In honour of February 29th – my FAVOURITE day of the year, not counting my birthday of course – I have decided to upload more Malfoy drabbles. The first "half" of them will cheer you. The second half will depress you. Please, do not be daunted. Though not uplifted, I hope you finish them inspired to go out and write better fanfiction than mine.

Reminder to all that these are not related, except that they are all based on Rowling's excellent novels. However they do have a sort of chronology, so I think I'll follow that and see what you make of it…

1. Lapse in Judgement

When Lucius proposed to Narcissa it was after being up all night; he had gorged himself on coffee, changing his mind hourly as to whether he should do it. By morning it wasn't a question of should he, or even of how. He shoved the ring-box into her hand and told her she might as well start planning that dream wedding she wanted.

The amount of caffiene he consumed afterwards was partly to make up for this little lapse in romantic judgement. He knew he'd need his nerves jangling if he was going to make it to the wedding night.

2. Fuss-Budget

Draco usually managed to hide it, but he was an incorrigible fuss-budget. And much as Blaise liked Draco's girlfriend, she only made things worse. Ginny had a mind of her own; enough for hours of fretting, of will-she won't-she and Merlin-save-us-she-did.

She also had six brothers. Blaise had a lot of sympathy about this, until Draco forgot about Valentine's Day and insisted that for Ginny to forgive him Blaise would have to bake a cake for Ron's girlfriend, who was missing St Patrick's Day now that Ron was trying to find and kill Draco.

That was when Blaise stopped caring.

3. Spilled Merlot

Draco stood in the kitchen, wiping off his fingers. He was tired – it had been a trying day. His father had been taunting Ginny more than usual lately, and when Lucius brought up blood traitors tonight Draco decided it was time to act.

A sound made him turn, handkerchief still wrapped around his hand. Ginny was on the stairs in a nightgown, her hair tousled from sleep. She watched him for a moment as he washed up.

"Are you hurt, Draco?" she asked finally.

Smiling, he showed her his now clean hands. "Spilled wine, that's all. Go back to bed."

4. Let the Thing Be Destroyed

Draco was seven or eight when his father's comments about Mudbloods and muggle inferiority sunk in. It wasn't Lucius' idea of a joke, though his friends always laughed. Lucius was quite serious.

Draco spent a few years getting used to the idea. There were people who weren't as good as him, groups of people; groups that included Hermione Granger. He believed this when he met her. And he believed it now, watching those big doe eyes, forgiving even after he had smashed her ribs, kicked in her cheekbone and broken her nose.

He didn't mind killing her. Not one bit.

5. Recollection

Draco was crossing Belvedere when a sharp click of heels made him glance back. He wasn't alone; but he was in a sea of businessmen, whose soft-soled Oxfords were muffled by the rain. He caught sight of her and stopped to look again.

She gave him the barest nod as she passed, polite recognition at best – she probably couldn't place who he was. He tried to catch her eye and she blocked him from view with a practiced tilt of her umbrella.

He had reached South Bank before he shook himself, recalling that she couldn't be every redhead he met.