Chapter 8
Ginny stayed in the room she shared with three other fifth year Gryffindor girls the rest of the morning. Most of the students were spending their time on the grounds, or hanging out with friends, so Ginny had the dorm to herself. She hung her robe up, removed her shoes and stretched out on the bed again, arms folded under her head. She stared up at the canopy above the bed, letting her thoughts stray. Ron was concerned for her. She understood this. She imagined that if it were just about any other boy in school showing this much attention to her, he'd probably ignore it. But since it was Malfoy, it followed that he couldn't possibly be really interested in her, but was trying to hurt her. Ron must be thinking something like that, Ginny reasoned. But she resented him thinking he could interfere in her personal life when he had ignored her for the last fourteen years. Okay, well, just the last five years, since he'd come to Hogwarts. Hell, she thought, hearing Hermione chide her for language, in a school like Hogwarts, who HAD a personal life?
Ginny tried to ignore the growling in her stomach. After the glare Pansy had given her, Ginny had lost her appetite. That made it a day and a half with no real food besides a nibble of toast and some tea. She felt slightly light-headed and tried to sleep, but couldn't stop thinking. Sighing, she decided to try to put yesterday's events in some sort of order now that she had most of the facts.
She pictured Ron flying around Malfoy, sniping at him, asking him questions, threatening him. Ron hadn't said as much, but Ginny knew her brother pretty well. She could imagine Malfoy's irritation. He didn't like Ron anyway, but to have Ron questioning him in the middle of an important Quidditch game. And over, of all people, the irritating git's sister!
Finally, provoked and angry, he responded with something just bound to make an overprotective big brother see red. She ran what she remembered through her head and could see how those silly words, uttered in a tone nicely calculated to imply an intimacy that didn't exist, would throw Ron into a state of rage. Malfoy was very good at saying something perfectly innocent, and making it sound soooo suggestive, as she'd found out last night. He'd been quite successful, too, she thought, gently rubbing the scar on the back of her head.
Ron must have been surprised to see her fly in front of the Bludger. Malfoy had turned when she screamed; she remembered him looking up and swerving. She now pictured him seeing her struck and falling. No, she had lost her balance first, then the Bludger had struck. Not that it mattered. The result was the same. She imagined how he would have gotten beneath her and caught her. That must have been impressive. It was hard enough just to fly and toss the Quaffle around or try to catch the Snitch. To catch a teenaged girl, hold her unconscious body and still fly was nothing short of amazing.
Ginny vaguely remembered snatches of conversations she'd heard, which now made sense. The strong arms holding her, his voice just demanding where to take her. The argument with Ron. Then last night, in the hospital wing, the way he'd held her at first. And he had said something about his father, calling him a sadistic old bastard. What had that been about? Ginny frowned as she remembered accusing him of jumping at the opportunity of a rematch, knowing she wasn't being fair, but not being able to stop. What was it about him that made her such a horrid cat? How could she rip into him one minute and the next want him to hold her and run his hands over her and kiss her? Sexual tension, the side of her brain she was ignoring piped up. Just like in romance novels, just like in Hermione's recorded video cassette things that they had watched over holidays a few years ago. He only had to say her name in that soft, sexy voice she hadn't known existed and she was dreamy eyed. Just the smell of his cologne sent shivers up her spine.
"You are pathetic, girl," Ginny scolded herself.
Malfoy probably considered her a pain in the arse by now. Ginny was certain he wasn't driving himself crazy wondering about her. She shook her head. She really was pathetic. She had always thought the expression, "I want you" sounded so theatrical and phony, but she wanted Malfoy. She wasn't even clear on what she wanted to do with him, but she wanted him badly.
Ginny remembered him singing that song last night. Where had he learned the tune? He'd said he thought he would take her advice, then sang the last line. She thought of the words again. "You better let somebody love you, Before it's too late." She felt a delicious shiver at the implication. He had a surprisingly good voice, she thought, smiling. As she drifted off to sleep she almost felt him touch her cheek again.
"Idiot!" Draco paced the deserted Slytherin Common Room furiously. Most of the Slytherins, even the seventh years, didn't want to be around when Draco Malfoy was having a temper fit. He had had one on Saturday, after finding out about the rematch. The other team members had had to sit there and listen while he had raged at them for allowing it. Amazingly, he had also apologized for his loss of temper. But those in the Common Room today who saw him begin to pace and kick at inanimate objects decided it was time to go. They left him alone and warned others to stay away for a while.
"Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!" he muttered to himself.
He flung himself into a comfortable overstuffed chair near the blazing fireplace. Despite the blaze, the room was still dank and chilly. He didn't choose this chair for the comfort or warmth, though. After nearly fifteen miserable years in his father's home, exposed to (or abused by) various physical and mental tortures designed to make him 'stronger', Draco barely felt the cold. The chair just happened to be the closest to him.
"Idiot!" he shouted into the empty room once more.
Draco Malfoy was in trouble, serious trouble. He'd tried to tell himself it wasn't as bad as he thought, but although he could easily and convincingly lie to others without a thought, he couldn't lie to himself. He was in trouble and the trouble had a name. Virginia Weasley.
Virginia O. Weasley, it said in her book, right under the stamped 'Property of'. He absently wondered what the O stood for, had almost asked her last night. (Something awful, like Olga, probably. At least it wasn't her first name. She was Ginny, to her friends, but to him? He didn't know. He couldn't tell what she thought of him. Even after last night, after holding her, then wanting to strangle her, and finally having to leave before he jumped on her and tore those pathetic scraps of fabric that passed for pajamas off her. He still had no idea of what was going on in that lovely head.
Oh, she'd seemed interested in him last night. He nearly groaned as he remembered how her eyes had softened when he'd recited that stupid song. And how she had touched him so gently when he had grabbed her arms to shake her. But he also remembered other occasions when she'd glared at him, or struck at him (and that girl could pack a whallop!) or when she'd spoken so disparagingly about him to her friend, McDonald. Last night she had been groggy from a concussion and medication. He didn't really put much faith in that. And, gods, what he'd said as he left. He hoped she hadn't heard. It made him sound like a moon-struck moron! Outwardly, no one would be able to tell he was in trouble, but inwardly he was a mess. And over what?
Skinny Ginny Weasley, little sister of Ron, one of his enemies, daughter of his fa- Lucius's nemesis. Not so skinny anymore, he thought. No, not at all. The curves were there under all the ridiculous baggy garments she usually wore. He'd had close contact with those curves the other day on the stone bench, and more so last night. He was amazed that none of the other boys at Hogwarts seemed to notice her. But he was glad, too.
There had been no one to interfere when he was stalking her around the school grounds. Then, this morning, it was as though she had been transformed. She had let her soft, red hair frame her face, making it glow. Then she had changed from her usually billowy clothes. The green sweater that brought out her eyes. That robe! It just accentuated her slim waist and made the curves even more pronounced. And a skirt over those long, shapely legs. And he wasn't the only one to notice. Every male over fourteen seemed to be leering at her. And there she was, smiling and babbling happily with her idiot friends, arguing with her idiot brother, not even noticing him until Granger had pointed him out.
He'd been waiting for her in the same dark hallway this morning, and waited even longer before he entered the Great Hall so he didn't do something stupid like grab her and drag her out of there and demand she change back into her grubby jeans so the others wouldn't look at her. Draco shook his head and slammed his fist into the soft arm of the chair. He was acting like a jealous lover and he hadn't even kissed her properly yet. 'Yet' seemed to be the operative word here. He damned well wanted to kiss her, and not necessarily properly, either. But girls like Ginny Weasley generally weren't available for casual flings. They carried lots of baggage with them.
For one thing, her family hated his, and his returned the favor with interest. Not that that bothered him. He had ceased to care about anything concerning his parents after coming home from his fourth year at Hogwarts. He tried to stop those memories, but couldn't.
He and Crabbe and Goyle hadn't come off the train. Their parents had come looking for them, finding them in a heap, still unconscious, where Potter and his pals had left them. Still unconscious and suffering from the various hexes. Any one of the hexes would have been laughable by itself, but the combination was potent. The Crabbes and Goyles had wakened their little darlings, (Crabbe's father cuffing Crabbe soundly, but otherwise looking concerned) and immediately began working on unhexing them. Malfoy's parents, however, only woke him and asked what happened. When the boys explained, Lucius had looked coldly at his son. Draco had been shivering from shock and pain. Lucius had looked at Narcissa and she'd nodded. They both stood and left him there. The Crabbes and Goyles looked puzzled, and Mrs Goyle had even started to lift her wand in Draco's direction when Lucius' voice drifted back, warning them not to assist 'that boy' who had brought disgrace to the Malfoy name. They had been shocked, but other than Mrs Goyle slipping him some floo powder he could use in the station office to get home, they had left him to his own means. After they left, he'd quickly gathered his things, pulling his cloak from his trunk and donning it. With the hood pulled over his face, Malfoy had slunk into the office and used the floo powder.
Draco landed in the cold hearth of the Malfoy Great Hall and dragged himself and his trunk onto the rug. Lucius had heard his arrival and taken Draco into his study. He got the complete story from him. He raged at Draco for some time, asking how he, Lucius, could stand before his master when his own son had allowed their deadly enemies, Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers to humiliate the family so badly. Draco was undeserving of the honor of the Malfoy name, he had disgraced them. Then he had set punishment. Draco was beaten severely and left in the dungeons for several days. He was used to beatings. Beatings, lock-ins, being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night to fend off the hexes Lucius hurled at him. All in the name of making Draco 'stronger', 'worthier' of being a servant of the Dark lord. But they were merely inconveniences compared to this. This beating had been brutal. Draco could barely move afterward, and hadn't anywhere to move anyway since he'd been locked in a cold, damp dungeon cell. Finally, after a week, Lucius had brought him to the study again. Draco had until dinner to rid himself of the hexes or he would be beaten and locked in the dungeons again. Hungry and in pain, Draco dragged himself to the library and tried to find the counter spells for the combined hexes, stopping only to eat the meager lunch one of the house-elves brought. Then he went back to work trying to remove the hexes. He had succeeded in removing about half the spells when Lucuis entered the library.
"Dinner, boy," he'd said coldly. "Looks like you'll be eating in the dungeon again."
Draco had not begged, had not pleaded. He hadn't said anything as Lucius had brought out the club he used occasionally to inflict his brand of discipline. Narcissa came in and watched, her eyes cold. Draco looked at her and saw no sympathy, no feeling at all. He decided at that moment that he no longer had parents. He stepped forward and grabbed the club. Lucius had been so surprised at this show of rebellion that he simply let go of the club. Brandishing it, Draco slipped out of the study and ran up to his room. He could hear Lucius bellowing at him as he gathered anything he could throw into his trunk, hauled it over to the fireplace and tossed in the little floo powder that remained from what Goyle's mother had given him. He stepped into the flames as Lucius burst into his room. He muttered his destination, 'Noirtier House', his grandparents' home, and disappeared.
The Noirtiers, Narcissa's parents, weren't the loving and coddling sort, which was fine with Draco. But they were fair. And his grandfather hated Lucius. Mr Noirtier was even more knowledgeable about the Dark Arts than Lucius, although he didn't actively practice them. Though Lucius threatened and raged for the return of his son, he was afraid of his father-in-law and would never move against him.
Draco's grandmother tut-tutted over his hexes and removed them. His grandfather listened to his story, then asked him whose fault it was. At first Draco blamed Potter and his friends, but as time went on, he began to see that he had provoked the attack. He started it, Potter and company finished it. Fair was fair. He also realized that regardless of who was at fault, his parents' reaction was entirely out of proportion. He spent the remainder of the summer with his grandparents and had never felt more at peace. They expected a lot from him, but they accepted him as he was. When he was ready to go back to Hogwarts, his grandfather took him aside and asked him again whose fault the incident had been. He had answered with perfect truthfulness that it didn't really matter. It was past and he would just move on.
Draco remembered how his grandfather had smiled and clapped him on the back. "You've got a good brain, there, and I'm glad you've decided to use it to think for yourself finally." After his parents formally disinherited him, Draco's grandparents formally adopted him. He wasn't destitute, his grandparents were generous and he had a small inheritance from Lucius' mother that was kept in trust for him. But living with his grandparents made him realize just how much he'd missed in his parents' home.
The fact that he seemed to be obsessed with a girl his parents would hate didn't bother him a bit. His grandparents would like her, he was sure. He had a feeling she would like them, too. But, being Lucius Malfoy's son, he could hardly see Mr and Mrs Weasley welcoming him into their home with open arms. He knew her family was important to her. She would want their approval, even that stupid git, Ron's.
He stopped short. What on earth was he thinking? Approval? He sounded like he was making plans for happily ever after! This was ridiculous. And it only proved just how much trouble she was. She had somehow burrowed under his skin and was now like an itch he couldn't scratch. Well, he'd be damned if he let her turn him into a babbling, lovesick idiot.
It was just sleep deprivation, that was all. He wanted her, true, and he was fairly certain exactly what he wanted to do with her. But, it might be safer to just ignore her. Forget those shining brown eyes and soft, enticing lips. And definitely forget how she'd looked at him when he'd recited that stupid song. Don't think that maybe, just maybe she had been thinking of him when she'd scribbled it in the front of her book, wasting valuable space she could have written new plays in. And, for his own good, he'd better not ever think about her parting shot this morning, because that might make him wonder whether she was thinking, as he had been, how that silk might feel against her bare skin. Yes, he'd just forget about her, all right, as soon as he got some rest.
As some younger Slytherins crept cautiously into the Common Room, Draco cast them a glare and stalked to his dorm.
Ginny stayed in the room she shared with three other fifth year Gryffindor girls the rest of the morning. Most of the students were spending their time on the grounds, or hanging out with friends, so Ginny had the dorm to herself. She hung her robe up, removed her shoes and stretched out on the bed again, arms folded under her head. She stared up at the canopy above the bed, letting her thoughts stray. Ron was concerned for her. She understood this. She imagined that if it were just about any other boy in school showing this much attention to her, he'd probably ignore it. But since it was Malfoy, it followed that he couldn't possibly be really interested in her, but was trying to hurt her. Ron must be thinking something like that, Ginny reasoned. But she resented him thinking he could interfere in her personal life when he had ignored her for the last fourteen years. Okay, well, just the last five years, since he'd come to Hogwarts. Hell, she thought, hearing Hermione chide her for language, in a school like Hogwarts, who HAD a personal life?
Ginny tried to ignore the growling in her stomach. After the glare Pansy had given her, Ginny had lost her appetite. That made it a day and a half with no real food besides a nibble of toast and some tea. She felt slightly light-headed and tried to sleep, but couldn't stop thinking. Sighing, she decided to try to put yesterday's events in some sort of order now that she had most of the facts.
She pictured Ron flying around Malfoy, sniping at him, asking him questions, threatening him. Ron hadn't said as much, but Ginny knew her brother pretty well. She could imagine Malfoy's irritation. He didn't like Ron anyway, but to have Ron questioning him in the middle of an important Quidditch game. And over, of all people, the irritating git's sister!
Finally, provoked and angry, he responded with something just bound to make an overprotective big brother see red. She ran what she remembered through her head and could see how those silly words, uttered in a tone nicely calculated to imply an intimacy that didn't exist, would throw Ron into a state of rage. Malfoy was very good at saying something perfectly innocent, and making it sound soooo suggestive, as she'd found out last night. He'd been quite successful, too, she thought, gently rubbing the scar on the back of her head.
Ron must have been surprised to see her fly in front of the Bludger. Malfoy had turned when she screamed; she remembered him looking up and swerving. She now pictured him seeing her struck and falling. No, she had lost her balance first, then the Bludger had struck. Not that it mattered. The result was the same. She imagined how he would have gotten beneath her and caught her. That must have been impressive. It was hard enough just to fly and toss the Quaffle around or try to catch the Snitch. To catch a teenaged girl, hold her unconscious body and still fly was nothing short of amazing.
Ginny vaguely remembered snatches of conversations she'd heard, which now made sense. The strong arms holding her, his voice just demanding where to take her. The argument with Ron. Then last night, in the hospital wing, the way he'd held her at first. And he had said something about his father, calling him a sadistic old bastard. What had that been about? Ginny frowned as she remembered accusing him of jumping at the opportunity of a rematch, knowing she wasn't being fair, but not being able to stop. What was it about him that made her such a horrid cat? How could she rip into him one minute and the next want him to hold her and run his hands over her and kiss her? Sexual tension, the side of her brain she was ignoring piped up. Just like in romance novels, just like in Hermione's recorded video cassette things that they had watched over holidays a few years ago. He only had to say her name in that soft, sexy voice she hadn't known existed and she was dreamy eyed. Just the smell of his cologne sent shivers up her spine.
"You are pathetic, girl," Ginny scolded herself.
Malfoy probably considered her a pain in the arse by now. Ginny was certain he wasn't driving himself crazy wondering about her. She shook her head. She really was pathetic. She had always thought the expression, "I want you" sounded so theatrical and phony, but she wanted Malfoy. She wasn't even clear on what she wanted to do with him, but she wanted him badly.
Ginny remembered him singing that song last night. Where had he learned the tune? He'd said he thought he would take her advice, then sang the last line. She thought of the words again. "You better let somebody love you, Before it's too late." She felt a delicious shiver at the implication. He had a surprisingly good voice, she thought, smiling. As she drifted off to sleep she almost felt him touch her cheek again.
"Idiot!" Draco paced the deserted Slytherin Common Room furiously. Most of the Slytherins, even the seventh years, didn't want to be around when Draco Malfoy was having a temper fit. He had had one on Saturday, after finding out about the rematch. The other team members had had to sit there and listen while he had raged at them for allowing it. Amazingly, he had also apologized for his loss of temper. But those in the Common Room today who saw him begin to pace and kick at inanimate objects decided it was time to go. They left him alone and warned others to stay away for a while.
"Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!" he muttered to himself.
He flung himself into a comfortable overstuffed chair near the blazing fireplace. Despite the blaze, the room was still dank and chilly. He didn't choose this chair for the comfort or warmth, though. After nearly fifteen miserable years in his father's home, exposed to (or abused by) various physical and mental tortures designed to make him 'stronger', Draco barely felt the cold. The chair just happened to be the closest to him.
"Idiot!" he shouted into the empty room once more.
Draco Malfoy was in trouble, serious trouble. He'd tried to tell himself it wasn't as bad as he thought, but although he could easily and convincingly lie to others without a thought, he couldn't lie to himself. He was in trouble and the trouble had a name. Virginia Weasley.
Virginia O. Weasley, it said in her book, right under the stamped 'Property of'. He absently wondered what the O stood for, had almost asked her last night. (Something awful, like Olga, probably. At least it wasn't her first name. She was Ginny, to her friends, but to him? He didn't know. He couldn't tell what she thought of him. Even after last night, after holding her, then wanting to strangle her, and finally having to leave before he jumped on her and tore those pathetic scraps of fabric that passed for pajamas off her. He still had no idea of what was going on in that lovely head.
Oh, she'd seemed interested in him last night. He nearly groaned as he remembered how her eyes had softened when he'd recited that stupid song. And how she had touched him so gently when he had grabbed her arms to shake her. But he also remembered other occasions when she'd glared at him, or struck at him (and that girl could pack a whallop!) or when she'd spoken so disparagingly about him to her friend, McDonald. Last night she had been groggy from a concussion and medication. He didn't really put much faith in that. And, gods, what he'd said as he left. He hoped she hadn't heard. It made him sound like a moon-struck moron! Outwardly, no one would be able to tell he was in trouble, but inwardly he was a mess. And over what?
Skinny Ginny Weasley, little sister of Ron, one of his enemies, daughter of his fa- Lucius's nemesis. Not so skinny anymore, he thought. No, not at all. The curves were there under all the ridiculous baggy garments she usually wore. He'd had close contact with those curves the other day on the stone bench, and more so last night. He was amazed that none of the other boys at Hogwarts seemed to notice her. But he was glad, too.
There had been no one to interfere when he was stalking her around the school grounds. Then, this morning, it was as though she had been transformed. She had let her soft, red hair frame her face, making it glow. Then she had changed from her usually billowy clothes. The green sweater that brought out her eyes. That robe! It just accentuated her slim waist and made the curves even more pronounced. And a skirt over those long, shapely legs. And he wasn't the only one to notice. Every male over fourteen seemed to be leering at her. And there she was, smiling and babbling happily with her idiot friends, arguing with her idiot brother, not even noticing him until Granger had pointed him out.
He'd been waiting for her in the same dark hallway this morning, and waited even longer before he entered the Great Hall so he didn't do something stupid like grab her and drag her out of there and demand she change back into her grubby jeans so the others wouldn't look at her. Draco shook his head and slammed his fist into the soft arm of the chair. He was acting like a jealous lover and he hadn't even kissed her properly yet. 'Yet' seemed to be the operative word here. He damned well wanted to kiss her, and not necessarily properly, either. But girls like Ginny Weasley generally weren't available for casual flings. They carried lots of baggage with them.
For one thing, her family hated his, and his returned the favor with interest. Not that that bothered him. He had ceased to care about anything concerning his parents after coming home from his fourth year at Hogwarts. He tried to stop those memories, but couldn't.
He and Crabbe and Goyle hadn't come off the train. Their parents had come looking for them, finding them in a heap, still unconscious, where Potter and his pals had left them. Still unconscious and suffering from the various hexes. Any one of the hexes would have been laughable by itself, but the combination was potent. The Crabbes and Goyles had wakened their little darlings, (Crabbe's father cuffing Crabbe soundly, but otherwise looking concerned) and immediately began working on unhexing them. Malfoy's parents, however, only woke him and asked what happened. When the boys explained, Lucius had looked coldly at his son. Draco had been shivering from shock and pain. Lucius had looked at Narcissa and she'd nodded. They both stood and left him there. The Crabbes and Goyles looked puzzled, and Mrs Goyle had even started to lift her wand in Draco's direction when Lucius' voice drifted back, warning them not to assist 'that boy' who had brought disgrace to the Malfoy name. They had been shocked, but other than Mrs Goyle slipping him some floo powder he could use in the station office to get home, they had left him to his own means. After they left, he'd quickly gathered his things, pulling his cloak from his trunk and donning it. With the hood pulled over his face, Malfoy had slunk into the office and used the floo powder.
Draco landed in the cold hearth of the Malfoy Great Hall and dragged himself and his trunk onto the rug. Lucius had heard his arrival and taken Draco into his study. He got the complete story from him. He raged at Draco for some time, asking how he, Lucius, could stand before his master when his own son had allowed their deadly enemies, Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers to humiliate the family so badly. Draco was undeserving of the honor of the Malfoy name, he had disgraced them. Then he had set punishment. Draco was beaten severely and left in the dungeons for several days. He was used to beatings. Beatings, lock-ins, being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night to fend off the hexes Lucius hurled at him. All in the name of making Draco 'stronger', 'worthier' of being a servant of the Dark lord. But they were merely inconveniences compared to this. This beating had been brutal. Draco could barely move afterward, and hadn't anywhere to move anyway since he'd been locked in a cold, damp dungeon cell. Finally, after a week, Lucius had brought him to the study again. Draco had until dinner to rid himself of the hexes or he would be beaten and locked in the dungeons again. Hungry and in pain, Draco dragged himself to the library and tried to find the counter spells for the combined hexes, stopping only to eat the meager lunch one of the house-elves brought. Then he went back to work trying to remove the hexes. He had succeeded in removing about half the spells when Lucuis entered the library.
"Dinner, boy," he'd said coldly. "Looks like you'll be eating in the dungeon again."
Draco had not begged, had not pleaded. He hadn't said anything as Lucius had brought out the club he used occasionally to inflict his brand of discipline. Narcissa came in and watched, her eyes cold. Draco looked at her and saw no sympathy, no feeling at all. He decided at that moment that he no longer had parents. He stepped forward and grabbed the club. Lucius had been so surprised at this show of rebellion that he simply let go of the club. Brandishing it, Draco slipped out of the study and ran up to his room. He could hear Lucius bellowing at him as he gathered anything he could throw into his trunk, hauled it over to the fireplace and tossed in the little floo powder that remained from what Goyle's mother had given him. He stepped into the flames as Lucius burst into his room. He muttered his destination, 'Noirtier House', his grandparents' home, and disappeared.
The Noirtiers, Narcissa's parents, weren't the loving and coddling sort, which was fine with Draco. But they were fair. And his grandfather hated Lucius. Mr Noirtier was even more knowledgeable about the Dark Arts than Lucius, although he didn't actively practice them. Though Lucius threatened and raged for the return of his son, he was afraid of his father-in-law and would never move against him.
Draco's grandmother tut-tutted over his hexes and removed them. His grandfather listened to his story, then asked him whose fault it was. At first Draco blamed Potter and his friends, but as time went on, he began to see that he had provoked the attack. He started it, Potter and company finished it. Fair was fair. He also realized that regardless of who was at fault, his parents' reaction was entirely out of proportion. He spent the remainder of the summer with his grandparents and had never felt more at peace. They expected a lot from him, but they accepted him as he was. When he was ready to go back to Hogwarts, his grandfather took him aside and asked him again whose fault the incident had been. He had answered with perfect truthfulness that it didn't really matter. It was past and he would just move on.
Draco remembered how his grandfather had smiled and clapped him on the back. "You've got a good brain, there, and I'm glad you've decided to use it to think for yourself finally." After his parents formally disinherited him, Draco's grandparents formally adopted him. He wasn't destitute, his grandparents were generous and he had a small inheritance from Lucius' mother that was kept in trust for him. But living with his grandparents made him realize just how much he'd missed in his parents' home.
The fact that he seemed to be obsessed with a girl his parents would hate didn't bother him a bit. His grandparents would like her, he was sure. He had a feeling she would like them, too. But, being Lucius Malfoy's son, he could hardly see Mr and Mrs Weasley welcoming him into their home with open arms. He knew her family was important to her. She would want their approval, even that stupid git, Ron's.
He stopped short. What on earth was he thinking? Approval? He sounded like he was making plans for happily ever after! This was ridiculous. And it only proved just how much trouble she was. She had somehow burrowed under his skin and was now like an itch he couldn't scratch. Well, he'd be damned if he let her turn him into a babbling, lovesick idiot.
It was just sleep deprivation, that was all. He wanted her, true, and he was fairly certain exactly what he wanted to do with her. But, it might be safer to just ignore her. Forget those shining brown eyes and soft, enticing lips. And definitely forget how she'd looked at him when he'd recited that stupid song. Don't think that maybe, just maybe she had been thinking of him when she'd scribbled it in the front of her book, wasting valuable space she could have written new plays in. And, for his own good, he'd better not ever think about her parting shot this morning, because that might make him wonder whether she was thinking, as he had been, how that silk might feel against her bare skin. Yes, he'd just forget about her, all right, as soon as he got some rest.
As some younger Slytherins crept cautiously into the Common Room, Draco cast them a glare and stalked to his dorm.
