Chapter 2
Draco Malfoy lay in his bed listening to the shouting going on down the hall. Lord, he thought. In a mausoleum this size, it should be against the law to be able to hear his parents arguing. At the very least, they should argue over something new, not the same thing, over and over. Draco wished he were going to Durmstrang this year like so many other Slytherins. At least he'd be with others who thought like him, and he wouldn't be stuck with all the bleeding heart, goody-goody gits he'd had to put up with for the past six years. But his mother was dead set against it. She wanted him 'close to her' where her 'little boy' would be safe! Gods, it wasn't just sick-making, it was bloody embarrassing. Even Greg Goyle was going to Durmstrang! Vince Crabbe would be going to Hogwarts again, but that was only because his folks couldn't afford the tuition at Durmstrang.
Draco sighed as he listened to the voices down the hall rise and fall. His father had tried to insist that his son go where he could learn something useful and not have to listen to that old windbag, Dumbledore, but Narcissa had done something she seldom did. She'd put her foot down. So Draco would be going to Hogwarts, and have to mingle with the Mudbloods, Muggle- lovers, and generally pathetic bunch that made up the other three houses. He rolled his eyes and climbed out of bed. This was going to be one hell of a day.
Draco had easily found a compartment to himself, and he hadn't even had to threaten anyone. To be perfectly honest, he'd grown bored of bullying the younger kids some time ago, but continued just to maintain his reputation. He didn't want anyone thinking he was going soft. Just about the only students he really enjoyed harassing now were Potter, Weasley and Granger. They were also the only ones who ever harassed back, so that was probably part of the attraction. Being top of the heap, even if the heap was a great pile of rubble like Hogwarts, wasn't much fun without challenge. But he hadn't even seen Potty and company so far, and felt much too lazy to go looking for them. What he felt right now, actually, was boredom. He absently twisted the heavy silver ring on his finger as he watched the countryside flash by. Then he examined the ring.
It was large and silver with a huge emerald set into it. There wasn't much fancy work carved into it, just a large silver 'M' with gold leafing on the flat surface of the gem. To Draco the thing was too big and, frankly gaudy. But his father had given it to him and he wore it to please the man. He soon became bored with the ring as well. So he sat and mused on his mother's last words to him at the station. His father had gone to the bathroom and his mother had pulled him aside for a few 'quiet words'.
"I know you're growing up, Draco. I really do," she'd said, an uncharacteristic frown marring the usual perfection of her face. "And I'm not trying to keep you tied to my apron strings. I just want you to have a last chance to think for yourself."
He'd been about to ask her what she meant when his father called to them. "Just look around, see things with your own eyes, son. Then, if at the Christmas holidays, you still want to go to Durmstrang, I won't fight it."
Draco wondered again what his mother had meant. Look around and see things for himself? What was she talking about? He shrugged. At least one good thing had happened. He only had to hold on until the holidays, then he'd at last be off to Durmstrang. Feeling a bit better, Draco pulled out the sketchpad he always kept nearby now and started doodling. He'd picked up the habit the summer before his fifth year. After Potty and his gang had hexed him and his friends, he'd been laid up for a few weeks. About the only thing he'd been able to do without discomfort was draw or write. So he'd begun to sketch, and amazingly had found that he had a fairly decent talent for it.
After the train had been traveling for some time, the door to his compartment opened and Vince Crabbe looked in.
"There you are," he exclaimed. "Been looking all over for you. Naught but a pack of stupid Gryffindors and Ravenclaws around. It's scary!"
Draco rolled his eyes. Yes, Vincent Crabbe WOULD think being surrounded by all the students he was used to bullying, without the support of either Goyle or Draco, was scary.
"Come in, sit down, but don't talk," Draco snapped. "I've got a lot to think about."
Crabbe sat heavily opposite Draco and began to drum his fingers on his thigh. Then he began to hum tunelessly. Draco was trying to concentrate on the details of his sketch, a portrait of his mother, but Crabbe was distracting him. Crabbe started tapping his foot in time with whatever tune he thought he was humming and Draco slammed the sketchpad closed.
Crabbe looked up, startled. "What?" he said when Draco glared at him.
With a sigh of impatience, Draco stood. "Nothing," he said, tossing the sketchpad onto his seat. "I've got to take a piss. Be right back."
Draco stepped into the corridor and nearly ran into a couple of younger Slytherins.
"Malfoy!" one of them said, surprised. "Glad to see you, but I kind of thought--,"
Draco cut him off. "I'll be transferring after the holidays," he said flatly.
The boy looked surprised at his abruptness, but nodded. "Er, can we talk about Quidditch?" he asked, following Draco down the corridor.
Draco paused and studied both boys, remembering that they were going to be on Slytherin's team this year. They seemed all right, so he shrugged, reaching for the bathroom door handle. "Fine," he said. "I'm in the compartment you almost knocked me down in front of."
He tested the door handle, relieved that it was unlocked. He really had to go. As he opened the door he called over his shoulder, "Go on, I'll catch you up."
Then he stepped into the bathroom and found himself face to face with a half-naked Ginny Weasley.
Draco saw Weasley open her mouth to scream and acted quickly. He kicked the door closed with his foot and slapped his hand over Weasley's mouth to stifle the scream. She dropped the wet whatever it was she'd been holding and began to struggle, grabbing at his hand and hitting at his stomach at the same time. Damn, the girl was strong! And tall! He hadn't realized that she was almost his height! But he had to quiet her, and fast.
"Damn it, Weasley! Do you want the entire train to know you're jaunting about in your unmentionables?" he hissed in her ear. "For God's sake, just shut up!"
The effect was immediate. Weasley froze, her large eyes staring at him over his hand. He realized that he must be nearly suffocating her with his large hand covering her nose and mouth, but he made certain he had her complete attention.
"I'm going to move my hand and you're NOT going to scream, right?" he asked, keeping his voice down.
She nodded slightly, and Draco removed his hand. She didn't scream, but her lip started trembling. Oh, right, fine, he thought. Just what he needed! A crying female. But she didn't cry. Instead, she stooped down, a major accomplishment with both of them crammed into the small bathroom space, and picked up whatever it was she'd been holding. Draco watched and saw that it was a blouse. Then it hit him again! She wasn't wearing her blouse!
Draco spun immediately and faced the door. "Good God, Weasley!" he hissed at her. "Haven't you ever heard of door locks?"
She didn't answer for a moment and Draco had the horrible suspicion that she was going to break down and bawl! After a moment, though, she whispered, "I was in a hurry! I didn't want my blouse to stain!"
Draco frowned. Her voice was shaky, but she didn't sound like she was on the verge of hysterics.
"And you didn't have to barge in here," she accused. "You could have left when you saw I was in here!"
Draco snorted. "Yeah, right, Weasley. There were two of my teammates right outside the door. Did you want me to stand there with the door open for every idiot on the train to gawk at, apologizing?"
"You could at least--," she began, then stopped. "I, uh, guess you're right," she admitted. "Um, thank you, Malfoy."
Draco rolled his eyes. He wasn't trying to be gallant, but if that was what she wanted to believe, she could delude herself all she wanted.
"Look, Weasley, what the hell ARE you doing here, half-naked? Why didn't you just use a cleaning spell? What's the use being a witch if you don't use your magic?"
He could almost feel the anger coming from her, but her reply was mild enough. "SOME of us actually abide by the rules, Malfoy. I don't do magic when I'm not at school, so I had to do it by hand. Besides," she added, almost grudgingly, "Cleaning spells aren't really my best work."
Draco almost laughed. She'd as good as admitted that she couldn't do a simple cleaning spell. Without thinking, he turned back to her to gloat. He froze, however, when he looked at her again. She wasn't looking at him. She was facing the faucet and mirror, looking sadly down at the draggled, sodden mass that must have been her blouse. Draco ignored the blouse and studied her instead.
She was very tall, he saw. Not quite his height, but close. And she was thin. Her back was one long straight line, with very little curving. She had freckles everywhere, and the silky, light blue bra she was wearing just accentuated her paleness. The fiery red hair was pulled into an untidy knot at the top of her head and a few wisps straggled about her face and neck. He glanced into the mirror, noting the long nose, just like her brother's. Her dark eyes were still down cast, the long lashes brushing the cheekbones. Her pale face was flushed at the moment, as though she were embarrassed. Despite himself, Draco felt his eyes travel lower. Her mouth was pressed in a thin line. He let his eyes dip even lower, to her neck, then down to the soft 'V' made by the cups of her bra. Again, he thought how pale the colour made her look. She would have done better with a different shade. She didn't have much of a bust to speak of, he thought absently, but if you liked the slender, athletic type, Ginny Weasley would probably be just the ticket. His eyes came back up to his face and he saw with a start that she was staring at him.
"You should take a picture; it would last longer," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm sure you want to hurry off to tell your friends about the stupid little Gryffindor you found half naked, right? Feel free to leave any time, Malfoy."
Draco frowned. He didn't like her tone, and liked even less that she'd had the nerve to talk to him like that. He let his lips curl into a sneer and was about to throw an insult back at her when she spoke again.
"Look, Malfoy, I'm sorry. I just…it's just.…" She stopped and drew in a deep breath. When she let it out, one of the straps on her bra slipped down her shoulder. Draco found his eyes riveted to that strap, just begging to be tugged back to where it belonged. "It's been a hell of a day, hasn't it?" Weasley sighed.
He looked up at her reflection and saw that she was looking down again. His fingers itched to pull the strap back up, but he fought the urge. Instead, he cleared his throat, which had suddenly become tight.
"Here, Weasley, give me the bloody blouse," he said harshly.
Weasley looked up at him and lifted an eyebrow. He'd never noticed how well shaped her brows were before. He held his hand out impatiently.
"Can you do anything with it?" she asked, turning to him and holding the ridiculous garment out. Her voice was pathetically pleading, which angered Draco for some unknown reason.
Was she trying to be coy with him, he wondered? She was standing there in her bra, but she seemed to have thrown modesty to the wind. Maybe she was really just a little tease, getting her jollies by flashing herself at boys.
"Don't you think you'd better at least put your robe on, Weasley?" he drawled, taking the blouse and pulling his wand from his pocket.
Her reaction made him think again. Her face flamed, the flush spreading down her neck to her chest. She looked with horror at him, then down at herself. Snatching her robe from the hook she'd hung it on, she pulled it on quickly and turned away from him again. Definitely not a tease, he thought. She really seemed to have forgotten her scanty attire. He imagined that if he had very few nice clothes, he might get a bit obsessive about them, too.
"Oh, gods," she breathed quietly. "Could this day get ANY worse?"
No, Draco answered silently, his jaw tight. His bladder felt like it was going to explode, his head was starting to ache, his fingers itched to do SOMETHING, and he was just about to play house-elf and clean and press Ginny Weasley's blouse for her. He figured he'd just about hit rock bottom.
Murmuring one of the cleaning spells his mother had taught him, he tapped the blouse with the tip of the wand. He used a pressing spell for good measure, then tapped Weasley on the shoulder. She looked cautiously at him, her face still flushed. She looked at her blouse and her eyes widened.
"You did it!" she breathed excitedly, turning and pulling the garment from his hands. She smiled up at him and Draco realized that she was really an attractive girl when she smiled. Odd that he'd never noticed before.
"Thank you, Malfoy! That was really…" Weasley paused, giving him a strange look. "That really WAS nice of you, Malfoy," she continued more calmly.
Draco didn't like the speculative look in her eyes. He certainly didn't want her calling him 'nice'; just the thought was disgusting!
"If you really want to thank me, Weasley, why don't you get dressed and get out of here so I can finally take a piss?"
A bit crude, he admitted, but it seemed to work. The speculative look vanished and she backed away.
"Er, if you could just turn around…" she said slowly.
Draco stifled a laugh, but turned anyway. "Just what do you think I'm going to see that I haven't already?" he demanded sarcastically. "Not that there was all that much to see, anyway," he added, figuring that would stifle any illusions she had about him.
She didn't answer, but he could hear her moving about. After a moment she tapped him on the shoulder. "Done," she said quietly.
Draco turned back to see that she was fully dressed, tie tied, robe buttoned, and hair tidied. "About damn time," he muttered.
"If you'll move, I'll be on my way," she told his chest. She wouldn't meet his eyes.
Draco shifted out of her way, saying, "Better check the corridor and make sure no one's out there."
Her eyes jumped back to his, questioning. "Well, it would look funny if you came out, then I came out a minute later, right? People might talk." He drawled it out suggestively, meaning it to be mocking, but she only nodded.
"Well, thanks again," she said. She opened the door and looked cautiously out, then gave him one last glance. "You're not going to--," she said, then stopped. Whatever she was going to ask, she must have decided against it. "See you, Malfoy."
When Draco finally made it back to his compartment, his hands were still itching. He wanted to reach for his sketchpad, as he usually did when he was on edge or just bored, but the two sixth years were there, wanting to talk Quidditch. He talked with them for as long as he could put up with them, then kicked them and Crabbe out, saying he needed to think.
As soon as they were gone, he grabbed the sketchpad and opened it to the portrait of his mother. He made a few clumsy attempts at working on it, but couldn't seem to concentrate. He flipped to a clean page and began making long, bold strokes across the paper. He was extremely irritated, but not too surprised, as the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmead Station, to find that he'd half filled his sketchpad with drawings of Ginny Weasley.
Draco Malfoy lay in his bed listening to the shouting going on down the hall. Lord, he thought. In a mausoleum this size, it should be against the law to be able to hear his parents arguing. At the very least, they should argue over something new, not the same thing, over and over. Draco wished he were going to Durmstrang this year like so many other Slytherins. At least he'd be with others who thought like him, and he wouldn't be stuck with all the bleeding heart, goody-goody gits he'd had to put up with for the past six years. But his mother was dead set against it. She wanted him 'close to her' where her 'little boy' would be safe! Gods, it wasn't just sick-making, it was bloody embarrassing. Even Greg Goyle was going to Durmstrang! Vince Crabbe would be going to Hogwarts again, but that was only because his folks couldn't afford the tuition at Durmstrang.
Draco sighed as he listened to the voices down the hall rise and fall. His father had tried to insist that his son go where he could learn something useful and not have to listen to that old windbag, Dumbledore, but Narcissa had done something she seldom did. She'd put her foot down. So Draco would be going to Hogwarts, and have to mingle with the Mudbloods, Muggle- lovers, and generally pathetic bunch that made up the other three houses. He rolled his eyes and climbed out of bed. This was going to be one hell of a day.
Draco had easily found a compartment to himself, and he hadn't even had to threaten anyone. To be perfectly honest, he'd grown bored of bullying the younger kids some time ago, but continued just to maintain his reputation. He didn't want anyone thinking he was going soft. Just about the only students he really enjoyed harassing now were Potter, Weasley and Granger. They were also the only ones who ever harassed back, so that was probably part of the attraction. Being top of the heap, even if the heap was a great pile of rubble like Hogwarts, wasn't much fun without challenge. But he hadn't even seen Potty and company so far, and felt much too lazy to go looking for them. What he felt right now, actually, was boredom. He absently twisted the heavy silver ring on his finger as he watched the countryside flash by. Then he examined the ring.
It was large and silver with a huge emerald set into it. There wasn't much fancy work carved into it, just a large silver 'M' with gold leafing on the flat surface of the gem. To Draco the thing was too big and, frankly gaudy. But his father had given it to him and he wore it to please the man. He soon became bored with the ring as well. So he sat and mused on his mother's last words to him at the station. His father had gone to the bathroom and his mother had pulled him aside for a few 'quiet words'.
"I know you're growing up, Draco. I really do," she'd said, an uncharacteristic frown marring the usual perfection of her face. "And I'm not trying to keep you tied to my apron strings. I just want you to have a last chance to think for yourself."
He'd been about to ask her what she meant when his father called to them. "Just look around, see things with your own eyes, son. Then, if at the Christmas holidays, you still want to go to Durmstrang, I won't fight it."
Draco wondered again what his mother had meant. Look around and see things for himself? What was she talking about? He shrugged. At least one good thing had happened. He only had to hold on until the holidays, then he'd at last be off to Durmstrang. Feeling a bit better, Draco pulled out the sketchpad he always kept nearby now and started doodling. He'd picked up the habit the summer before his fifth year. After Potty and his gang had hexed him and his friends, he'd been laid up for a few weeks. About the only thing he'd been able to do without discomfort was draw or write. So he'd begun to sketch, and amazingly had found that he had a fairly decent talent for it.
After the train had been traveling for some time, the door to his compartment opened and Vince Crabbe looked in.
"There you are," he exclaimed. "Been looking all over for you. Naught but a pack of stupid Gryffindors and Ravenclaws around. It's scary!"
Draco rolled his eyes. Yes, Vincent Crabbe WOULD think being surrounded by all the students he was used to bullying, without the support of either Goyle or Draco, was scary.
"Come in, sit down, but don't talk," Draco snapped. "I've got a lot to think about."
Crabbe sat heavily opposite Draco and began to drum his fingers on his thigh. Then he began to hum tunelessly. Draco was trying to concentrate on the details of his sketch, a portrait of his mother, but Crabbe was distracting him. Crabbe started tapping his foot in time with whatever tune he thought he was humming and Draco slammed the sketchpad closed.
Crabbe looked up, startled. "What?" he said when Draco glared at him.
With a sigh of impatience, Draco stood. "Nothing," he said, tossing the sketchpad onto his seat. "I've got to take a piss. Be right back."
Draco stepped into the corridor and nearly ran into a couple of younger Slytherins.
"Malfoy!" one of them said, surprised. "Glad to see you, but I kind of thought--,"
Draco cut him off. "I'll be transferring after the holidays," he said flatly.
The boy looked surprised at his abruptness, but nodded. "Er, can we talk about Quidditch?" he asked, following Draco down the corridor.
Draco paused and studied both boys, remembering that they were going to be on Slytherin's team this year. They seemed all right, so he shrugged, reaching for the bathroom door handle. "Fine," he said. "I'm in the compartment you almost knocked me down in front of."
He tested the door handle, relieved that it was unlocked. He really had to go. As he opened the door he called over his shoulder, "Go on, I'll catch you up."
Then he stepped into the bathroom and found himself face to face with a half-naked Ginny Weasley.
Draco saw Weasley open her mouth to scream and acted quickly. He kicked the door closed with his foot and slapped his hand over Weasley's mouth to stifle the scream. She dropped the wet whatever it was she'd been holding and began to struggle, grabbing at his hand and hitting at his stomach at the same time. Damn, the girl was strong! And tall! He hadn't realized that she was almost his height! But he had to quiet her, and fast.
"Damn it, Weasley! Do you want the entire train to know you're jaunting about in your unmentionables?" he hissed in her ear. "For God's sake, just shut up!"
The effect was immediate. Weasley froze, her large eyes staring at him over his hand. He realized that he must be nearly suffocating her with his large hand covering her nose and mouth, but he made certain he had her complete attention.
"I'm going to move my hand and you're NOT going to scream, right?" he asked, keeping his voice down.
She nodded slightly, and Draco removed his hand. She didn't scream, but her lip started trembling. Oh, right, fine, he thought. Just what he needed! A crying female. But she didn't cry. Instead, she stooped down, a major accomplishment with both of them crammed into the small bathroom space, and picked up whatever it was she'd been holding. Draco watched and saw that it was a blouse. Then it hit him again! She wasn't wearing her blouse!
Draco spun immediately and faced the door. "Good God, Weasley!" he hissed at her. "Haven't you ever heard of door locks?"
She didn't answer for a moment and Draco had the horrible suspicion that she was going to break down and bawl! After a moment, though, she whispered, "I was in a hurry! I didn't want my blouse to stain!"
Draco frowned. Her voice was shaky, but she didn't sound like she was on the verge of hysterics.
"And you didn't have to barge in here," she accused. "You could have left when you saw I was in here!"
Draco snorted. "Yeah, right, Weasley. There were two of my teammates right outside the door. Did you want me to stand there with the door open for every idiot on the train to gawk at, apologizing?"
"You could at least--," she began, then stopped. "I, uh, guess you're right," she admitted. "Um, thank you, Malfoy."
Draco rolled his eyes. He wasn't trying to be gallant, but if that was what she wanted to believe, she could delude herself all she wanted.
"Look, Weasley, what the hell ARE you doing here, half-naked? Why didn't you just use a cleaning spell? What's the use being a witch if you don't use your magic?"
He could almost feel the anger coming from her, but her reply was mild enough. "SOME of us actually abide by the rules, Malfoy. I don't do magic when I'm not at school, so I had to do it by hand. Besides," she added, almost grudgingly, "Cleaning spells aren't really my best work."
Draco almost laughed. She'd as good as admitted that she couldn't do a simple cleaning spell. Without thinking, he turned back to her to gloat. He froze, however, when he looked at her again. She wasn't looking at him. She was facing the faucet and mirror, looking sadly down at the draggled, sodden mass that must have been her blouse. Draco ignored the blouse and studied her instead.
She was very tall, he saw. Not quite his height, but close. And she was thin. Her back was one long straight line, with very little curving. She had freckles everywhere, and the silky, light blue bra she was wearing just accentuated her paleness. The fiery red hair was pulled into an untidy knot at the top of her head and a few wisps straggled about her face and neck. He glanced into the mirror, noting the long nose, just like her brother's. Her dark eyes were still down cast, the long lashes brushing the cheekbones. Her pale face was flushed at the moment, as though she were embarrassed. Despite himself, Draco felt his eyes travel lower. Her mouth was pressed in a thin line. He let his eyes dip even lower, to her neck, then down to the soft 'V' made by the cups of her bra. Again, he thought how pale the colour made her look. She would have done better with a different shade. She didn't have much of a bust to speak of, he thought absently, but if you liked the slender, athletic type, Ginny Weasley would probably be just the ticket. His eyes came back up to his face and he saw with a start that she was staring at him.
"You should take a picture; it would last longer," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm sure you want to hurry off to tell your friends about the stupid little Gryffindor you found half naked, right? Feel free to leave any time, Malfoy."
Draco frowned. He didn't like her tone, and liked even less that she'd had the nerve to talk to him like that. He let his lips curl into a sneer and was about to throw an insult back at her when she spoke again.
"Look, Malfoy, I'm sorry. I just…it's just.…" She stopped and drew in a deep breath. When she let it out, one of the straps on her bra slipped down her shoulder. Draco found his eyes riveted to that strap, just begging to be tugged back to where it belonged. "It's been a hell of a day, hasn't it?" Weasley sighed.
He looked up at her reflection and saw that she was looking down again. His fingers itched to pull the strap back up, but he fought the urge. Instead, he cleared his throat, which had suddenly become tight.
"Here, Weasley, give me the bloody blouse," he said harshly.
Weasley looked up at him and lifted an eyebrow. He'd never noticed how well shaped her brows were before. He held his hand out impatiently.
"Can you do anything with it?" she asked, turning to him and holding the ridiculous garment out. Her voice was pathetically pleading, which angered Draco for some unknown reason.
Was she trying to be coy with him, he wondered? She was standing there in her bra, but she seemed to have thrown modesty to the wind. Maybe she was really just a little tease, getting her jollies by flashing herself at boys.
"Don't you think you'd better at least put your robe on, Weasley?" he drawled, taking the blouse and pulling his wand from his pocket.
Her reaction made him think again. Her face flamed, the flush spreading down her neck to her chest. She looked with horror at him, then down at herself. Snatching her robe from the hook she'd hung it on, she pulled it on quickly and turned away from him again. Definitely not a tease, he thought. She really seemed to have forgotten her scanty attire. He imagined that if he had very few nice clothes, he might get a bit obsessive about them, too.
"Oh, gods," she breathed quietly. "Could this day get ANY worse?"
No, Draco answered silently, his jaw tight. His bladder felt like it was going to explode, his head was starting to ache, his fingers itched to do SOMETHING, and he was just about to play house-elf and clean and press Ginny Weasley's blouse for her. He figured he'd just about hit rock bottom.
Murmuring one of the cleaning spells his mother had taught him, he tapped the blouse with the tip of the wand. He used a pressing spell for good measure, then tapped Weasley on the shoulder. She looked cautiously at him, her face still flushed. She looked at her blouse and her eyes widened.
"You did it!" she breathed excitedly, turning and pulling the garment from his hands. She smiled up at him and Draco realized that she was really an attractive girl when she smiled. Odd that he'd never noticed before.
"Thank you, Malfoy! That was really…" Weasley paused, giving him a strange look. "That really WAS nice of you, Malfoy," she continued more calmly.
Draco didn't like the speculative look in her eyes. He certainly didn't want her calling him 'nice'; just the thought was disgusting!
"If you really want to thank me, Weasley, why don't you get dressed and get out of here so I can finally take a piss?"
A bit crude, he admitted, but it seemed to work. The speculative look vanished and she backed away.
"Er, if you could just turn around…" she said slowly.
Draco stifled a laugh, but turned anyway. "Just what do you think I'm going to see that I haven't already?" he demanded sarcastically. "Not that there was all that much to see, anyway," he added, figuring that would stifle any illusions she had about him.
She didn't answer, but he could hear her moving about. After a moment she tapped him on the shoulder. "Done," she said quietly.
Draco turned back to see that she was fully dressed, tie tied, robe buttoned, and hair tidied. "About damn time," he muttered.
"If you'll move, I'll be on my way," she told his chest. She wouldn't meet his eyes.
Draco shifted out of her way, saying, "Better check the corridor and make sure no one's out there."
Her eyes jumped back to his, questioning. "Well, it would look funny if you came out, then I came out a minute later, right? People might talk." He drawled it out suggestively, meaning it to be mocking, but she only nodded.
"Well, thanks again," she said. She opened the door and looked cautiously out, then gave him one last glance. "You're not going to--," she said, then stopped. Whatever she was going to ask, she must have decided against it. "See you, Malfoy."
When Draco finally made it back to his compartment, his hands were still itching. He wanted to reach for his sketchpad, as he usually did when he was on edge or just bored, but the two sixth years were there, wanting to talk Quidditch. He talked with them for as long as he could put up with them, then kicked them and Crabbe out, saying he needed to think.
As soon as they were gone, he grabbed the sketchpad and opened it to the portrait of his mother. He made a few clumsy attempts at working on it, but couldn't seem to concentrate. He flipped to a clean page and began making long, bold strokes across the paper. He was extremely irritated, but not too surprised, as the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmead Station, to find that he'd half filled his sketchpad with drawings of Ginny Weasley.
