Title: The Unfortunate Hogwarts Experience of Ricky Jones, Jr.
Author: Christelle
Fandom: Harry Potter
'Ship: Draco/Hermione
Challenge: D/Hr, using words "knarly," "righteous," and "dude."
Genre: Romance/Humor
Rating: PG-13
The halls buzzed with talk. Gryffindors passed the news to Ravenclaws, Ravenclaws whispered to Hufflepuffs, and all of them pointedly ignored anyone sporting green and silver. After all, Slytherins were not to be included, on account of their evilness.
Draco Malfoy curled his lip and swaggered down the corridor as was his custom. Buzz, buzz, buzz. God, they were like gossiping little bees. He never could stand insects. Especially those who made obnoxious noises.
Despite himself, he really wanted to know what they were talking about. He hated to be left in the dark. And he didn't foresee anyone telling him, so he would have to find it in his devious nature to form a sneaky scheme with which to be enlightened. Then, when he'd found out what it was, he could go about ruining it for them. For the girls, at least. While the females flitted around like happy little bees, the males sulked around like unhappy little bees.
Perhaps, he thought, they'd all decided to turn lesbian. Lesbians were all very well, he decided, when there were only a few of them. When they started to affect a man's action, they only served to irritate.
He spent the time it took him to cross the dungeons to the common room pondering whether he'd rather ruin whatever-it-was for the lionesses or rest easy in the knowledge that the lions were squirming. On the one hand, he could make Potter and Weasley and all their pathetic little mates suffer, and on the other, he could make Granger and her little friends miserable. He really hated that girl, with her stupid bushy hair and her stupid warm brown eyes and her stupid Gryffindor bravery. Idiot girl!
Draco went to his room to deposit his books and parchment, checked his reflection in the mirror, and made his way to the Great Hall for lunch. Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all seated when he arrived, so he swept into their midst and sat down.
"Draco, do you know what all the little people are chattering about?" Pansy asked before he'd picked up his fork.
"No," he answered shortly.
Pansy threw up her hands. "It really is most distressing, the way they carry on," she said.
"Blaise, go... catch a first year," said Draco dismissively, dropping his napkin in his lap. Blaise stood up at once and went to the entrance, where students flowed in like water in a stream. In all the confusion, he had very little difficulty snagging a young Hufflepuff and dragging her over to the table.
She looked terrifiedly at the Slytherins, her fingers curled around the cuffs of her sleeves.
"What," said Draco to her, "is everyone talking about?"
"I'm not going to tell you," she managed bravely.
"Don't be a fool," he sneered. "What's your name?"
"Shannon Ehrlich," she said promptly, sticking her chin up.
Draco shook his head. "It's depressing sometimes," he said to Millicent Bulstrode, who nodded, automatically agreeing. "They just walk into these things." He turned back to Shannon. "Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to have someone shake you up a bit?"
"It's all talk about the exchange student from America," she blurted out. "His name's Ricky Jones, and he's from Cal-I-Forn-Ia."
"Is that all?" asked Blaise, disbelieving.
The girl blushed. "He's very good-looking," she said slyly, blushing. "I got to see him with his shirt off."
"Where is this Jones moron?" asked Draco.
Shannon pouted. "He's sitting with the Gryffindors," she said, pointing to the table, and sure enough, Draco could see an unfamiliar blonde head sitting amid the Golden Trio.
It figures, he thought spitefully. Stupid Potter.
"Let her go," he said absentmindedly to Blaise, and Shannon Ehrlich went scurrying off to the Hufflepuff table to die another day.
So. No lesbians, then. Vaguely disappointing.
"So," said Pansy, echoing his thoughts.
"What's the name?" Blaise said. "It was something common... Ricky Jones, isn't it?"
Draco speared a steak on his fork and cut it savagely, his eyes not on his food but on the Gryffindor table. Granger! She was speaking to the newcomer! She was blushing at something he'd said!
He set his jaw. They were definitely flirting. He wasn't sure why this upset him so much.
Jones was smiling a dumb little smile, and Granger grinned back, nodding. She passed him the cinnamon rolls.
She was passing him the cinnamon rolls! She wasn't supposed to be! She wasn't supposed to pass the cinnamon rolls, thank you very much, to anyone but him, Draco!
He gave a mental gasp as his train of thought kept running after there were no more rails, as it took him where he'd been so careful not to go.
Unable to let himself sit there and realize his worst fears had come to pass, he stood up abruptly, his robes billowing around him. Action, that was the thing. When in doubt, take action.
He marched over to the Gryffindor table, aware of Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and Blaise at his back. Granger glanced up and caught sight of them when they were fifteen paces away, but Jones, Potter, and Weasley remained oblivious until they were standing directly behind the red-and-golds and their new friend.
"Were you too cheap to buy a real shirt, or is that the latest fashion over in America?" said Draco, looking at Jones's t-shirt with distaste. The shirt in question was a muddy brown color, with ABERCROMBIE & FITCH scrawled across the front. Whatever that was.
"Shut up, Malfoy," said Potter. He turned to Jones. "Rick, this is Draco Malfoy. Not the nicest person in the world, and a Slytherin, but it's all right because we beat him every time at Quidditch."
"Righteous," said Jones, bobbing his head, while Draco snarled.
"Potter, the day your poor Mudblood mother gave birth to you—" began Draco, cut off as Potter rose to his feet so quickly that the table rocked, sending ripples through the glasses of pumpkin juice. Draco let a smile curve his lips. Potter's irascibility never ceased to amuse him.
"Dudes, let's not start anything," said Ricky Jones, shaking his head. "You don't want to scare the little dudes. Always remember—peace. Make love, not war."
Draco and Harry took a moment to reflect on the implications of Jones's last phrase when substitued into their situation, and decided (much to the dismay of H/D shippers everywhere) that they were much more open to the idea of making war.
Potter glowered at Draco, and Draco flashed him his best supercilious smile in return. Crabbe and Goyle took a firmer stance behind them, and Blaise and Pansy stepped to the side.
"Don't let's get all knarly, dude," hissed Jones to Crabbe, who fixed him with a slow, bewildered stare.
"Do you have some sort of speech implement?" snapped Draco.
Jones looked surprised. "Whoa, dude. Take a chill pill."
"Don't listen to him, Rick, he's just a git," Weasley said, red-faced.
"Weasley," said Draco, managing to make the name sound like an insult, "do everyone a favor and dye—that hair." He gave a mental wince. It was probably one of his worst ever. Still, he was feeling petty and no one could work under those conditions.
Weasley stood up almost as quickly as Potter had, drew back his fist, and was just about to let fly when—
"Weasley! Malfoy!" Professor McGonagall was marching towards them, tight-lipped. Blaise and Pansy melted into the shadows like ghosts, knowing what was coming and wanting no part of it. Slytherin loyalty did not stretch far—if he wanted them to behave with more respect, Draco would have to teach them a lesson later. "What are you doing?" asked McGonagall.
"He insulted my family, Professor!" Weasley said.
"I did not," said Draco smoothly. "I insulted your hair."
"Okay, okay, what happened, was, this dude here, we'll call him Dude A, wanted to know about fashion in the good ol' Red White and Blue—we call that America, or the U-ni-ted States—and this dude here, call him Dude B, a.k.a. Dude Harry, said unto him, who is Dude A—"
"Enough, Mr. Jones," said McGonagall sharply, cutting the Californian off. "I don't know how you do things in the U-ni-ted States, but here time is of the essence. All of you, in my office now. You too, Potter, Granger. Come along. Quickly now!"
They waited while Jones stood up, as slowly as he spoke. Then they all trooped after McGonagall—the three Slytherins, the three Gryffindors, and Ricky Jones.
By the time they left McGonagall's office, they were all a detention richer and twenty points poorer, save for Ricky Jones, who couldn't understand the point system and didn't belong to a House anyway. McGonagall refused to let them return to the last ten minutes of lunch, instead instructing them to go straight to their next class.
And so it was with an expressionless mask firmly in place that Draco sauntered upstairs to Arithmancy, feeling that of all the luck in the world, his was the worst for having a class with Hermione Granger in front of him.
He took the long route, but he still arrived at the classroom before the bell signaling the end of lunch had even rung. When he entered, he spotted Granger already in her chair, her books piled neatly beside her, her arms crossed over her chest.
Don't think about the chest part, you moron, thought Draco sullenly. He clicked his tongue in irritation as he moved to his own seat, and she turned at the noise and glared at him like a bomb waiting to detonate.
He took a seat, and began a mental countdown.
Three.
Two.
One—and she got up, strode across the room, and planted herself in front of his desk, standing directly in his line of vision.
"Yes?" he asked, mockingly polite. "Can I help you, Granger?"
"What do you mean by all that, insulting poor Ricky?" she demanded. "Why? Why do you have to insult everything?"
"Poor Ricky?" he echoed disbelievingly. "Oh, come off it, Granger, the idiot can't speak properly, can't dress properly, uses inane words such as 'dude', has that look of a dog who humps everything in sight, and stole my hair color."
"No, he didn't," said she, looking surprised. "You're a silvery blonde. He's definitely a dirtier blonde."
"What are you insinuating?" he snapped, starting to feel really cross.
"Oh, please! He's my cousin! Honestly... everything! You just think you're above everything, don't you?"
"Well, I am a lot taller than most people," he returned defensively; then, as she threw up her hands in frustration, he went on—"It's my father's fault, you know. Have you ever stopped to realize how much your parents influence you? Did you say he was your cousin?"
"I do brush my teeth a lot," Granger admitted. "And yes, my mother's brother moved his family to America before I was even born. What's it to you?"
"Nothing," said Draco quickly. She looked at him suspiciously.
They'd been arguing so loudly that the bell had rung without their notice, and they only realized class was about to start when the others began to filter in; and, lest she be seen conversing with a Slytherin, Hermione Granger hurried back to her seat.
And the argument fell facedown and began to collect dust, to be resolved or continued at another time. At any rate, each party—while feeling decidedly sulky—understood a bit more about the other, and about their mutually enigmatic feelings which had hitherto remained an utter mystery.