Yes, the last chapter was short. I'm sorry. The song in this is the theme song my boyfriend gave me, heh, and it's also for Ginny and Cherie and Tonya, even though the song title is "American Girls". If anyone has any song recommendations for future reference, to set the mood of the fic, I'd appreciate it. Thanks to: stormyfire, m.white, Draco & Ginny forever!, and Ace of Spades (times two).
---
Holding a candle, right up to my hand
Making me feel so incredible
I wish it was anyone but me
I could have been anyone, you see
She has something breakable,
Just under her skin
- Counting Crows
---
Tonya stepped apprehensively into the detention hall, looking up at McGonagall. She'd been given detention for a few things; her skirt was too short, she should have been wearing robes to classes, and she was talking too much. Stupid; the girls in her year chattered more than she did with any of her friends in that class (all of whom were boys, which didn't ingratiate her with the girls any), but of course they were "normal" and thus allowed to do whatever they wanted. Girls who dared to take time with their appearance were considered snobs.
McGonagall didn't smile at her but instead pointed to some scrubbing brushes and a pail of water on one of the desks.
"I'll be by in an hour, and I expect you and Mister Malfoy to have cleaned every desk here by the time I return. Is that clear, Miss Jackson?"
Tonya, inwardly struck dumb at the idea of Malfoy cleaning anything, much less with a muggle-born girl like her, just nodded mutely. She cast her gaze around the room as if expecting Malfoy to leap at her, scrub-brush in hand. Instead she saw him sitting atop a desk in the back, shadows pooling in the hollows of his eyes and cheeks. He looked rather menacing, but she wasn't one to be intimidated.
He rose from his seat, studying Tonya. Tall, several inches above him (especially in her high heels), slender all over and thinly muscled, dark eyes and dyed, honey-blonde hair in many many little braids. Pretty, with maple syrup skin and an aloof air about her--she was the remote one of the little clique she hung out with, the Brains. Cherie was the Beauty and Ginny was the Heart. It made sense; none of the girls lacked in those three categories, but they all had their specialties.
"Take a picture," she snapped, and he smirked. Bratty, too, although he didn't blame her.
"Tell you what," he said in a smooth voice, "I'll get someone in here to take care of this for you, if you'll do something for me."
"For *me*? If I recall correctly, you have detention as well. What are you asking of me?" She kept her tone guarded, narrowing her eyes at him.
"I want you to answer a few questions for me about a friend of yours .. Crabbe and Goyle will do the work."
"No," she said simply.
"No?" He looked taken aback. He hadn't expected her to say no. "What do you mean?"
"I mean no. Crabbe and Goyle are wastes of skin, and seriously lacking in brainpower to boot. I don't feel like letting them fuck this up for me."
"They're not stupid enough to mess up on menial tasks like this," he said, carelessly indicating the scrub-brushes, "Anyway, I still have questions to ask you."
"How much gold you got on you?" She narrowed her kohl-rimmed eyes at his robes' pockets.
"What -- no!" He began to shake his head. This was going all wrong .. why couldn't he have had detention with Cherie? At least he understood how she *worked* to some extent, they were in the same house ..
"I want ten gold or you get no info." He sighed and reluctantly dug the appropriate coinage out of his robes' pocket. She reached out to take them from them, but he snapped his hand back suddenly.
"Five now, five once you tell me what I need to know."
"Fine!" She snapped, growing frustrated. He allowed her to take five of the coins and put them into the pocket of her frayed, denim miniskirt. He couldn't help but notice the long legs under the skirt, but quickly moved his gaze back up to her face.
"Now," he said amiably, "Have a seat."
She stared at him.
"If you're going to be uncooperative, you can just forget the rest of that gold."
She gave an unladylike grunt and sat down in a much more girlish way, crossing her legs and folding her arms neatly over her chest.
'Shoot," she said.
"'Shoot'?"
"Ask your fucking questions already."
"Oh," he nodded slightly, smirking over at her and drawing himself slightly out of the shadows so that she could meet his eyes as they spoke, "Well, you're close friends with Ginny Weasley and Cherie Sanford, correct?"
She gave the slightest inclination of her head, assuming he was out to maim Ginny or seduce Cherie. Either one wouldn't be anything new.
"I'm curious about Weasley. First and foremost, why is she friends with a Slytherin? I thought you Gryffs couldn't tolerate anyone who had an actual sense of self-worth."
"First and foremost," she began, acid creeping into her tone, "Our perception of self-worth is clearly different from Slytherins, whose social hierarchy is mostly composed of ass-kissers and complete fucktards. She's friends with Cherie because Cherie has something of an understanding of morals, or at least she does a good job pretending it. And Ginny believes in chances, I guess."
Most of what she had said had brushed by him, simply because he'd heard it all before and it never really managed to enter his sphere of thought, but the last bit was interesting.
"Chances? Really?"
"Mm." Tonya nodded. "She's so idealistic it could make your teeth hurt."
"But, you all, she's so .. " He trailed off, unsure as to how to phrase his thoughts in a way that wouldn't get him kicked in the groin.
"Some of the most idealistic people are the ones who seem like badasses. She's got reason to be cynical, but she still believes in people."
"What happened to her leg? She's got a brand on it of some kind."
Tonya blinked at him, dark eyes slightly perplexed.
"A brand? I don't -- shit .. I knew she'd .. I didn't know he branded her .. "
"He?" Draco was getting a little bit concerned. He leaned forward on his perch so he could meet her eyes and read the emotions flickering though them, brief flashes of light in those almost-black irises.
"She's had a few boyfriends .. some of them have been .." She shrugged one shoulder as if to say, 'out of the ordinary.'
"Was it Potter?" He queried, pulling himself to a stand. As soon as he asked, he knew he shouldn't have. She whipped her blonde braids out of her face and stood up, too, glaring down at him from her almighty two inches of extra height.
"No, you lunatic," she said acerbically, "It was not Harry Potter, much as I'm sure that would please your warped little brain. What the hell do you want with Ginny, anyway?"
He honestly had been wondering that himself. He looked at this brilliant, dark, vicious girl with her designer clothes, nose ring, and verbose way of speaking and wondered what he wanted with Ginny Weasley. The words came unbidden, out of nowhere, oddly accurate but still unwanted.
"I want to know her. Really know her, see how she works."
The stare Tonya gave him was measuring, still icy but a little less brazenly malicious.
"Alright," she said after a moment, "Now give me my five gold."
He assented, placing the coins in her hand. She tucked them into her other skirt pocket and squinted down at him.
"Think McGonagall will go ape if I leave?"
"Probably," he nodded, "Are you going to anyway?"
"Yeah."
With that, she moved through the door, shutting it behind her quietly and casting a wary look around for McGonagall. Soft footsteps carried her through the halls and away from the boy who was simultaneously so very pale and so very dark, all at once.
---
Holding a candle, right up to my hand
Making me feel so incredible
I wish it was anyone but me
I could have been anyone, you see
She has something breakable,
Just under her skin
- Counting Crows
---
Tonya stepped apprehensively into the detention hall, looking up at McGonagall. She'd been given detention for a few things; her skirt was too short, she should have been wearing robes to classes, and she was talking too much. Stupid; the girls in her year chattered more than she did with any of her friends in that class (all of whom were boys, which didn't ingratiate her with the girls any), but of course they were "normal" and thus allowed to do whatever they wanted. Girls who dared to take time with their appearance were considered snobs.
McGonagall didn't smile at her but instead pointed to some scrubbing brushes and a pail of water on one of the desks.
"I'll be by in an hour, and I expect you and Mister Malfoy to have cleaned every desk here by the time I return. Is that clear, Miss Jackson?"
Tonya, inwardly struck dumb at the idea of Malfoy cleaning anything, much less with a muggle-born girl like her, just nodded mutely. She cast her gaze around the room as if expecting Malfoy to leap at her, scrub-brush in hand. Instead she saw him sitting atop a desk in the back, shadows pooling in the hollows of his eyes and cheeks. He looked rather menacing, but she wasn't one to be intimidated.
He rose from his seat, studying Tonya. Tall, several inches above him (especially in her high heels), slender all over and thinly muscled, dark eyes and dyed, honey-blonde hair in many many little braids. Pretty, with maple syrup skin and an aloof air about her--she was the remote one of the little clique she hung out with, the Brains. Cherie was the Beauty and Ginny was the Heart. It made sense; none of the girls lacked in those three categories, but they all had their specialties.
"Take a picture," she snapped, and he smirked. Bratty, too, although he didn't blame her.
"Tell you what," he said in a smooth voice, "I'll get someone in here to take care of this for you, if you'll do something for me."
"For *me*? If I recall correctly, you have detention as well. What are you asking of me?" She kept her tone guarded, narrowing her eyes at him.
"I want you to answer a few questions for me about a friend of yours .. Crabbe and Goyle will do the work."
"No," she said simply.
"No?" He looked taken aback. He hadn't expected her to say no. "What do you mean?"
"I mean no. Crabbe and Goyle are wastes of skin, and seriously lacking in brainpower to boot. I don't feel like letting them fuck this up for me."
"They're not stupid enough to mess up on menial tasks like this," he said, carelessly indicating the scrub-brushes, "Anyway, I still have questions to ask you."
"How much gold you got on you?" She narrowed her kohl-rimmed eyes at his robes' pockets.
"What -- no!" He began to shake his head. This was going all wrong .. why couldn't he have had detention with Cherie? At least he understood how she *worked* to some extent, they were in the same house ..
"I want ten gold or you get no info." He sighed and reluctantly dug the appropriate coinage out of his robes' pocket. She reached out to take them from them, but he snapped his hand back suddenly.
"Five now, five once you tell me what I need to know."
"Fine!" She snapped, growing frustrated. He allowed her to take five of the coins and put them into the pocket of her frayed, denim miniskirt. He couldn't help but notice the long legs under the skirt, but quickly moved his gaze back up to her face.
"Now," he said amiably, "Have a seat."
She stared at him.
"If you're going to be uncooperative, you can just forget the rest of that gold."
She gave an unladylike grunt and sat down in a much more girlish way, crossing her legs and folding her arms neatly over her chest.
'Shoot," she said.
"'Shoot'?"
"Ask your fucking questions already."
"Oh," he nodded slightly, smirking over at her and drawing himself slightly out of the shadows so that she could meet his eyes as they spoke, "Well, you're close friends with Ginny Weasley and Cherie Sanford, correct?"
She gave the slightest inclination of her head, assuming he was out to maim Ginny or seduce Cherie. Either one wouldn't be anything new.
"I'm curious about Weasley. First and foremost, why is she friends with a Slytherin? I thought you Gryffs couldn't tolerate anyone who had an actual sense of self-worth."
"First and foremost," she began, acid creeping into her tone, "Our perception of self-worth is clearly different from Slytherins, whose social hierarchy is mostly composed of ass-kissers and complete fucktards. She's friends with Cherie because Cherie has something of an understanding of morals, or at least she does a good job pretending it. And Ginny believes in chances, I guess."
Most of what she had said had brushed by him, simply because he'd heard it all before and it never really managed to enter his sphere of thought, but the last bit was interesting.
"Chances? Really?"
"Mm." Tonya nodded. "She's so idealistic it could make your teeth hurt."
"But, you all, she's so .. " He trailed off, unsure as to how to phrase his thoughts in a way that wouldn't get him kicked in the groin.
"Some of the most idealistic people are the ones who seem like badasses. She's got reason to be cynical, but she still believes in people."
"What happened to her leg? She's got a brand on it of some kind."
Tonya blinked at him, dark eyes slightly perplexed.
"A brand? I don't -- shit .. I knew she'd .. I didn't know he branded her .. "
"He?" Draco was getting a little bit concerned. He leaned forward on his perch so he could meet her eyes and read the emotions flickering though them, brief flashes of light in those almost-black irises.
"She's had a few boyfriends .. some of them have been .." She shrugged one shoulder as if to say, 'out of the ordinary.'
"Was it Potter?" He queried, pulling himself to a stand. As soon as he asked, he knew he shouldn't have. She whipped her blonde braids out of her face and stood up, too, glaring down at him from her almighty two inches of extra height.
"No, you lunatic," she said acerbically, "It was not Harry Potter, much as I'm sure that would please your warped little brain. What the hell do you want with Ginny, anyway?"
He honestly had been wondering that himself. He looked at this brilliant, dark, vicious girl with her designer clothes, nose ring, and verbose way of speaking and wondered what he wanted with Ginny Weasley. The words came unbidden, out of nowhere, oddly accurate but still unwanted.
"I want to know her. Really know her, see how she works."
The stare Tonya gave him was measuring, still icy but a little less brazenly malicious.
"Alright," she said after a moment, "Now give me my five gold."
He assented, placing the coins in her hand. She tucked them into her other skirt pocket and squinted down at him.
"Think McGonagall will go ape if I leave?"
"Probably," he nodded, "Are you going to anyway?"
"Yeah."
With that, she moved through the door, shutting it behind her quietly and casting a wary look around for McGonagall. Soft footsteps carried her through the halls and away from the boy who was simultaneously so very pale and so very dark, all at once.