Thank you everyone who reviewed! You have no idea how...inspiring (I'll think of a better adjective in the later chapters of the story) your comments and suggestions are. Especially to miss devil's kiss, you're one of the few who really suggested I do something with my story and it's one of the most humbling and gratifying things I have ever received.

For that I dedicate this chapter to you, hoping that you'll continue giving me some advice for my story's improvement. I really tried to make this chapter better and I pray it's somewhat noticeable.

With that all done, I present to all of you the second chapter of One Way Or Another (title has been changed for security purposes). (Laughs)

Draco Malfoy

I stare at the three quarters blank parchment in front of me. I frown as I realize I haven't even started on the blasted list. Damn Trelawney and all her seer crap. What kind of teacher does this to her students? Hogwarts or no Hogwarts it's an injustice! The sun is going to rise in three bloody hours then everyone will be leaving for Hogsmeade while I'm still trying to get my brain to function and finally finish this damned assignment.

I know I could always write about Malfoy's looks for two very obvious reasons. The first of which is the undeniable truth that he is hot. I may hate him but I have perfectly functioning eyes and as much pent-up hormones as the next girl. It isn't a secret that he's one of the hottest guys inside and outside school. The second more Gryffindor-loyal fact is my abhorrence to his arrogance and chauvinistic, narcissistic second nature.

Of course, if anyone were to ask me which of the two is more influential, I would answer the latter in a heart beat despite the initial one having more control on me. That is something I would never admit to anyone. Hell, I hardly acknowledge it myself.

If I do give in to the less rational part of my being just to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow, I would definitely be signing my own death certificate. That scandalous list would only give Malfoy the wrong impression come Monday and golden opportunities to black mail me until he graduates. Not to mention it'd very possibly give Ron a heart attack. Hold on. Maybe this project isn't such a bad thing after all. I've been waiting since summer to get back at that great big overprotective oaf for ratting on me and getting me grounded for a full month.

What would you do for thirty sodding days in the Burrow with my father off at work, brothers gallivanting around the whole of Europe and my mother downstairs cooking pies? Even if I've lived in there my whole life, I would have to say that was the first time I ever had the time to clean and re-clean my room completely and seen everything and anything to be seen within my four-walled bedroom. That had to be the most boring, mind-numbingly pathetic summer in the entire sixteen years I have been alive.

Now I know how many cracks there are on the ceiling (eleven), memorized the number of nails on my wooden floor (two hundred sixty-eight), learned the exact color of my walls when I was born (cream corn but my parents painted it over with princess pink when I turned two), found out how many quilts, blankets, sheets and pillow cases I have (thirty-five), commit to memory the precise measurements of my bed, desk, windows, closet and bedroom door, discovered everything outside my windows (trees, a small pond and a fence a few hundred meters away from the house) and realized just how little clothes I actually own (ahem).

Anyway, back to the daft list. I find myself in lose-lose situations all the time but this is just ridiculous. I don't write anything, I fail Divination. I write about Malfoy's looks, I face a year of blackmail from Malfoy and his cronies and cold shoulders from everyone in my house. Great joy.

I continue looking dazedly at his name. Blond hair. Mercury blue eyes. Lightly tanned skin. Lean body. Tall. When I'm really desperate, I guess I could take comfort in having five back-up compliments for the git.

To me, if I ignore his attractiveness, that's Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin. Seeing as my infatuation (and that's already stretching the truth) with him is only skin deep, I can't care less about his hair, skin, body or height enough to write them down and elaborate my interest in them.

I don't like him meaning I don't like everything that has to do with him. What am I going to do? I yawn unconciously in my seat. Damn my drowsiness. I need to stay awake and be done with this list so that I can finally have a fun weekend outside of the castle. But my mind's too befuddled to form even a simple coherent thought much less ten justified things I don't hate in Malfoy. Dear Merlin, have mercy on me.

His blatant disregard for anyone's well-being other than his own.

I scrawl mindlessly, not caring that Professor said that we had to write compliments or that the spell would detect lies and ignore them. What I wrote was partly true anyway. If anything, his ability to turn his back on someone in need is amazing. Who else in the world would rather save himself than a dying family in a burning house?

Well, okay, I may be underestimating his compassion but no one can deny that he would allow someone to take the blame for something he did. It's despicable, really. I gasp when the parchment becomes clear again, my sarcastic remark erased completely. Trelawney wasn't kidding about the spell's strength.

I shake my head to clear my mind a bit. I stretch in my chair, allowing my auburn hair to escape the messy bun I had encased it in for the past four hours. Around me, my roommates' shuffling and murmurs echo throughout the room. My lamp is the only thing separating me from the complete darkness of my dorm room.

I would never say this out loud but the darkness scares the hell out of me after my first year incident with Tom Riddle's diary. I know it's an irrational fear now that the Dark Lord has been defeated and all of the Death Eaters are locked up in Azkaban but the thought of strange creatures simply lurking in the shadows waiting to strike and kill me continues to cause shivers to run down my spine.

'Ginny, you're sixteen for crying out loud! You fought in the Final War, come face to face with Malfoy almost everyday and go through hell in classes at the same time! You had a mind link with Voldemort himself five years ago for crying out loud! He was practically the epitome of darkness and evil! You survived through all of that and more, didn't you? You're a Weasley, you're better than that! Come on, Ginny! If slimy, good-for-nothing Slytherins can just about live in the dungeons, you can stop this silly fear of yours. Mind over matter, girl! Now finish that list so you can enjoy Hogsmeade tomorrow!' My unnaturally motivated inner voice doesn't stop there though, I just simply tune it out for now. I already have enough things on my mind, I don't need over-enthused pep talks in my head all night long.

I don't heed my conscience and allow my eyes to flicker briefly towards the closed windows protecting me from the harsh, freezing cold wind known to blow mercilessly during this time of the day. Soft sunlight streams through the glass and warms the floor as I yawn again, propping my head up in my right hand as my free fingers move over the worn wooden desk I've called my own since my first year. I follow my fingers as the trace the rough scratches covering the wood then stopping just in front of the framed picture of the Burrow.

I smile as I recall when we had taken the picture. It was a sickeningly warm day in mid-July, the last day Charlie and Bill could stay at home for the year. My mother thought that it would be a good idea to take a picture as a remembrance of our first time together after the war, never mind that it was over a hundred degrees outside. It took us only about half an hour to get ready, a new record, and only another thirty minutes for my mom to finally deem us picture-perfect. It was a fun time. Behind the eight of us, the Burrow loomed with its back to the blazing sun, giving us much needed shade.

Shaking my head, my smile recedes until I'm frowning disappointedly at myself. If anyone can manage to use a picture as distraction from a do-or-die project, it could only be me. How did Hermione finish her list on Blaise Zabini, Malfoy's right-hand man, anyway? She gets to tell me that she'd never write compliments for a Slytherin then does it herself with no trace of regret whatsoever. What has the world come to?

The day Hermione Granger loses her mind, or contradicts herself, is the day Snape gains a heart and marries Professor McGonagall in a backyard wedding. I snicker quietly at the thought. I know 'Mione doesn't tell lies! Or change her mind on matters involving those green and silver-wearing pricks for that matter. But she did.

Darn it, I'm doing it again. Who the bloody hell cares if Hermione Granger does a list of compliments on a Slytherin? I need to focus on my own problems right now, I can't risk any more interruptions!

I stand up from my desk despite the warning bells going off in my head and make my way to a window. I open it slowly making sure my roommates' sleep aren't disturbed then take a deep, cleansing breath. I love mornings. It's the truly only time of day when the world is completely serenely peaceful.

Bringing my mind back to Draco Malfoy, I tilt my head slightly to the right. I really don't know much about him. He's not evil that's for sure, or he would have killed Headmaster Dumbledore long ago—he's just mean and bitter.

He's not as good in Quidditch as Harry but skilled enough to have beaten him once. And if I'm not mistaken that was the only time Harry ever lost a game. I could use his perseverance and near fatiguing training sessions as one of the things I like about him, right? Right. Now what else?

His sense of humor? Oh, sure, he'd be funny if I were a Slytherin and one of his friends. But that isn't the case as I'm a Gryffindor and his enemy. Well, I can always get back to that later.

I guess I sort of admire his self-control. I remember in my fourth year, when rumors of a war began coming out. My brother, Harry and other Gryffindors turned ruthless towards him instantly. That was the time he had just visited Dumbledore and asked for help we found out after the Dark Lord was defeated, Headmaster informed us that he couldn't visit his mother and had no one to talk to in Slytherin but it was too late.

'He must have been very lonely…' I say to myself, another frown forming on my face. We should have really helped him then. But it isn't as if he would allow us…or anyone would be willing to anyway.

He didn't get angry at the guys who insulted him and spat in his face for being a supposed Death Eater...but I never took notice. He was just the same big, dark Malfoy to me. That must have taken a lot of self-restraint. He had already turned his back on everything he was taught and believed in and everyone was making his life more miserable.

Okay, that's compliment number two. I'll simply ignore the fact that he's such a bastard again now so that it'll be true. Two down, eight to go. Oh god, is there anything else worthy of praise in that blond-haired jerk?