Summary: Ginny Weasley wasn't really the one who sent Harry Potter that Singing Valentine during his second year at Hogwarts. She just took all the credit, the filthy blood traitor, and a certain blond haired Slytherin would like to set the facts straight. Draco/Harry implied, One-sided Ginny/Harry (HBP relevant)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns Harry and Draco. I just enjoy torturing them for my own entertainment purposes.

That's All He Wrote

A little known fact about Draco Malfoy was that he was quite the talented songwriter/poet. He'd composed several masterpieces during his youth, including the highly popular original version of "Weasley is Our King" – a song that quite accurately depicted Ron Weasley's deplorable lack of Quidditch Keeping skills. Draco prided himself for his creativity and rhyming abilities when it came to catchy tunes. He was also blessed with impeccable comedic timing. Such was his level of ingenuity that even his father grudgingly admitted, if the whole Death Eater thing didn't work out, Draco could always fall back on songwriting.

Most people appreciated his wit. He'd gotten all of Slytherin House and even some of the other houses to laugh at his countless imitations, song lyrics, and utterly hilarious jokes throughout his school career. But…there was one person who frustrated Draco to no end. Because while this person was the root for the majority of Draco's inspirations (his unauthorized muse, if you will), they rudely and insensitively never appreciated Draco for his tireless efforts. This thankless individual was none other than Harry James Potter.

Potter. Gryffindor Git of the Millenium and source of all of Draco's frustrations (And wet dreams, though he'd rather have his family jewels Splinched off than ever admit it.) What an ungrateful sod. After all of Draco's labours to catch his attention, to make him laugh, to impress him…what did he get in return? Two black eyes and a broken rib during the debut of "Weasley is Our King." Draco had bitterly recalled the event: as he lay, moaning in the hospital wing, the first time he'd attempted to woo Potter's attention. His heart wrenched rather excruciatingly. Nobody knew the truth, but Draco's pride always swelled secretly whenever he recollected the incident…

It was back during their second year. That idiot Lockhart had invented the ludicrously sappy idea: Singing Valentines delivered by dwarves dressed up as cupids to various victims from their admirers. Draco had scoffed along with the rest of the Slytherin boys at Lockhart's stupidity - while trying unsuccessfully to squash his guilty conscience.

A few nights before, Draco had innocently dreamt he'd composed a brilliant Valentine Rhyme and stood outside Gryffindor Tower, bellowing the lyrics up to where Potter, who stood, by the window, his green eyes sparkling with adoration as he yelled back his love for Draco and agreement to spend the summer holidays with him at Malfoy Manor. Draco had woken up from his dream in ecstasy horror, while his nether regions throbbed uncomfortably for some reason. It wasn't the first time he'd had a dream like that about Potter (he'd been dreaming about green eyes and knobbly knees since after that first time he'd unknowingly met Potter at Madam Malkin's before their first year); but he'd chalked it up to a chronic reaction for the stress and annoyance the irritating Gryffindor caused him.

He couldn't be in love with Potter, could he? NO. Potter was a scrawny git whose ebony hair always looked as if he'd just had a run in with the Whomping Willow. Wait, ebony? Since when did he pay any attention to the color scheme of Potter's hair?

Draco had furiously attempted to shake off his less than pleasant thoughts, but the after effects of the dream haunted him the rest of the day. No matter what he tried, Draco couldn't get the damn rhyme out of his head. He found himself sitting in Potions and staring at the Blackboard behind Snape, unconsciously humming, "His Hair is as A Dark as a Blackboard" in his head over and over. Things worsened when Snape produced a barrel of pickled green toads and informed the class they were brewing Wart Removing Potions (of which they would later test out on the toads). Draco's left eye kept twitching as he fought to keep himself from humming and drumming his fingers in time to the lyrics, "His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad", and nearly beheaded the toad he was holding.

All in all, it was an awful day. And things steadily grew more morose when Lockhart had made the announcement that all students interested could sign up/send a valentine to the object of their affections. Draco's groin, which had been pulsating fervently all day, escalated even more so as he saw Potter walk into the Great Hall from Quidditch practice, still wearing his Quidditch robes; his face flushed and green eyes sparkling. Draco had been so busy staring at the way Potter was eating his sausages that he barely noticed when that Pansy Parkinson hag sauntered up next to him, her grubby fingers gripping his arm as she hinted heavily that she wouldn't be opposed to being serenaded by a flying dwarf. Draco wasn't listening; he merely yanked himself free from her grip and rudely shoved her aside as he stood up and strutted over to the sign up table.

It wasn't until he had finished writing the line, "The Hero Who Conquered the Dark Lord," that Draco realized what he was doing. Horrified, he made to crumple up the parchment he was writing on, but Lockhart had already tugged it from him, smiling odiously as he dropped the parchment into the increasing pile of entries. Draco immediately panicked, but to his immense relief, that repulsive Weasley girl chose that moment to walk up, flushing as she handed over her folded entry. Without thinking, he yanked it from her, ignoring her angry protests, and ripped the parchment open:

You make me squirm

Like a flobberworm

When I hear you speak

My voice turns to a squeak

The Boy Who Lived

You didn't die

The apple of my eye

You are so dear

Like butterbeer

My day would shine

If you would just be mine

Draco snorted as he finished reading. What a pathetic excuse for rhyme scheme. Clearly the girl was an amateur, but really, what would you expect from a Weasley? He sneered disdainfully and drawled, "Potter? I don't think much of your taste, Weasley. But then again, having to grow up owning everything second hand, don't see how you could develop any rules for standards…"

He crumpled up the parchment (much to the Weasley girl's affronted shock) and quickly snatched the stack of entries from its spot next to Lockhart's elbow. He pulled out his entry, opened it, and scrabbled, "To Harry Potter, Love Ginny Weasley" – nearly retching as he wrote, and shoved the finished product into Ginny's hands. Ginny stared at him like he had grown two extra heads, and continued to stare as he spun around and stalked off back to the Slytherin table.

That evening, Draco couldn't sleep. Tomorrow was Valentine's Day, and the dwarves were scheduled to start delivering their Singing Valentines all over the castle. While Draco was relieved that his quick thinking had gotten him out of what would have been a nightmarish and humiliating happening, a part of him couldn't help feeling disappointed. Disheartened that Potter would receive this work of art thinking it derived from the mind of a Weasley, and not his brilliant one…the mere thought of it was too much for Draco's little black heart to bear. He turned over and sighed hopelessly. His dreams were plagued by terrible images of Potter marrying the Weasley girl while Draco was dressed like a vicar, forced to stand in front of them and read them their rights. No matter how hard he tried to lunge forward in attempt to strangle the Weasley girl, his body was held back by an invisible force, and he could do nothing but be forced to watch as Potter walked away down the aisle with that stupid ginger wench…

The next morning, Draco's insides felt like the Devil's Snare. His stomach and intestines were writhing, and as a result he'd had to sit through all his morning classes with his teeth clenched like he was suffering from a bad bout of constipation. Someone had made a snide comment about his state, and Draco had responded by shooting a Boil Hex at them. To his delight, it had been Millicent Bulstrode. Her acne was already so severe so when she moaned to Snape that Draco had cursed her, Snape merely glanced at her and sneered, "I see no difference." Bulstrode then stormed out of the dungeons, wailing, and Draco received grins and appreciative guffaws from Crabbe and Goyle.

Then the mid-morning bell rang and everyone clambered into the halls. The singing dwarves were tackling unfortunate victims all down the corridors, and Draco's heart nearly shot out of his chest as he saw one flying Dwarf lodge himself at Potter's knees. The Gryffindor was forced to remain, sprawled out helplessly, in a heap on the cold stone floor as the Dwarf harassed him.

Potter looked traumatized as the dwarf began a skit combination of singing and dancing in front of the entire corridor:

His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard.

I wish he was mine, he's really divine,

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord

The entire hall erupted in laughter. Draco caught a glimpse of Potter, whose face was so red he looked like a tomato with glasses. Draco stood there gleefully with s arms crossed; as students all around broke out into singing Draco's masterpiece. Potter, in his attempt to escape the dwarf's clutches earlier, had dropped his rucksack and all his belongings spilled out haphazardly. He quickly stood up, face still burning, and scrambled around trying to gather up all his ink stained books.

Draco, who'd been watching his every move, suddenly noticed a single black journal lying on the ground. He immediately snatched it up, his heart pounding with excitement to further embarrass the Boy Who Lived to Annoy Him…And what better than to read the contents of his journal out loud, perhaps in limerick style?

However, his elation was short lived as two things happened: Potter pulled out his wand and yelled "Expelliarmus!" and the journal flew out of Draco's hands. Then Ginny Weasley, blushing furiously, bumped into him as she hurried past the crowd. Draco's immense loathing for the girl intensified as she flushed and gave Potter a quick look. Draco leapt forward, his hands curling into fists as he imagined dangling her headfirst over a sea of piranhas in the Great Lake, and he shouted spitefully, "Don't think Potter liked your valentine much!"

The Weasley girl covered her face with her hands and ran into her classroom. Draco was fuming. His amazing Singing Valentine to Potter was now accredited to a freckled blood traitorous offspring, and to top things awful; Potter had foiled Draco's attempts to degrade him again! Needless to say, he went to bed that night, upset and angry…and even his dream of Potter and him holding hands in a meadow filled with daisies while the Weasley girl was in the Forbidden Forest being eaten alive by acromantulas – didn't make him feel any better.

After that first fail, Draco's poetic creativity floundered for a while. He had to resort back to his talent for impressions instead. His infamous Potter Faints From Dementors imitation successfully upset Potter and the Gryffindors for the duration of third year. Yet while he was able to entertain crowds with the "Weasley is our King" gem their fifth year, his muse just didn't have the heart to try anymore odes to Potter. Nobody knew that the true inspiration for "Weasley is Our King" came from Draco's insistence to further annoy Potter, who's fifth year angst (albeit the Dark Lord possessing his mind all year) had caused his green eyes to flash even more attractively every time he was heated. Unfortunately, the five seconds Draco had been able to admire Potter's flushed cheeks and emerald orbs, ended by Potter landing a punch to his left retina.

Draco nearly gave up after that. No matter how hilariously witty, talented, and comedic he was, it seemed that Harry Potter would never give him the time of day. Draco had felt his heart crack in half when Pansy burst into the Slytherin Common Room their fifth year, shrieking that she'd witnessed Harry Potter on a date with that stupid Cho Chang bitch from Ravenclaw…in MADAM PUDDIFOOTS OF ALL REVOLTING PLACES.

Draco had sulked thoroughly, and spent the rest of the evening inventing wild scenes in his head – all of which involved Chang getting tortured and eaten by various dark creatures from the Forbidden Forest.

Then sixth year came along and Draco was both enraged and incredibly stressed. On one hand, he was furious at Potter for basically sending his father on a one way trip to Azkaban and wanted nothing more than to vilify him until he cried and begged for forgiveness. On the other, Draco had been given a rather pesky task by the Dark Lord himself, and he really just didn't have the time to think up silly rhymes or brilliant schemes to sabotage his favorite green eyed target.

Months passed and the mission was going really badly. The bags under Draco's eyes were so pronounced he could have started a handbag business with them; plus the stupid Vanishing Cabinet was still broken; there were nearly no more apples left on the courtyard orchard for Draco to steal…and he was just. DONE. With it all.

Until one day…

Draco was busy lurking in a dark corner in one of the castle corridors when he heard the blasted Weasley female complaining to the Thomas prat from his year, that Potter was growing increasingly distracted and was barely there during Quidditch practice…because he was too busy obsessing over Draco Malfoy…

Wait…WHAT? Draco's ears had immediately perked up at the mention of his name. Weasley continued to complain about Potter's sudden preoccupation with finding out what Malfoy was up to, so much that he had nearly missed a Quidditch game because of it…

Draco stood there for a moment, grinning stupidly as Weasley's annoying shrill faded down the corridor. So it was true, he hadn't been imagining it. Potter had been tailing him ever since that day on the train…so he was obsessed, was he? Potter was…obsessed with him. With him! Draco nearly skipped into the Room of Requirement with glee, and his jubilation doubled as the little sparrow he'd captured and placed into the Cabinet had disappeared and then reappeared, still alive. Draco gazed at the little bird with satisfaction, while his mind held onto the fact that Harry Potter was now infatuated with him. FINALLY. After all this time, the love of his life, the object of all his dark rooted desires…was finally reciprocating what he had been forced to feel for the past six years. Draco whooped in euphoria and leapt around the Room of Requirement for a good ten minutes. There was no music, but he felt like dancing and did so, looking like somebody had hit him with the Jelly Legs curse. Then he stopped. And sat down on the ground, He went glassy eyed as he fantasized…Potter and him sharing a candlelit dinner of spaghetti and meatballs…Potter and him sitting in a gondola (Weasley was rowing) drifting down the Seine; Potter gazing up adoringly at him as Draco serenaded him with an operatic rendition of "His Eyes are as Green as a Fresh Pickled Toad."

His good mood couldn't even be spoiled when that fool Divination Professor, Trelawney, callously interrupted Draco's celebrations by barging in to dispose of her cooking sherry bottles. That daft cow. Draco sent her packing faster you could say, "The Grim," and casually sat back down. He leaned back against the now fixed Vanishing Cabinet, his newly revived muse fully awake and kicking. Draco pulled out a piece of spare parchment and quill from his pockets and began to brainstorm the opening lines of his latest masterpiece, "Tangled in Ebony": a sonnet dedicated to Harry Potter's hair.

~The End~