ambition, boy? Your natural Slytherin ambition?"
"I am ambitious," Draco snapped. "I'm ambitious enough to do whatever the hell I want to do and not what you'd like for me to do, you old fart."
"Fine!" Lucius shouted. "Do what you want! I'm sick of you being so mean to me!"
"You were mean first," Draco said sulkily.
"That's because mean is my middle name," Lucius said. "But I have no more time to waste on boys who will not become dark lords. I'll see you at home."
"Yes," Draco said. "Please go away."
"Fine, then," said Lucius, tight-lipped. "I suppose your mother and I will have to get busy tonight in preparation for a new heir. We shall call him Edmund."
"Right. Owl me later." Draco waved his father off coolly. Lucius gazed at his son one last time, then turned to me.
"This is your doing, isn't it? Ah, well. I pity you," he said hatefully. Fishing in his pocket, he drew a lacy red thing and threw it at me. "There. Collect your pity prize."
Then he left, striding down the hall in what was his most dignified stride. Draco's eyes were fixed on former lacy red thing, and then he burst into loud laughter.
"My father," he chuckled, "just gave you a pair of knickers."
"Yes?" I snapped. "So what? Perhaps he mistook me for a house-elf."
"Possibly," Draco said seriously. He stepped closer to me. "Or maybe he's nutters." I grew nervous of his nearing proximity, and quickly thought of something distracting to say.
"I heard insanity ran in the family." Oh, good one Gin. That's right-insult him when he's trying to be halfway nice to you. Another step closer. I felt as if I were under a microscope-the microscope of his stare. He was nearly directly above me now, his face inches from mine.
"It does," he agreed. "I suppose that's why I like you so much, Weasley." My breath went suddenly erratic.
"You smell like soap." I said the first thing that came to mind. Which wasn't much, considering my vision was being invaded by his looming face. He smiled. Actually, smirked and looked smug. Strangely enough, instead of making me feel irritated, there was like a strange little shaky thing going on in my stomach area. Quite weird.
I stood as tall as I could and kissed him, my arms around his shoulders to keep myself from falling into him. It was a nice kiss, I admit. It wasn't rough like the one we had just hours before, but it wasn't as tentative or shy as our other-other ones. I realized then that none of our kisses were ever the same. Each one was different. Here, I would make some insightful analogy to how kisses are as unique as snowflakes, but if I did, I know I would stumble upon this passage later and retch. Let's always try to keep food in the stomach.
"Ginny," Draco groaned after a few moments of locking lips. "I think we should definitely move this to somewhere more private."
I looked up and around me. At least five pairs of eyes were watching intently. Hogwarts, the home of the voyeurs.
"You!" I screeched, springing away from Malfoy. "All of you! How dare you! What right do you have to-"
"This is a public hallway, Weasley," Terry Boot said coldly. Just because he never got any action. "You deserve it. And with him, too! Honestly, what were you thinking? You're scarring the little ones."
"Please, Terry, I have enough brothers as it is," I said commandingly. But Terry speaks quite loudly so I'm afraid my retort went unheard.
"He-he's got chicken lips! Dirty lips! Bad!"
"How would you know?" Draco sneered. "You've never kissed me before."
"I don't need to," Terry said haughtily. "You're a Malfoy and-"
Poor Terry-he never really got to finish his sentence. Draco has pretty quick reflexes, and before he knew it, Terry was in his embrace and Terry had received the first real kiss of his life. A gasp rose from the small crowd. I would have been jealous if I'd not been laughing so hard. As soon as Draco let go of Terry, he stumbled and ran into the wall as he became reacquainted with the world.
"Well," Draco stated in his usual arrogant manner. "I know I'm a damn good kisser. Can't say the same about you. But practice, dear Boot. Practice is the key. Not on me, mind you. Or her," he added, pointing to me.
"Disgusting!" Terry spat, his face crimson and his eyes wild with fright. "Don't you ever touch me again, Malfoy! Don't you ever!"
"Ah, Boot," Draco sighed. "You know you will dream of these lips at night."
"Pervert!" With a few other weak squeaks of insults, Terry grabbed his friends and waddled away as fast as they could. We were alone once more. I just hoped Terry would not run his mouth around Ron or Harry or Hermione.
"So," I said. Why were things suddenly awkward when we were isolated? Feelings are funny.
"Yea," Draco muttered. His cocky attitude was gone. "So."
"That was interesting."
"I suppose so."
"Oh, this is silly," I said exasperatedly. "I bloody like you. A lot." Heck, I had been bold once. Why not again? As long as I got to hit myself on the head with a large metal object, it was okay. Draco smiled slowly; whether or not he was laughing at me or was simply expressing happiness, I could not tell.
"I bloody like you, too. Also a lot." My cheeks flamed instantly, and I looked down at the floor.
"That's settled," I mumbled. Then, my head shot back up. I had thought of something else to say. "I don't know why I do like you, Malfoy. More than half the time you're just a bastard who can't get enough of himself. I mean, I'd think that you would probably wank to an image of yourself."
"Weasley, you can't go blabbering all my secrets," Draco said dryly. I gently punched his arm. Er-at least I hoped he was joking.
"The point is that I shouldn't like you at all. I should hate your stupid guts. But I don't."
"Alright," he said with a cock of his eyebrow. "Does that change anything?"
"No. I guess not."
"Then can you shut up so we can start snogging again?"
"Blimey. Uh-sure. What the hell." Commence gross noises.
However, I am finally back in my own dorm. I feel that today has been a productive day.
Lip Status: Very swollen. Am afraid that under these conditions, even Ron would notice (and that would prove to be very, very bad for me.) But only because my lips are currently about half of my face and are blocking airflow into my nostrils.
Things To Do:
1. STILL NEED TO STUDY POTIONS GINNY. JUST BECAUSE THERE IS A SHINY PRETTY BLOND BOY.
2. Still need to find out who sent this diary.
3. I can't remember.
4. I can't remember.
5. Still can't remember
6. Merlin, please help me.
I'm definitely going to visit the Underworld for this. So is he, for that matter. Though he won't be dark lord over Earth, it looks like he will be lord over something: Hell. And just as I predicted, too! See that, Gin? Some dreams do come true.