Me: *sigh* Why is no one reviewing, guys? Am I really that bad… maybe I've lost my touch…

Draco: Well, you are a Muggle…

Tom: Exactly.

Me: That doesn't mean anything! Muggles are more creative than wizards anyway! You know, because we have to imagine all this amazingly wonderful stuff that Wizards get to live. Hmph… whatever.

Draco: Well… someone's a little moody.

Me: I am not moody! You never call a girl moody. You don't know what could happen.

Draco: *suspicious* What is that supposed to mean?

Me: *sigh* Oh nothing. I suppose you'll just have to learn the hard way. *to audience* Enjoy, audience!

Draco's Story: Love's Turntables

Draco Malfoy, hands in pockets, was walking and enjoying the silence and solitude. It was dinner time, so no one else was wondering the halls. He had decided he wasn't hungry, and if he wanted something later, he knew where the kitchens were at.

Draco had been suffocating. Not literally, but the ever-present Crabbe and Goyle had begun to make him a bit edgy. Always following him, like two hulking shadows that put the saying, "All brawn and no brains" to shame. It was killing him. He just wanted to be alone.

Draco smirked quietly to himself as he thought about how he'd lost them. It wasn't hard at all, really. He'd just taken them down to the picture with the ticklish pear, ordered a house elf to get them a few pastries, and snuck out the picture again. A good and bad thing, really. Though he could get them off his back easily enough, he wasn't so sure that if they had to choose between tasty food and protecting him, they'd choose him. It was slightly unnerving.

The blond boy shook these thoughts from his head. Enough of that. This was his time, and he'd eat his wand if he was going to spend it all on think about those gits.

Sighing, Draco slowed and wondered where he'd head to. Gryffindor's common room, aiming for a few pranks? No, he wasn't in the mood. What about that Room of Requirements (or something of the sort) that he'd heard a house elf talking about? Nah, he wasn't sure how to get in. Some rubbish about chanting in front of a wall three times…

He didn't want to go to the Slytherin common room, it was too… familiar. There was always the Astronomy Tower, he like it up there. It was either that or the library…

Choice made, Draco directed his path to the Astronomy Tower. (Not for Merlin's hat would he spend whatever precious time he had to himself in the library.)

As he walked, he wondered if the stars would be out yet. It was winter, nearing Christmas, so the nights came faster. Even if there weren't any stars, it'd still be nice to look at the view. Something had always drawn him to the chilly expanse of winter. It froze everything in sight, made things the way it wanted them to be. The grass didn't grow, the plants didn't flourish, and winter was dominant. Perhaps it was his want to be in control, and his inevitable failure to be so. His father always took that role, or any of the other adults surrounding him. Draco's jaw tightened and his hands fisted in their pockets. He'd show them someday. He would show them that he could be what they were and better. He'd show them all.

Coming up to the last flight of stairs, Draco took them two at a time and burst through the door. Eyes alight with anticipation, he strode to the balcony, bursting into the frigid outdoors, unoccupied, all for him.

But the frigid outdoors were not unoccupied. Someone in a thick, earthy-green-and-brown cloak was perched on the balcony railing, ankles wrapped around the bars. He was so startled that he didn't do anything for a second, and the scratch of a writing tool on parchment filled the silence. The figure shifted in a continual pattern, and he finally realized that the someone was drawing - looking up at the scene before them, looking back down to make adjustments.

Irritation flooded into the boy, flushing him with heat to rival the weather. How dare they? The one day he had some time by himself, and this happens? He had half a mind to push this someone off the edge…

Just as he'd opened his mouth and breathed in to say something, however, the figure stiffened as if sensing his presence. The head whipped around, and he registered the face of a girl. Surprised hazel eyes, the pink tip of delicate nose, frost-bitten lips and cheeks, framed by wavy brown hair.

Pretty enough, thought Draco aloofly, immediately assessing her. Bet she's going crazy inside at being met by the Slytherin Prince. Has any number of romantic fantasies, no doubt.

Meanwhile, the girl had gotten over her surprise and was looking around awkwardly. She looked as if she didn't know what to do, now that she'd been so suddenly uprooted from her own world.

"Erm…" she glanced from him to the impressive landscape he could now see in her lap. She seemed to wait for him to say something, being at a loss for words herself. Draco, on the other hand, was enjoying himself watching her struggle. He leisurely crossed his arms and cocked a pale eyebrow. I'm waiting.

Realizing that he was making this uncomfortable on purpose, embarrassment flushed her cheeks and frustration flashed in her eyes. The nameless girl pursed her lips, looking down.

This is it, he thought with satisfaction. The moment when she gives in. Because I am Malfoy. Really it's a shame she didn't put up more of a fight…

Then, as if she heard him and wanted to prove him wrong, she looked him dead in the eye.

"Look," she started in a surprisingly assertive voice, "I'm almost done, and I can't get this exact view anywhere else. I'll just finish up and leave you in peace, right?"

Now both of Draco's eyebrows shot up, taken off guard. She wasn't backing down. What?

Miss Nameless took his silence as approval, and he got the feeling that she didn't really care if it was approval or not. Huffing in aggravation, he shoved his hands back in his pockets and turned to lean backwards on the railing that she was sitting on. He watched her nearly unblinkingly, making it as uneasy for her as possible. Yet, she ignored him, and went back to smudging and scribbling and forming.

Curiosity drew his gaze down to her hands and the sketch they were completing. It was on a notebook of thick, white parchment… that really didn't look much like parchment at all. The notebook itself was shiny, well-kept black leather, flexible and protective. The utensil she used wasn't any kind of quill he knew of. It was a black stick that seemed to rub off easily, seeing as her fingers looked as if they had been coated in black ash. He noticed that there was a sharpening knife balanced on the railing on her other side. He also noticed that the picture wasn't moving in any way.

She was drawing Muggle style. He immediately wrinkled his nose, as if simply being close to a technique used by Muggles offended his status.

"So you're a Mudblood, then?" he commented casually. The hand that had been working furiously a moment before, white with cold, stopped dead in a moment. Looking up to her face, Draco noticed that her jaw was clenched.

"What did you say to me?" she challenged him. Her tone was so icy that Draco had to admit to himself that he was almost impressed. He smirked on the inside, loving how she played into his trap so smoothly. He'd hit a nerve and she'd done nothing to hide it.

He shrugged in an off-hand way, "Just that you have to be a Mudblood, since you insist on doing things the Muggle way. No pure blood in their right mind would do things in such inane methods."

She glared at him, "For your information, I draw like this because I enjoy it. If it bothers Your Highness, you can leave and take your snobbery with you."

Draco put a finger to his chin, pretending to consider something, "Hm…Your Highness, eh? I like it. A pity all Mudbloods don't know their place as well as you seem to."

Her hand was starting to shake from anger, now. A little warning went off in the back of his head, telling him he ought to be careful. After all, he didn't know her and thus didn't know her abilities. He brushed this aside, reasoning that he knew everyone in Sixth Year (his year) and she didn't look older than him, which meant that she had to be a Fifth Year. He could take a Fifth Year easy.

"Stop. Saying. That. Name." she ground out. Her eyes looked nearly savage.

He was beginning to get a bad feeling, but he pushed on, unwilling to admit defeat.

"What name? I'm merely calling you what you are - oof!"

The wind was knocked out of him as she whipped out her wand and struck him with a nonverbal spell. It felt as if he'd been hit by a brick wall.

Wait… non verbal? He hadn't even gotten those down yet.

When he recovered himself and had started breathing regularly, he stared at her as if she'd just told him that she was Voldemort in disguise.

"What the bloody hell was that?" he demanded. She shrugged, completely calm now, putting the finishing touches on her drawing.

"I warned you. You should watch your tongue, Draco Malfoy, or you'll really regret it some day. You also shouldn't be so quick to judge and assume," she said conversationally, flipping the page that held her landscape over to write on the back. "Especially when you don't know the whole story."

"How do you figure?" he spat. He was contemplating the consequences of pulling his own wand on her, but he wasn't so sure of himself anymore. He would rather wait until he had the upper hand… and it wasn't possible for her to hex him off an edge of a considerable drop.

"You'll find out soon enough, I'm sure." she gave him a brisk little smile, turning and hopping off the railing. He watched as she closed her note book and put it under her cloak, drawing the fabric around her more tightly.

In a few moments she was gone, closing the Astronomy Tower door and probably looking forward to a hot meal in the kitchens.

Draco pondered over the name he'd seen on the back of the strange girl's drawing.

M. Piper, he mused. Piper...Piper... where have I heard that blasted name before?

Trying to erase the whole unfortunate episode from his mind, he leaned his forearms on the rail and looked at the view that M. Piper had been sketching just moments ago. Try as he might however, that name lurked and struck out at random moments to pester him.

Blast… there goes my evening.

Thus we follow the youngest Malfoy as he slowly retreated from the Astronomy Tower, brow furrowed, to the Slytherin common room. The place where Blaise Zambini was waiting to snigger with him, and Pansy Parkison waiting to swoon.

Well? Did anyone else notice the repetition of a certain name? Penny for your thoughts. (Make that e-penny…)

Meanwhile… the current status for the vote:

Who's the Favorite Slytherin Bad Boy?

Tom Riddle (2) vs. Draco Malfoy (2)

If you wanna tip the tie, review with your vote! (I didn't include my preference, but even if I did, it'd still be a tie)

Also, my thanks to curiousbookworm, EmmaLemon, Pheonix the Pyro Bird Kid, and SummerJane'10. These are the only people out of the 143 to read that reviewed and/or Alerted. E-Cookies to all of you!