Stay calm.
This is my mantra as I wait nervously in the Slytherin room, legs crossed at an awkward angle. Several of the green-clad Slytherin students eye me suspiciously, wondering at the presence of a Gryffindor in their midst. Not one has come forth so far to ask me about my business here, however.
"What are you doing here, Granger?" Malfoy's voice drifts over to me, his tone harsh. I swivel around instantly. He's coming down the stairs, accompanied by a sneering Pansy Parkinson.
Stay calm.
"I need to talk to you," I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. Now absolutely everyone is staring. The inhabitants of the painting nearest me, a group of sour-faced witches huddled around a bubbling cauldron, nudge each other meaningfully and raise their eyebrows.
"Anything you need to say to me can be said right here, Granger," Malfoy says lazily.
"It can't, actually."
"Oh, please," Pansy scoffs, her eyes practically bulging from their sockets. "You really think he's going to go anywhere alone with you?"
My face flushes as several members of the ever-growing audience to our conversation snicker amongst themselves.
"Go fuck yourself, Parkinson," I hiss, to delighted tittering from the witches in the painting.
"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Pansy teases, unruffled. "How about McGonagall's ass?"
"Enough," Malfoy holds up his hand to silence Pansy. She stops, looking offended.
"Fine. Outside. In the corridor. But this had better be good, Granger." He eyes me speculatively. "Actually, forget the corridor. Come up to the dorms. That way, if you don't have anything useful to say, we can give you a little taste of what we do to people who waste our time."
I get to my feet, feeling far more uncomfortable and scared than I had been while I was waiting for him, and follow him up the staircase to the dorms. It's a little eerie how similar the layout of the place is to Gryffindor, but reassuring, at the same time. I clutch my wand tightly, keeping it out of sight.
As we step over the threshold, into the sixth year boys' dorm, my heart speeds up. So this is it. He shuts the door behind us, and suddenly, my heart stops beating altogether.
"Alright, Granger. Spit it out, whatever it is. And I mean it--this had better be worth my time."
I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Well, I--it's sort of--you know about Slughorn's Christmas party, right?"
He scowls. "Wasn't invited."
"Do you want to be?" I ask timidly. There. It's out.
For the first time, the sneer characteristic of Malfoy was wiped off his face and replaced by a look of incredulity.
"What the fuck, Granger?"
"Well, I know you sort of wanted to go--"
"Spend my Christmas with prissy little Mudbloods and ass-kissing blood traitors? No, thanks." Malfoy spoke sharply. For a moment, it was sort of hard not to smile. Despite his dismissive tone, it was totally and completely obvious that Malfoy felt snubbed by the lack of an invite.
"Spend it--ruining Ron Weasley?" The words slip out before I can help myself.
Malfoy raises an eyebrow, still incredulous. "I'm listening. But what gives, Granger? I thought the two of you would be stumbling down the aisle any day now."
"He's dating Lavender," I say as nonchalantly as possible, but a trace of bitterness in my voice gave me away. Malfoy smirks.
"And you're jealous?" He asks gleefully.
"Hardly," I scoff, my voice going higher and higher. Then I realize that lying to Malfoy gets me nowhere. After all, if I wasn't jealous, what reason did I have for being here?
"Alright, well, yes, maybe a little," I admit. Malfoy looks shocked for a moment, but then his face breaks out into an enormous grin.
"Don't say anything," I rush to say, blushing. "Really, it's awful enough admitting it to you. You're the first person I've told."
To my surprise, Malfoy keeps quiet, though the grin stays in place. I take a moment to collect my thoughts. This is all too crazy. Here I am, talking with Draco Malfoy in his dormitory, a conversation I spent half an hour primping for. Ginny, sympathetic to my anti-Ron aims, despite loathing Malfoy, had helped me, even loaning me her favorite cropped black velvet jacket, which, she had told me with a sigh, she had been planning to wear to the party tonight. My hair was still a little damp from my shower, my jeans were uncomfortably tight, and I had even applied a little lip gloss.
It was all too ridiculous. Here I was, with cotton mouth and overly shiny lips, about to ask out Draco Malfoy.
"So, like I said," I clear my throat awkwardly. "The party--Slughorn's Christmas party--is tonight--and, well--because of Ron, who's, he's going with Lavender, well, I--"
"I get it, Granger." Malfoy says impatiently. "Weasley is with your slut of a housemate, you're jealous as hell. So, did you come here to talk about your feelings for him or what? Where exactly do I factor into this equation?"
I take a deep breath. "Well, I--want to make him jealous."
"You could always get with Potter," Malfoy suggests, already bored with the conversation.
"Harry," I correct half-heartedly, "Would never agree to it. I need someone who hates Ron. Who Ron hates. That's the person I need to take to Slughorn's Christmas party."
Comprehension dawns on Malfoy's face. Mingled with disbelief and what looks like horror. I start to sway in place, and pray my legs don't give way beneath me due to this utter mortification.
Do not faint. Do not faint.
"Granger," Malfoy hisses in an incredulous voice barely above a whisper. "Are you asking me to be your date?"
"Um--uh-huh. Yeah."
Do. Not. Faint.
The look of disbelief is frozen on Malfoy's handsome, pointed face. He doesn't appear to be breathing. I actually find I'm getting a little worried about him. Who knows, maybe he's going into shock. I wrack my brain for some sort of quick cure, but, thankfully, he snaps out of it.
"Absolutely not," he snaps. "You're fucking insane, you know that, Granger? You really think I'd date you just to make Weasley jealous? You really are insane."
I feel like I should mention that we'd only be together for a few hours, but it's too late. My whole face is turning red, and I feel like I could cry. Stupid, stupid. How idiotic am I, putting myself in a position where I'm being rejected by Draco-fucking-Malfoy after spilling my innermost feelings to him?
Malfoy's right. I really must be insane.
Determined not to cry in front of Malfoy--not from the rejection, of course, but from the total embarassment of it all, at my own idiocy for even trying this--I turn and blindly stumble down the staircase into the common room. I don't hear any footsteps behind me. When I emerge into the common room, several students look up, their faces bright with curiosity. I shove past a burly fifth-year and throw the door open, racing down the corridor.
Once I've turned a few corners, I slow to a walk. I don't want McGonagall or someone seeing me speeding through the hallways, knocking little first-years right and left. I turn another corner, and bump right into a tall, burly boy. I take a hurried step back and see who it is.
"Oh, sorry, Cormac," I mutter apologetically to the Gryffindor seventh-year.
"It's fine," Cormac McLaggen shrugs dismissively. Then he narrows his eyes at me. "Hey, you going to Slughorn's party tonight?"
"Maybe," I say gloomily. There's not much point, now. I'm not at all in the mood to watch Lavender shove her tongue down Won-Won's throat all night. Not when I could be getting homework done.
"You should definitely come," Cormac says enthusiastically. "It's going to be fucking awesome. Old man told me he's getting a keg. Hey--you won't tell anyone, though, will you?" He says, suddenly nervous that he's fed too much illicit information to me, the goody-two-shoes know-it-all. The girl who never gets the boy. Unless--
"Oh, of course not, Cormac," I say sweetly. "But listen, I have an idea. Are you going with anyone?"
It's ridiculously bold of me. We've only spoken once or twice before, and besides, he's a seventh-year. But if it helps me get back at Ron, well, it'll be worth it.
"To Slughorn's party? Uh, no." He says, looking confused. Then he catches on. "Uh, hey, you wanna go with me?"
"I'd love to," I say, keeping the fake smile plastered on my face. Yes! Score! "How about you meet me in the common room at, oh, say, eight?"
"Sure thing," Cormac winks roguishly at me. "Can't wait." And he hurries on down the corridor.
Oh no, Cormac, I think, unable to keep a grin of anticipation from spreading over my face, I can't wait.