Draco twiddled his wand between his fingers, musing.

How did one approach a Pansy?

Scrap Pansy. How on earth did one approach a girl?

It was the Yule Ball in two weeks, and Draco Malfoy did not yet have a date. It wasn't that no one would go with him - heck, he had had girls lining up, begging him to go with them. But he already knew who he wanted to go with. It would be pure scandal if the Slytherin prince did not escort his princess. And if Mrs Parkinson ever found out…good Lord, that woman could talk for England.

Plus it didn't help that Parkinson was pretty much the only okay-looking girl in their house. He would not be going to the ball with the likes of Millicent Bulstrode, thank you very much! And what made it worse, was that although Slytherin seemed to lack in the pretty girls department, there were plenty of good-looking guys. None as good-looking as him, of course, but there were some that had fallen in the right end of the gene pool.

Blaise Zabini, for example.

Draco knew that he was already planning on asking out Daphne Greengrass…but what if he asked Pansy? Greengrass hated his guts, and Millicent was simply not an option. No, Pansy was definitely his first and only choice.

And, oh boy, did she know that.

While Parkinson seemed ditsy and bitchy on the outside, Draco had known her all his life and knew very well that she had a certain…depth about her. She was cunning, pretty (in a kind of button-nosed way) and surprisingly insecure, she just hid it well. But despite being all these things and more, she was still a girl, and (worst of all) a fickle romantic at that.

He could tell that she would jump at the chance to go to the ball with him, however, she was still a girl. She was expecting him to come up with some romantic and suave way of asking her and, quite frankly, he was not that sort of person. That was why she wanted it - she knew that if he did come up with some brilliant way of asking her, he would have had to think about it and plan it for some time.

Unfortunately, Pansy being such a shrewd female, Draco knew that if he did not execute the asking-out in the way she desired, she would simply turn her nose up. The next day she would flounce into the common room, exclaiming about how delighted she was that goodness-knows-who had just asked her to the ball, when really she was dreading the night and wishing she was going with him.

Draco scowled at nothing in particular. Girls were so complicated! If you said yes one way it would earn you a snog, but a moment's hesitation and you'd get slapped! But then again, if you answered too quickly, you'd be mistaken for lying and get slapped anyway.

"DAISY, DAISY, GIVE ME YOURR ANSWERRR DOOO-"

Draco groaned, pressing his hands over his ears. Some bright spark had decided it would be simply hilarious to bewitch a muggle nursery-rhyme book to sing its contents. It blurted poems out at random intervals in a strange and high-pitched voice.

"I'M HALFF CRAZZYYY ALL FOR THE LOVE OF YOUUU-"

He turned angrily back the piece of parchment in front of him. He was supposed to be doing a two-foot essay for Professor Sprout, but he'd been distracted.

"IT WON'T BE A STYLISH MARRIAGE, I CAN'T AFFORD A CARRIAGE-"

"I can." Draco muttered wryly, smirking. Then something clicked in his head. He dropped his quill and listened carefully to the wailing.

"BUT YOU'LL LOOK SWEET, APON THE SEAT-"

"Will someone shut that bleeding thing up??" Blaise yelled, jumping up and startling many first-years. Theodore Nott sidled over, picking up the book and tossing it between his hands.

"Chuck it here," Draco raised a hand. Nott lobbed it and it landed, rather hard, in his lap.

"Oops," Theodore sniggered. Draco was on the point of retaliation (perhaps a bat-bogey hex?) when the book burst into song again, spraying him with dust like spittle.

"OF A BICICYLE MADE FOR TWOOO! DAISY, DAISY-"

"Silencio!" he snapped, jabbing the book with his wand. The whole common room breathed a sigh of relief. He noticed several girls look up and smile at him - Pansy included. He felt a bubbling in his stomach and his face grew hot.

Sweet Merlin, he didn't like her, did he?

Draco turned quickly back to the parchment and tried to look like he was busy, brushing away the disturbing thought. He was a Malfoy; he was arrogant, firm and got whatever he wanted.

And he most certainly wasn't romantic.

Time to break the rules.

Pansy deposited her essay on her bedside table and thrust aside the curtains around her bed. She was about to kick off her shoes and throw herself upon it, when she noticed something on the pillow.

It was a paper flower, with rounded petals and a single leaf. It was a pansy!

How cheesy.

She sat on her bed and picked it up, unfolding the paper. On the inside of the paper was a small drawing of a hand. She watched as it moved forwards and clasped another, as if to dance. An invitation?

Her eyes moved to the writing beneath. In an elegant, italic handwriting, which she recognised with a stabbing thrill, was a poem, which read:

Pansy, Pansy,

Give me your answer please,

I would like to know if

You'd go to the ball with me?

You'd look simply enchanting

In a dress made of green satin

Would it be as great,

If you went with Blaise?

So come to the ball with me

She didn't need a signature to know who it was that had sent it - that was his way, totally mysterious. He would come and go at his own will.

"Draco Malfoy," she purred, mouth curving at the corners, her jade eyes scanning the poem once more. She could sense the arrogance in his tone - 'would it be as great if you went with Blaise?' - it hardly rhymed. And yet there was a certain hesitance about it. She could tell that, although he denied it, he was totally nervous about asking her out. The doodle was adorable too.

Pansy folded it back into the flower shape and tucked it underneath her bed. She lay back on her covers and allowed herself a little squee of delight and excitement. Draco Malfoy, by far the cutest guy in Slytherin, had just asked her out.

Wait until Daphne found out about this!