Note: This is a LONG chapter, the longest ever!
Rivelazione: revelation. There are several revelations, starting from the second part of this chapter and on. In fact, I count at least EIGHT 'revelations', scattered around like Easter eggs. Let's see if you can find them! ;p
Il Dragone
Chapter Ten: "Rivelazione"
Ever the optimistic one I'm sure of
Your ability
To become
my perfect enemy.
Wake up,
and face me.
Don't play dead.
Cause maybe,
someday I will walk away and say
you disappoint me
Maybe you're better off this way.
Leaning over you here,
cold and catatonic,
I catch a brief reflection
of what you could and might have been.
It's your RIGHT and your ability
To become
my perfect enemy.
Wake up.
(Why can't you?)
And face me.
(Come on now)
Don't play dead.
(Don't play dead)
'Cause maybe.
(Because maybe)
Someday,
(Someday)
I will walk away and say
You fucking disappoint me
Maybe you're better off this way…
Go ahead and play dead.
(GO!)
I know that you can hear this.
(GO!)
Go ahead and play dead.
(GO!)
Why can't you turn and face me?
(WAKE UP!)
You fucking disappoint me.
Passive-aggressive bullshit...
--"Passive", by A Perfect Circle
X
At precisely four-thirty Draco commands everyone to gather around, gesturing elegantly towards the stools at the far end of the room.
We all hasten to grab a stool and sit in a wide semicircle, looking at him expectantly.
Blaise sits next to me, tugging at a strand of my loose hair to draw my attention as he does so.
I grin widely at him for two reasons: Cho Chang isn't here, and I'm still exhilarated by the thought of Draco wanting to do something nice - albeit devious and underhanded (namely scaring Seamus into dating Shawn) - for my sake.
Blaise smirks haughtily in reply to my silly grin but I can tell that he was pleased, and I'm hoping I'm not sending him mixed messages…Blaise Zabini is the biggest flirt in all of Hogwarts, and although I'm convinced he knows I'm constantly drooling over Draco, I'm also convinced that he doesn't care.
I don't think I've been flirting back with him.
Right?
Anyway, when I turn back to Draco I notice he's giving his best mate a curious look. He's removed his jumper and is standing in the center of the circle, rolling up the sleeves of his white oxford shirt and looking completely at ease with having all eyes on him, as per usual. His head is cocked to the side as his fingers work on his sleeves, his gray eyes on Blaise with a look I can't decipher.
After welcoming all new attendees, Draco announces that member introductions will continue in Italian, and invites anyone who didn't get the chance to speak last week to do so now.
I watch as Alton Brown begins his amusing introduction, eliciting laughter here and there and breaking the tension Draco has created - he fascinates people, but he also scares them; not unlike Snape.
Once Alton is done he is followed by three Slytherins and a Hufflepuff third year named Gwendolyn, who blushes and giggles through her entire discourse, much to Draco's annoyance.
He's sitting at his own stool with his long legs crossed at the ankles and his arms folded over his chest. His shoulders are hunched and he's wearing a "kill me - NOW" expression on his face as an oblivious Gwendolyn speaks of her love of "animals, especially kitties" and "flowers and candy", bursting into fresh giggles every five seconds.
Draco sighs heavily once she's done, covering his eyes with the tips of his beautiful fingers in an eloquent gesture that's delicate and weary and just… Draco-ish, I guess.
When he asks who would like to follow, no one moves and Draco turns to look at me very pointedly.
Right.
I stand as if I'm being levitated, and although all eyes have darted to me, I'm feeling only the weight of a pair of intense silver eyes on me. That, and the familiar tingle of nerves, excitement, and, oh- sudden terror- that accompanies public speaking.
"Um… Ah… Mi chiamo Ginny," I begin, in my childish little voice. "Ho quindici anni-"
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" someone –Athena- calls out rudely, interrupting my flow of words, and I blush pathetically.
"Pipe down, Krauss! Everyone else can hear her fine," Draco snaps icily, not even bothering to turn to look at her, his gray eyes still burning into mine. "Continua, per favore," he says, nodding curtly.
I blush harder but nod back, and go through the rest of my speech sounding a bit more self-assured. I even get people to laugh – quite unintentionally, I assure you - when I talk about the things I like to do: eating, flying, writing short stories…
Some of the boys - the seventh years, especially - burst into vigorous applause at this last part and I blush harder, but manage to grin, rolling my eyes around. This is one instance in which I've totally put my foot in my mouth and it's earned me applause.
Draco, I noticed, isn't laughing, but he's got an amused little smirk on his lips, his pewter colored eyes locked with mine. I keep speaking, all the while looking at him, and it's as if it's just the two of us.
I've practiced my Italian with an almost religious fervor, and I know my pronunciation is flawless. Draco's eyes go from my eyes to my lips and up to my eyes again, and he's got his head cocked slightly to the side, his signature smirk etched on his perfect lips; I can tell that he's enjoying listening to me, and it makes me feel warm all over.
When I finish my introduction and take a seat again - still trembling, but pleased - Blaise leans into me until his dark, exquisite face is only inches away from mine, and whispers, "Brava, bambina."
I turn to smile at him and he smirks as he adds, "And you can send me a copy of those stories of yours, if you write any more…"
Draco, who's standing at the center of the room again, frowns at Blaise pointedly and then at me.
"Silenzio," he commands haughtily, arching a delicate eyebrow.
Blaise's smirk broadens into a grin, and he shakes his head, looking distinctly amused.
Hmm…
Anyway, the introductions end with Aiken Dunn's inane and hesitant diatribe on why she likes traveling and playing Quidditch, all spouted in broken Italian – I guess she should have engaged her tongue into practicing her pronunciation instead of the indecorous things I'm sure she did with it during the week.
When she finally takes a seat, our club president thanks everyone for their efforts –without the slightest trace of irony, mind you - and announces that we're to have a book discussion next week.
"We're going to read 'Diaro Di Un Giovane Mago'," he declares, and then turns to glare straight at Seamus. "That's 'Diary of a Young Wizard', Finningan," he drawls, saying Seamus' surname as if it were a particularly insulting adjective. "And if you intend to come back next week, you better start learning some Italian, presto!" He snaps his fingers demonstratively and Seamus flinches - and then blushes an angry red.
He glares back at Draco with all his might, but the platinum blond has already turned away.
"I've ordered you each a copy, which will be given you at the end of today's session," he informs us, looking around the room. "Be prepared to discuss that novel next week. I'm especially interested in comparing Italian youth to ours, so be sure to draw parallels and contrasts."
Draco gestures with his hands elegantly as he speaks, and he looks so comfortable that for a moment I wonder if he's forgotten we're all there. I half close my eyes, lulled by the lovely timber of his deep voice, but open them again because I don't want to miss the sight of him, the way the cheerful sunlight that floods the room seems to play white on his hair and golden on the skin of his exposed forearms. He's beautiful, he really is, and watching him sometimes causes me something like...pain.
"How are we different from them, how are we similar?" he continues, making those lovely hand motions to stress his words, palms up in the universal sign of entreaty.
Understand me, his hands seem to be saying. Work with me.
"What are their views on their own role in Italian society, their views on their own culture, on music, sex, drugs…" His intense silver eyes, narrowed in concentration, scan the faces of his audience rapidly as he continues to speak.
Blessed Cricket... If you think Draco's sexy when he's cooking, you should see him when he's being profound and intellectual, like right now.
I'm feeling myself grow hot and tingly, and when I look around I see that there are enrapt expressions on most of the faces of the girls present; even Shawn's faking an intellectual orgasm for the benefit of Seamus, who's glaring at Draco as if he were trying to set him on fire with his mind.
"It's a short novel, something like 150 pages," Draco continues, walking around the small circle with that seductive grace of his, giving me a nice view of his gorgeous bum encased in the close-fitting trousers he wears. "So read it, and try to appear marginally intelligent when we discuss it next week." He glares at Seamus again before turning away. "And now let's eat…"
Everyone stands eagerly at these words, and we all group around the kitchen station, where mouth-watering aromas waft out of piping hot pots and pans. An apron-clad Athena stands behind the counter and proceeds to cook today's dishes: spaghetti alla Bolognese, fresh baked bread and tiramisu.
I have to admit it: the twit looks like she knows exactly what she's doing, and it smells very, very good.
She keeps her intelligent, light brown eyes on Draco the whole time, leaning forward to give a better view of her ample cleavage as she beats eggs, tossing her beautiful dark curls over her shoulder as she explains what she's doing and why, and I'll tell you she's about as subtle as Hagrid trying to quietly sip soup up at the teacher's table in the Great Hall - you can hear him all the way in the Quidditch pitch.
From the way she's carrying on and making little sex noises - as if the act of stirring oregano into tomato sauce produced her actual pleasure - it's obvious Athena wants a piece of Draco, and it doesn't take a stretch of the imagination to figure out which one.
He takes it all in stride, watching her calmly with his arms folded over his chest. At one point - when she makes something that sounds suspiciously like a moan while crushing a head of garlic - Draco and I exchange amused glances.
I can't tell you how good I feels, what it's like to have Draco's clear gray eyes, sparkling with amusement, latch onto mine to share a quick grin with me. It's…almost like feeling the sun on your skin for the first time after a harsh winter.
So…um… yeah.
Once she's done cooking, the black-haired Slytherin begins serving her considerably large audience, pouring generous amounts of pasta onto the pile of plates next to her.
A line quickly forms, as is usually the case when free food is being given out, and I take the opportunity to quickly slip through the door; just in time too cause, if you must know, my bladder is about to burst.
I hurry to the nearest bathroom and take care of business, making sure not to get toilet paper caught on my shoes, or my skirt caught on my knickers or anything stupid like that; things are going surprisingly well with Draco, and the last thing I need is a Ginny moment.
Once I'm done I stand in front of the bathroom sink and wash my hands with the foamy, almond scented soap. Glancing at myself critically in the mirror, I decide I look good.
I run a hand through my loose hair, shaking it out to give it a bit of volume, pleased that the waist-length waves look silky - although not straight, and nowhere near curly. I also add some more gloss to my lips. It's sheer, so it doesn't really add color, just shine, but my lips are naturally red, anyway.
Satisfied, I walk out of the bathroom and down to the club room, letting myself in quietly.
The first thing I see is Draco leaning against the wall by the door, looking gorgeous, as per usual, and brooding silently. He looks up and his intense eyes fall on me, and he glares at me accusingly.
"Where were you?" he demands hotly, sounding remarkably like a housewife confronting a drunk, good-for-nothing husband, and I find myself blush guiltily.
Draco's face is contracted into a disapproving frown, and it's obvious he'd thought I'd left - again.
"I was in the bathroom," I snap defensively, and although he continues glaring at me, his shoulders instantly relax. "Did you want to come with me?" I demand sarcastically.
Draco's face becomes expressionless and he draws back. He folds his arms over his chest, hip cocked to the side, and a mischievous glint lights his eyes as they burn into mine.
"Come with you?" he repeats softly, his already deep voice dropping an octave into a sexy whisper. "Does it always have to be about sex with you, girl?"
I blush horribly and glare at him, opening my mouth to reply.
"-And anyway," Draco says, cutting me off, "maybe I'll 'come with you' some other time…I have a club to run, you know," he murmurs silkily, his gray eyes on mine.
"Whatever, Malfoy," I snap, doing an excellent job of concealing my elation and general… turned-on-ness.
"That's an impressive comeback," he observes dryly. "Remember we're meeting after this, for my 'infernal club publicity'. Now get in line, Weasley, or you'll miss the food," Draco replies tersely as he walks away, and I realize he has a point; everyone around me seems to be eating spaghetti, and the waiting line has considerably shortened.
As I stand behind a seventh year Slytherin, it dawns on me that Draco has been doing some serious, hard-core flirting with me, and that he was actually upset when he thought I'd left.
Like the last time…
Suddenly I see the image of his beautiful face inches away from mine, and his eyes, Merlin, the way he looked at me, that time we almost kissed.
My heart soars, and I drift down the line - where I'm the last person left - as if floating over pink, fluffy clouds of bliss. I'm already trembling in anticipation of being alone with him after this meeting ends.
I'm brought back down to reality, however, when I come face to face with today's chef.
"Oh, I'm sorry. There's no more left," Athena informs me, sounding decidedly unapologetic, her standard-issue Slytherin smirk firmly in place. "You're too late, Weasley."
She gives me a smug little smile, tilting the large pot for me to confirm that it's empty.
I look from the pot to her and open my mouth to comment, but a deep, silky voice I know well cuts me off.
"-No more?" Draco inquires from behind me.
He saunters up to us and peers into the pot amusedly. "How embarrassing for you, Athena, really."
The dark-haired Slytherin looks up at him and has the grace to blush. "Draco, I'm sorry," she says quickly. "I didn't realize I was making so little pasta…"
Draco waves his hand in her face dismissively, missing her nose by mere inches. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, you hear? I'll take care of everything," he drawls condescendingly. "Weasley can share mine," he adds softly, scanning her stunned face with obvious pleasure at her reaction. "Vieni," he says to me, sparing me a quick glance before turning away.
Athena and I both gape as Draco walks over to his place, where two plates of pasta hover in mid-air over two empty stools.
"Draco, posso darle mia meta!" she protests quickly, following after the blond.
She said she can give me half of hers - she is desperate!
"Nonsense, love," Draco says sweetly - albeit mockingly - and gives her a dazzling smile, displaying his perfectly aligned white teeth. He refuses to speak to her in Italian, I've noticed.
"But, Draco-"
"It's my pleasure to help you," he snaps tightly, obviously having lost all patience. "Now do slide over so that Weasley can sit next to me."
Athena's mouth hangs open, but a moment later she composes herself.
I tell you though, if looks could kill, I'd be keeling over right now; Athena gives me the nastiest glare you can imagine before grabbing her robes, which, I'm not surprised to observe, were lying on the stool next to Draco's. Flicking her wand at her still hovering plate, she stomps away, and her plate follows after her.
I turn to Draco to find he's seated at one of the stools, with a well-laden plate of spaghetti Bolognese hovering in front of him. I watch as he draws his wand and summons two forks. He picks them up from thin air and extends one to me with a flourish, his perfectly symmetrical face slightly tilted to the side and completely devoid of any expression.
I meet his eyes briefly, feeling wild tingles at the pit of my stomach, and reach out for the fork, my fingers curling around the cool metal and actually brushing his for a second before he lets go.
"Grazie," I say softly, biting my lips and looking at the fork fixedly, though I'm wishing I could look into his eyes.
Somehow I manage to gather the courage to look up at him again, and discover that Draco's intense eyes haven't left my face for an instant.
"Prego," he answers calmly in that deep beautiful voice of his, inclining his head slightly, his eyes still locked with mine.
After a moment, he gestures for me to have a seat on the empty stool on his right, and I do.
I clutch my fork tightly and sit down next to him, watching in silence as he switches the plate of food to his right hand, holding it in between us, more towards me.
Draco is left-handed, I've noticed, and he holds his fork in his left hand now. He makes an elegant, quick movement, wrapping spaghetti in a perfect little bundle around the end of his fork, and brings it to his lips.
This is no time to be a klutz, I hear a little voice warn me, as I bring my fork to the strings of pasta.
I take a deep breath and try to imitate his movement, managing to scoop up a reasonable amount of spaghetti onto my own fork. I bring it to my mouth, and get most of it in, though some of it falls on my chin.
I quickly slurp it up and Draco pauses to look at me - and snickers.
I elbow him in the arm before I wipe at my chin, and he makes a dramatic show of almost dropping the plate of pasta all over me.
I roll my eyes around.
Now that I've finally managed to try Athena's food, I discover it's delicious. Honestly, though, I couldn't care less. I'm too aware of the fact that I'm eating off of Draco Malfoy's plate, sitting so close to him that our legs are pressed together, and I can smell him just as distinctly as the piping hot plate of pasta in between us.
A tray of freshly baked bread hovers to us, and Draco sets his fork on our plate to grab some - enough for both of us, I notice. He sets the bread on the edge of the plate, and takes a bit, dipping it into the excess of red sauce.
I quickly hasten to do the same, feeling much like a child, learning by trying to imitate their parent.
Draco doesn't comment, but his lips curve into one of those delicious smirks of his.
"Athena is a good cook, yeah?" he says after a moment, grinning down at me evilly.
"Yeah," I agree, smiling.
Suddenly his eyes dart down to my lips, and his expression sobers. "Weasley, can't you even eat properly?" Draco murmurs, and then he lifts his hand to my face, and wipes a bit of sauce off my chin with his thumb.
Our eyes meet and I can't help but smile, trembling by the gentle familiarity of his gesture. He doesn't return my smile, but my heart is beating a million miles a minute as we continue to look at each other in silence.
What is that in his eyes?
Curiosity? Appraisal? I never can tell.
Just as suddenly, Draco looks away, wiping his hand on a napkin, and turns back to eating. A second later I do the same, but not without first noticing the jealous –and murderous- looks most girls are shooting me.
"Hey, thanks," I say suddenly, turning to look at the blond next to me. "For what you did for Shawn."
Draco smirks dismissively, giving a tiny shrug. "Yeah, whatever," he drawls, and flashes a dark grin. "I did it for the Irish klutz."
I accept this quietly, whatever that means; it occurs to me that more than likely Draco views Shawn as some sort of Trojan horse. Either way, I'm disinclined to pry.
We eat mostly in silence, our forks dancing around the plate, and the strings of pasta and meat begin to disappear.
At some point my eyes meet Shawn's, and she looks from me to Draco, and gives me the thumbs up sign, that geek.
I beam but roll my eyes around, and she makes the peace sign - minus one finger.
I grin widely and my eyes flick to the blond and blue eyed Seamus, who's sitting next to Shawn. I give her a raised eyebrow and she responds by blushing, which is, you realize, a very un-Shawn thing to do.
X
By the time the club meeting ends Seamus is following my friend around like a lovesick puppy. They leave together, with Shawn turning to give me a maniacal grin before stepping through the door with her handsome young Irishman.
Draco gives a sinister chuckle as he watches them walk away, and I dig my elbow into his ribs.
"Jerk!" I accuse, and then squeal when he turns to me and unceremoniously yanks at a strand of my hair.
"Ow! What are you, five?" I snap.
"Don't pretend like you don't like it," he drawls snootily, and I grin, neither confirming nor denying.
He smirks knowingly, his gray eyes twinkling with humor, as he twiddles the strand of hair between his fingers.
We're completely alone now, like that first time I came to his club, only so much has happened since then - and yet, nothing, really, when you think about it. My heart is pounding so loudly now I fear he might hear it.
Draco looks at me in silence, and I look at him, noting the way his eyes go over every feature of my face as we stand side by side, leaning our backs against the kitchen counter. His eyes travel down my face and fall on my still smiling lips, and I feel myself tingle with excitement and anticipation.
"So," he says slowly, still looking at my mouth. His face is completely serious now, and he's let go of my strand of hair.
I can feel my heartbeat slow almost painfully, as if my heart, too, were holding its breath.
"…I was thinking we could do something really cliché, like…a map of Italy, a glass of wine, something like that. And the words 'Italian Club' in some bold lettering. Maybe 'Britannic Bold'…" he drifts off, looking past my shoulder. Then he looks at me again, and I stare at him dumbly.
"What?" I manage to mumble.
"Yeah; you're right," he says, grimacing delicately. "It's so…blah. I guess we should think of other images for the backdrop, but I definitely want a list of the things we do here. I don't want all manner of oafs coming in here just because there's free food."
I'm staring at him blankly, forcing my mind to concentrate on all the rot he's saying. So we are going to discuss infernal club publicity, after all. It's my job, really. But, well… I thought he was going to snog me.
"Okay…" I begin hesitantly, trying to mask my disappointment. "That sounds good. I could talk to Colin at Designs and Graphics. We could come up with something by Sunday."
"Did you get a load of that Athena Krauss?" Draco says suddenly, walking over to one of the stools and sliding into it gracefully.
I'm so dejected I don't even notice the way his sculpted thighs are outlined by his form fitting trousers, or the way the material bunches at his crotch. Okay maybe I do notice, a little.
"Yeah," I mumble again, still leaning against the kitchen counter.
"I was going to tell her that there were children here, I mean, really. She's got some nerve, that girl," Draco comments laughingly, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. "She doesn't get it."
I can think of at least one red-haired ditz who doesn't get it, either.
"Yeah," I say again. "She doesn't get it." I look up at him, and he's smirking, meeting my eyes like we're making some big joke.
"You're taken," I say quietly. "And you just don't like her…not really."
"Pardon, I'm what?" Draco asks suddenly, arching his delicate eyebrows and leaning forward in obvious surprise.
"Taken," I repeat crossly, clenching my hands into fists without realizing I'm doing it.
"I am?" he asks bemusedly, and then he folds his arms over his chest, looking genuinely interested. "Really? Who's the lucky girl?"
I look back at him incredulously, remembering Cho's bitchy assault at dinner yesterday. "But I thought you and Cho Chang…"
Draco stares at me blankly and for a moment his mouth actually drops open. "Cho?" he says, and then he throws his head back and laughs.
I stare at him dumbly, mute with shock.
"Cho Chang is crazy!" he proclaims genially, in between amused chuckles. "She's a control-freak, a manipulative control-freak, Weasley. I thought you knew that by now!"
"But- but-" I stutter, staring at him incredulously. "But you two are…I mean you're always…"
"We're friends, Weasley," Draco replies, still smiling amusedly. "We tried that whole dating thing for a while and it didn't work. We're just too different, and there was no… No…" he pauses for a moment, obviously struggling to find a certain word.
His hands are palm up, the tips of his fingers pressed together in what for some reason I've come to see as a very "Italian" gesture.
Apparently he's given up, for he drops his hands on his thighs and looks up at me thoughtfully. "We just don't mesh well, Cho and I."
I wonder briefly if he's talking about sex, and decide I don't want to know.
"But we're still good friends," Draco goes on, sounding thoughtful. "We work as friends because when she gets too overbearing I can just tell her to go fuck herself. That didn't go over so well when we were dating. And she's a good friend, if you're a guy... If I were a girl, though, I'd probably hate her." He looks at me pointedly, and with obvious amusement.
I look back at him incredulously, letting the meaning of his words sink in. Now that I think about it, I've never seen Draco and Cho holding hands or kissing; no one has, for the longest time, but still-
"And what about Aiken Dunn?" I demand desperately, though I already know what the probable answer is.
Draco cocks his head to the side and looks at me with surprise again, his sharp, piercing eyes scanning mine before he answers. "Oh I'm banging Aiken Dunn," he says casually, rising to his feet slowly, almost lazily, his eyes never leaving my face. "Because she asks so nicely…"
He's walking towards me now, and I find myself gripping the edge of the counter behind me desperately.
I'm so, so confused right now.
All this time I secretly thought the reason why Draco didn't make a move on me was that he was somehow involved with someone else, and here he is telling me he's perfectly and completely single. Instead of being happy, I'm feeling…upset?
"And because she's reasonably good looking, and I have my needs," he continues in a gentle voice, as if he were explaining "the birds and the bees" to a small child; I haven't even the presence of mind to snort.
"But she's madly in love with Blaise, of all people," Draco adds, walking towards me with that seductive grace of his, "and our little shags are just something we do to pass the time."
My heart feels like it's breaking in my chest, and I find I can't even look at Draco anymore. He's standing unnervingly close to me, cheerfully invading my personal space, as usual.
My eyes are fixed on the knot of his striped green tie.
"Why would she sleep with you if she's in love with Blaise?" I whisper softly, struggling to understand this sordid reality.
"Because, Weasley," Draco says matter-of-factly, "I'm some sort of sex genius. Everyone wants to sleep with me, haven't you heard? Also, she's a slut. And also she thought she'd make Blaise jealous."
I scoff; I've had opportunity to see just how jealous Blaise is about the whole thing.
Draco can apparently guess the course of my thoughts, and he smiles coldly. "In fact he finds the whole thing amusing, Blaise does."
"I'm sure he does," I murmur, shaking my head.
"Blaise fancies you, you know," Draco says conversationally, his eyes on some point past my shoulder. "I told him to back off, that you were already spoken for." I can hear the mockery in his voice.
"Oh really?" I retort, realizing that this conversation is making me angry. "And just who, pray tell, were you saving me for?"
"Please," Draco says sharply, raising his silver eyes to mine. "Don't act coy."
My heart stops for a moment, and I stare at him expectantly, my mouth tense. He's standing right in front of me, so, so close.
Is Draco going to admit it, finally? Is he going to admit that he likes me and wants me for himself?
He's looking at me calmly, his mouth twisted with what could be irony, or humor. When he finally speaks, what he says nearly makes me keel over.
"I've seen the way Finch-Fletchley looks at you; that boy has been pining over you for years."
"Finch-Fletchley?" I demand, glaring at him, and he laughs.
I stare at him in amazement, wishing to stomp, to scream and shout, to snap my fingers in his face, to do something, anything, to let out this rage and frustration I feel. Instead I remain motionless, looking at him in silence and he looks right back.
"Well, certainly Finch-Fletchley isn't the only one," Draco says softly, reaching for a strand of my hair. "I heard all about your upcoming date with the Keegan kid. Congratulations."
"What?" I blurt, staring at him incredulously. "What? I mean- how-"
Draco drops the strand of hair and rolls his eyes around. "I have my sources," he cuts in tersely, inspecting his nails while somehow managing to look masculine. "There are girls crying all over Ravenclaw Tower, and it's all anyone can talk about…You did well," he says sardonically, meeting my eyes. "I feel sorry for Blaise, though."
I feel as if something in me had broken.
Draco thinks I'm dating Paul, and instead of…doing something, he's just given me his blessing and is babbling about Blaise.
"Anyway, yeah, there you have it. I'm single and loving it," he finishes wryly. "Have I answered all of your questions or are you up for some more prying?" he asks softly, his intense eyes piercing mine mercilessly. "Because I wonder why you'd care."
"I don't," I retort, glaring at him.
For one moment I consider explaining to Draco that there's nothing going on between Paul and me but I'm so angry that I press my lips together tightly and say nothing.
"What's wrong, Weasley?" Draco inquires, and for some reason in this instance his use of my surname is like a slap in the face. "For a girl who's made off with the golden boy of Hogwarts you sure don't look too happy."
I lift my eyes up to Draco's face to find that he's looking back at me calmly, and his eyes don't hold the mockery I hear in his voice. The gray depths I can never look into without shivering appear flat and cheerless.
So all this time he was alone, and I was alone, and we could have been together, if he'd wanted me...
"You know what?" I say suddenly, my voice laced with bitterness. "I'm tired of all your crap." I side step him and stalk towards the door with my heart pounding in my ears.
The books he wants us to read for next week are stacked up neatly by the door, and there are only a few left. I glare at the pile and stand stock still next to it, my fists still clenched.
I can feel Draco's eyes on my back, and I'm thinking of telling him of my sudden, my desperate resolve to move on, to forget about him.
But that would be giving him something to gloat about, I decide. I opt for giving his neat pile of books a good kick, watching with satisfaction as the paperback copies of "Diario Di Un Giovane Mago" fall all over the place - later this will make me want to crawl under a rock and die from shame, and part of me knows that, even now, but at the moment I can't say I care.
Draco's looking at me with an expression I don't catch as I stomp out of the club meeting room, slamming the door behind me.
X
I leave the room in a zombie-like state, ambling around the corridors without really seeing anything or anyone I encounter. It's like walking around in a shadow world where the only thing that is real is the numbness I feel.
I don't really know what to do with myself, and Shawn is nowhere to be found - I assume she'll be snogging Seamus, so I don't really look hard.
After some aimless wandering I find myself at the pitch.
The night air is cold against my skin, whipping my hair about my head none too gently, but I welcome it. I kick off the ground and rise rapidly on my broom, which I'd left in my locker in anticipation for tomorrow's match.
My pleated skirt lashes about my thighs, but there is no one there to catch the indecent sight of my polka-dotted knickers, nor would I have really cared if there had been.
The numbness has given way to pain, now. My heart feels as if it's been slashed into little pieces, and I know that if I give things too much thought, I'll end up crying like a little kid.
With that in mind I lock up everything away in a little box - a method of evasion I haven't had cause to use since my second year at Hogwarts - and resolve to think about something else.
Better yet, I decide to not think, concentrating instead on my flying, on the spins and loops I do so well, finally working on the more intricate moves of "The Weasley Shuffle", a feint the twins and I invented last summer.
By the time I touch down my head is a little clearer, and I feel ready to go to that meeting with Dumbledore and Snape.
Instead of going down to dinner I stop by my dorm to take a quick shower and grab my notes, and then head down to meet Cho. We meet in the corridor outside of the Headmaster's office a few minutes before the meeting's projected time, saying nothing to each other; she glared at me coldly when I arrived, and I glared right back.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out that she is probably one of the "sobbing girls of Ravenclaw", or whatever, that Draco mentioned earlier.
In a stunning turn of events, Cho Chang is jealous of me. Not because of Draco, as I had originally thought, but because of Paul.
My "Cho On Fire" doodle is funnier now, in a sad, pathetic, ironic sort of way - especially because there might be a "Ginny On Fire" doodle in her Arithmancy notebook.
Still, I'm too caught up in my own personal tragedy to have any patience for hers, and I don't feel like explaining that Paul and I are going on a not-date date tomorrow. So we remain silent as we stand side by side in the hallway waiting for Snape, both wearing identical "don't fuck with me" expressions.
When he rounds the corner, his robes billowing softly to an invisible wind, Snape's dark, hawk-like eyes go from Cho to me.
"Chang," he greets curtly, before turning to me. "Ms. Weasley sans Salmone," he observes dryly, his sensuous lips curved into a sneer. "Is the crazy-glue finally wearing off?"
Good grief! part of me notes in detached bewilderment. He is totally obsessed with Shawn!
It's a dazzling, bizarre realization, but I find I don't really care at the moment. I ignore him and his greeting entirely, and he looks at me curiously as we walk to Dumbledore's office.
The meeting goes by quickly, thanks largely to Snape; Dumbledore looked like he was up for a nice chat, but my handsome Potions Master was his usual dry, cutting, bitchy self, and we made short order of the issues that needed discussing.
In the end, we came to this:
Cho and I will produce a copy of the first issue of the newspaper on Tuesday and they will give it the once over. If all is well, we'll go to printing and have a launching party on Thursday afternoon. From then on we'll deliver a new issue of the newspaper every Thursday.
Fair enough.
Cho and I leave the meeting without once having spoken to each other, and though I'm certain our mutual hostility showed, I'm glad to say we managed to look efficient and somewhat professional.
X
I didn't sleep much last night, but somehow I feel fresh today, pumped for my match, which is in a couple of hours.
I suit up in my Quidditch uniform, taking pleasure in doing so - it's a privilege, after years of having to keep my love of Quidditch carefully hidden from my hysterical mother.
Once I've put on the white pants, combat boots and red and gold robes, I head out to breakfast, leaving a still sleeping Shawn behind.
In the common room I encounter Ron and Harry, dressed in the same white, red and gold uniform as me, sitting with Hermione – whose face is buried in a book - and discussing strategy.
"Hey, Gin," Hermione says, not looking up from her copy of 'Goriest Female Literature of the Sixteenth Century'.
"I want you to take care of Lane," Harry lovingly greets me, repeating for only the zillionth time his wish that I take Karen Lane - our reserve Chaser standing in for Demelza Robbins - under my wing.
"Yes, Harry," I recite, trying hard not to roll my eyes around. "Hello, Ronald," I say pointedly, turning to my brother, and he grunts for all response.
I plop down next to him, sinking into the soft cushions of our scandalously red couch, and rest my head against the backrest. My eyes slide from one member of the Trio to the next, finally settling on the redheaded one next to me. He's listening to Harry and sitting with his arms crossed, wearing a horrible scowl on his freckled - and admittedly handsome - face.
Ron and I haven't done much talking lately, and as I observe him covertly now, I go over what I've gathered regarding the dismal state of his love life.
Well, 'gathered' is one way of putting it; more like these details were dumped on me by a gloating blonde.
See, Shawn had detention last night - she wasn't off snogging Seamus, as I had originally thought; although there was some of that, too.
Anyway, she had to de-slime Borkwursts in the company of one Parvati Patil, who had also been assigned detention by our irascible Potions Master - that day I saw her crying, remember?
So Parvati, never one to disdain an audience - and seeing as Shawn couldn't really go anywhere - simply leapt at the chance to tearfully recount the story of how she had dumped Ron, and how hurt she was at his lack of reaction after the fact.
Apparently Parvati's intention was not to end relations with my brother, but rather to scare him into commitment. With a fool-proof plan like that I'm surprised Ron reacted in exactly the opposite way of how she wanted; he actually agreed that they should break up, as the whole thing left him "feeling empty". (Wow.)
Anyway, Parvati was in Potions venting to her B.F.F, one Lavender Brown, when 'that greasy, hook-nosed old bastard'- and here I'm not sure if these are Parvati's actual words or Shawn's, but I suspect it's the latter - where was I? Oh yeah, the greasy old bastard snuck up behind them and loudly said something like, "While the tragic details of yours and Mr. Weasley's failed love life are no doubt riveting, Ms. Patil…yadda yadda yadda."
The Slytherins all burst into laughter and - get this - Parvati, apparently still mad with grief, accused Snape of being "insensitive" and "cold-hearted". Definitely not a good move.
Now, I'm sure Snape has been called much, much worse in his lifetime, but for some reason he snapped. Maybe it was the red and gold of Parvati's tie, or the look of defiance in her eyes that reminded him of a certain blonde Gryffindor fifth year, but something about Parvati's statement made Snape lose it. He reportedly turned white as paper (not a stretch, really, for him) and he said - and here's the incredible part - he said that Salmone's "vile and insufferable insolence" was apparently contagious, and slapped Parvati with double detention.
Merlin's balls. He really is obsessed with Shawn.
And you should see how happy Shawn was when she told me all of this. She actually seemed happier telling me about Snape's mentioning her in another Potions class than she did when she was dishing out the minutiae of Seamus' linguistic abilities. Gah.
And Snape can't seem to stop bringing her up.
I think… that they love each other!
Wait until I share that thought with Shawn! Heh heh heh.
I'll have to be at a safe distance, of course, and wearing good, comfortable running shoes. Perhaps I ought to be on my broom, just be safe.
Anyway, yeah, the point is this: little does Parvati know that while Ron may not have visibly reacted to her silly Witch Weekly inspired ultimatum, he really was shaken up by the whole thing, which explains why he is now acting like a moody, menopausal Molly Weasley trapped in the body of a sixteen year old boy.
"I'm hungry," he states now, his brow furrowed as it has been during the past seventy-two hours.
"I am too," I announce, standing. Then I look down at my brother, whose head is cradled in his hands. "Why don't you just talk to her?" I blurt.
Ron's head snaps up and he stares at me with obvious surprise, as do the remaining 2/3 of the Dream Team.
My brother stands as well, easily towering over me, and scowls. "What are you talking about?" he demands.
"Nothing," I sniff, shrugging. "Just that Parvati Patil thinks you don't care, and it's obvious you do, so just talk to her."
Ron presses his lips tightly as he glares at me, and then barges out through the portrait.
Hermione gives me an approving nod, and although Harry doesn't look at me, I know he agrees.
We all make our way down to breakfast where we meet up with Luna, who sits with us at the Gryffindor table as she usually does on weekends.
"Ginny, you and Paul Keegan are dating," she says, fixing her murky blue eyes on mine.
I'm not sure if it's a question or a statement, but then again, I'm not sure about a lot of things, with Luna.
"I heard you two caused quite a commotion at the Book Club," she continues, bringing a grape to her pink lips.
'Quite a commotion'? Those Ravenclaws are one catty bunch.
"Then our plan worked," I snap dryly, slapping butter on my toast. "We were aiming for 'a riot', but 'a commotion' is not half bad."
"I'm sure there's still chance for a riot," Luna replies seriously, and I snort.
Once we're done eating breakfast we walk out of the Great Hall and towards the pitch in amenable silence, with Harry and Luna holding hands up front, Hermione and I walking side by side, and Ron sulking behind us.
"Oh darn it!" Hermione exclaims all of a sudden. "I forgot my thick cloak! It's cold out there… I'll go get it, you guys go ahead!"
She turns and runs back to the tower, with her long golden brown hair flying behind her, and the rest of us continue on our way down the corridor.
Just when we're about to reach the exit, we come across an interesting sight: two kids, one blond, one brown haired, taunting another boy, and judging by their height I'd say they're first or second years at most. And by 'taunting' I mean holding the third kid upside down in mid-air. From his terrified expression I can tell he's a Hufflepuff, the poor thing.
"What's going on?" Harry demands, his broad shoulders instantly tensing as he surveys the scene.
Super Potter to the rescue! I think dryly, though I would do and say exactly the same thing - and probably sound just as obnoxious, too - if Harry weren't here to take care of it.
"None of your fucking business!" says the blond kid, his wand trained on his still hovering victim. I don't know his name, but I'm certain he's a Slytherin.
At the thought of something Draco-related, however vaguely, a stab of pain goes through me. I wasn't expecting that, to be honest, but there it is.
"Leave that kid alone," Harry demands, letting go of Luna's hand and patting himself for his wand.
Ron rolls his eyes around but says nothing, nor does he make a single move to intervene.
"Put him down this instant!" Harry continues, reaching into his pocket. "Hey kid, I'm talking to you!"
"This is none of your business, Pot-Head!" the other kid shrieks, borrowing one of Draco's classic nicknames for Harry. "Get fucked and get lost!"
I snort appreciatively.
This guy's a real wordsmith. Also, these are the two most dirty-mouthed kids I've seen since…well, since I was that age.
Harry turns to glare at me and I look back at him and shrug. I reach for my wand and prepare to Liberacorpus the poor upside-down kid when I notice that one of the Slytherin's face has broken into a smug grin, his eyes fixed on something behind us.
As I follow the direction he's looking in, my heart freezes over and I hold back a gasp.
Approaching us is a group of sixth year Slytherins, led by none other than Draco Malfoy. His silvery blond hair is combed away from his face, and his lips quirk into an amused smirk as his pale eyes take in the scene before him.
His hand is resting over his left hip, where his wand lies securely under the band of his well fitting jeans. Flanking him on either side are Crabbe and Goyle, and coming up behind them is Theodore Nott.
"Put that kid down," he commands calmly, and his housemates hasten to oblige. "What's going on?" Draco inquires, looking from the kids to us with interest. His eyes flick over me briefly, but don't linger.
Once the victim is lowered he doesn't hang around to see what happens next - he runs off like he's being chased by a band of wild Hippogriffs, and his two tormentors glance after him wistfully before turning to Draco again.
"Harry fucking Potter," one of them begins accusingly, looking up at Draco and pointing at Harry, "thinks he can tell us what to do."
Draco exchanges an amused glance with Nott before turning back to the kid. "Indeed. Well, you sure showed him. Now run along, and if I catch you Levicorpus-ing helpless kids again you'll wish you'd never learned that spell."
The kids gawk at Draco - who glowers menacingly for effect - and then break into a run in the direction of the dungeons.
This is all very cute, and in spite of the chills that have overtaken my body at the sight of Draco, I find myself wanting to smile dumbly. Suddenly, and before I can embarrass myself, unenthusiastic applause breaks out from behind me.
Clap, clap, clap.
I turn, only to discover Ron standing there, an amused, ironic grin on his face, as his hands continue to give sarcastic applause.
"That was quite a performance, Malfoy," he drawls, folding his arms over his broad chest.
I gape.
I've never seen my brother being sarcastic during an argument. Usually he's too angry to be clever, but I think he's past the point of caring now.
"You've got the whole 'reformed Death Eater' act polished quite well," he continues, his bright blue eyes fixed on Draco. "I was getting all choked up, Uncle Draco."
Draco looks actually surprised for a moment, and then his gray eyes flash dangerously, and it's like watching light bounce of a steel blade. His lips curve into an amused smile, however, and nothing else gives away how angry he must be.
"What's going on?" Hermione inquires from behind me. I turn to see her wrapped up in a heavy cloak, trying to hide her thick book - which was probably the real reason why she went back to the tower - but before I can answer, Draco's voice cuts in.
"Why hello. I didn't see you there, Weasel," he says to Ron, his eyes burning with quiet rage. "I see the whole gang is here; the ambiguously gay duo and their band of oblivious female tag-alongs." With that one remark Draco has single-handedly insulted five people - including me - in one fell swoop.
Nott laughs loudly, and even Crabbe and Goyle manage to guffaw opportunely - after six years it seems they finally got their comedic timing right.
Ron opens his mouth to retort, but it is Luna who challenges Draco.
"Malfoy!" she exclaims suddenly, and all of us – including Harry - turn to her in shock. "There's nothing wrong with being gay!"
She glares at Draco with flashing, bright blue eyes, and although she hasn't raised her voice, this is the first time any of us have seen such a vehement show of displeasure from her.
Even the prince of Slytherin looks surprised for a moment before replying. "Right you are, love," Draco says gallantly – and quite condescendingly, I might add - as he inclines his head in the direction of Luna. "There is nothing wrong with being a homosexual. In fact, I find Potter and Weasel's tentative displays quite heartwarming. Far be it from me to shun them in any way…"
"Yes, the girl is right!" Nott declares gravely, and it's obvious he's trying to hard to keep a straight face. "I myself am a front door man, but there's really nothing wrong with getting a little back door ac-"
"That's enough!" Harry snaps. "Let's go, guys." He starts walking away, grabbing Luna by the hand, and Hermione follows after them, not without giving the Slytherins a disapproving glare.
But Ron doesn't budge, his blue eyes fixed on Draco. "You don't fool me, Malfoy. I know you're still the same Death Eater wanna-be little shit you always were," he whispers. "I'll never forget who you were, and who you really are," my brother adds, ignoring the twin holes my eyes are burning into the side of his head. "And I know plenty of people who won't, either."
Draco smiles pleasantly, as if Ron had just complimented him on the color of his shirt, but his already pale face has drained of all color, and his eyes seem to have darkened to the color of slate.
I know how angry he must be right now.
"Ron, shut up!" I hiss, grabbing my brother by the arm.
I'm burning with anger myself, to be honest.
It's not fair to Draco - or to any of the Slytherins - that any stupid oaf can just waltz up to him and say these things, just because of something his father did.
"Ron! Come on," Harry calls from the end of the hallway.
But Ron's eyes are on the Slytherin standing across from us.
I notice that Nott has put his hand on Draco's shoulder, as if restraining him - although the he is eerily still.
"Draco-" Nott begins, but the blond ignores him.
"You're right. You're just too damn clever for me, I guess," the Slytherin drawls quietly, as I try in vain to drag my brother away. "I wouldn't dream of fooling the likes of you and your... impressive intellect, Weasley," Draco continues softly.
My brother is blushing beet red now - trust Draco Malfoy to have discovered Ron's biggest, most carefully hidden insecurity.
"A mental giant such as yourself…" he continues, giving Ron a sardonic smile. "Really, what was I thinking?"
"Malfoy-" he begins.
"-Ron, SHUT UP!" I half command, half plead, all the while yanking him away.
"Ron," Harry says again, this time standing behind us, "let's just go."
My brother glares at Draco again, but he closes his mouth and begins to walk after Harry, with my hand still in the crook of his arm.
"Yeah, go ahead, you big pussy," Nott calls after us, while still holding on to Draco's shoulder. "Go with your sister, you stupid ketchup head! You'll keep walking if you know what's good for you, you little bitch!"
Fortunately Ron doesn't react to these sophisticated barbs, and we walk away with some dignity.
I want to look back at Draco, but I don't dare to. I duck my head and follow my brother, though I feel the intensity of a pair of gray eyes on me as I walk away.
"What's gotten into you?" I hiss at Ron once we're out of hearing distance. We both continue to walk rapidly, glaring at each other but with our arms still linked. "You have no right to say those things to him, Ronald!"
We're outside now, walking hurriedly towards the pitch, and the wind stings at my cheeks, which are already burning red anyway.
"Stop defending that stupid jerk!" Ron growls angrily, and I stop walking, realizing we're standing very close to Harry, Hermione and Luna. I'm not particularly anxious to be overheard by them, and apparently neither is Ron.
"Stop defending that slimy Death Eater git, Ginny!" he repeats in a hushed whisper, glaring down at me with blazing eyes. "It's so pathetic."
"He's not a Death Eater, you wanker, and I'm not defending him!" I snarl, ticked that Ron, of all people, would consider me pathetic. "I'm saying that you're just as big of a jerk as he is, if not worse! Just who the fuck do you think you are, that you can judge and condemn people when you don't know shit about them? You have no right!"
"And I suppose you know? I suppose you think you know him, is that right?" Ron demands, his face once again matching the color of his hair. "Everyone in this school knows Malfoy's just trying to get into your pants, so whatever he told you-"
"No he's NOT!" I explode, tearing my arm free of his. "He's not trying to get into my pants!"
"Stop defending him!" Ron bellows, all but stomping his foot in rage. "Listen to yourself!"
"I am NOT DEFENDING HIM!" I scream, gesturing wildly with my arms. "I am telling you that he's not trying to get into my pants! If he wanted to…" I trail off, feeling myself burn with shame at the words I'm about to say. "If he would have wanted me," I whisper quietly, more to myself than to Ron, "he would have had me a long time ago. Do you understand, you big baboon?"
Ron's mouth snaps shut, and he stares at me incredulously. He's shaking his head from side to side now, as if this were some sort of clever defense against reality.
"He doesn't want me," I whisper hoarsely, and my voice trembles with emotion as something hot and wet falls on my cheek. "He's not interested in me, he doesn't care…"
I wipe at my eyes and glare up at Ron again, trying not to sniffle.
"But it doesn't matter," I snap, ignoring the curious way my brother is looking at me. "He doesn't deserve what you did. Draco's nothing like his father. He's not a bad person, and he's trying to change, he's trying so hard. And then some idiot –YOU, you big dork - comes along, and humiliates him in front of everyone for doing the right thing. How can you be so-"
"-Oh my God," Ron cuts in softly, looking at me through with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Ginny…You're in love with that asshole, aren't you?"
My eyes widen and my mouth snaps shut.
His words, more of an accusation than a real question, slowly sink in, and I realize I must be staring at my brother with the same disbelieving, stunned look he's giving me.
But I don't answer.
I can't.
X
That was a LONG chapter! I hope you liked it!
A lot of you said in your reviews that Draco's behavior is confusing. Are you MORE confused now? Hehehehe.
I know I promised this chapter would cover the Paul/Ginny not-date date, but, well…I lied. ;p
The next chapter WILL cover the date, which should be fun, AND, since most of you are demanding some form of non-dream D/G action, I will TRY to comply with your request in the next installment. ;D
I love to be obnoxious and capitalize words at random. Can you tell?
There are two, maybe three chapters left, by the way. We're getting there!
Please review! Keep the feedback coming! ^_^
If you have any theories as to what is going on, I would love to hear them! ;D