THE DAILY PROPHET
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Rating: Uhm, R, right now. I guess.
Spoilers: Uhm..nothing.
Author's note: Don't read this, Jaime! Your poor innocent eyes! :P This is entirely Draco, there's not any of the Trio (but uh, Draco thinks about a member of the trio a lot, so…yeah.) Thanks to the reviews I've gotten so far on the first two chapters. This one isn't quite…comedic…but I plan to have it a little more light on the next chapter. If there is one. And it's short. It'll be long next time.
THIS WILL BE A SLASH FIC, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Chapter 3: Green Velvet, If You Please
(or Draco Wakes Up and Smells the Pumpkin Juice)
A visit to Hogsmeade was a wonderful experience for a student of any year, especially between Hallowe'en and Christmas, when the air was crisp and cold and the fallen leaves crunched beneath hundreds of feet. The shops were always a warm contrast to the chill outside, and there were always so many people around that the feeling of cheer seemed to spread to each and every individual in the small village. Traditionally, the Saturday closest to Hallowe'en was the first visit to Hogsmeade of the school year, and as that was two days away, whispered chatter could be heard throughout all the corridors of the large castle; boys were inviting girls on dates, girls were asking friends to tag along. The Third Year students were practically skipping merrily to their classes, as they'd never visited Hogsmeade before. It was becoming a very exciting time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Draco Malfoy was in a very pissy mood indeed.
"I don't see what all the commotion is about," he whined to his cohorts, Crabbe and Goyle, the night before the Hogsmeade visit. "It's just a bunch of rickety old shops and places that sell stale sweets." He lay on his back atop his four-poster bed, peering at the two boys through a crack in his green velvet hangings.
"You're just angry that you couldn't get a date," Crabbe yawned, tired of hearing Draco complain yet again. "It's fun, and you know it."
"I am perfectly capable of having a date tomorrow. I could have anyone I wanted, any time I wanted, any place I wanted. It comes with being a Malfoy." Draco realized, once the words hit his own ears, how incredibly bored he sounded. It was true, he supposed. He knew he was desired, he heard students whispering about him when he walked by them in the hallways, and he usually waggled his eyebrows or winked to make the day of some sad third year girl. Let it never be said that Draco Malfoy wasn't charitable. He turned onto his side, facing Crabbe and Goyle, who were getting ready to have a game of chess in the common room.
"Chess? Haven't you anything better to do?" he drawled lazily, fighting back a yawn.
"Well, we could always stay in here while you read aloud to us from the paper," Goyle volunteered with a snort. "We suspect you'd rather have a bit of…privacy…while you read, though."
Draco quickly brought himself to his knees and wrenched open the hangings around his bed, fixing them both with a steely glare. "I've had just about enough of the two of you acting smug and coy. I want to know what happened to the two of you, and I want to know right now. Tell me. Did you take a potion of some kind?"
"No potion," Crabbe replied, pushing a bit of hair out of his eyes. "I don't know why you are so surprised that we've found out your dirty little secret."
"I don't have a dirty little secret, Vincent," Draco snapped, and Crabbe's eyes widened in surprise. "I just want to know when you decided to—"
"Draco," Goyle interrupted, "There's an article in today's Prophet about the Ministry, and I think there were a few pictures of the Weasleys in the "People" section."
"Really?" Draco turned and snatched something from under his pillow. "I haven't read it today and—" He looked up. "Oh, no, no, you…" He put down the paper he'd just retrieved and looked livid. "Do you think that's funny?"
"Yes, I think it's very funny," Goyle said, smiling. "We've told you before, if you have some weird obsession with Weasley, we don't mind."
Draco sunk down onto his stomach, pouted, and remained silent.
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged knowing looks.
"I'm not a bender," the pale blonde finally said. "My interest in Ronald Weasley is for the purposes of his humiliation and degradation."
"Whatever you say," Crabbe grunted, picking up his chess set. "We're going to play now. Do you want to join us?"
"No." Draco's lips barely moved, and he was staring at the floor beside his bed. "I don't feel well, I think I'll skip Hogsmeade as well. I'm sure I'll feel ill tomorrow." He knew it was a feeble excuse, but he couldn't stop his mind thinking, and it was driving him mad.
"All right, fine, stay here," Goyle said, walking towards the door, "but there really is something about Weasley's family in the Prophet. "
Draco did not move, instead letting his mind wander. He'd heard his father say once (in a conversation with Crabbe's father, as a matter of fact) that the power of suggestion was one of the strongest that existed, and he now believed there was something to that statement. He groaned as he heard the door click behind his friends, flopping over onto his back. For three weeks he had endured Crabbe and Goyle's relentless teasing. For three weeks, Ron Weasley had been ignoring every attempt the smaller Slytherin had made to get him riled up; he smirked at Draco at every opportunity, never once rising to the bait, even when his mother was insulted.
Draco squeezed his eyes shut and placed his hands on his chest, trying not to think about Ron Weasley. "Stupid Crabbe and Goyle," he muttered under his breath. "If they'd never said anything…"
But they had said something. And now it was all he could do to keep that freckled face out of his mind. It wouldn't go away. He kept picturing Ron angry for some reason---darkened blue eyes, flushed face sprinkled with freckles, an angry grimace..and a chest heaving with deep, irregular breating. Weasley hadn't looked like that for weeks.
He missed it.
"You're cracking up," Draco whispered to himself. "Stop. Thinking. About. Weasley."
It was useless. The more he tried to block the image of a mad, panting Weasley, the more it hung around in his mind's eye. And the more it hung around, the more Draco's stomach churned. He wanted to see that again, he wanted to cause Weasley to go mad with anger. It had never been so glaringly obvious before, but now it seemed so very simple. He growled, a deep throaty sound, picturing how Ron would look the next time he could manage to get under his skin. He would clench his fists, he'd hurl out some swear words, he might even lunge at Draco—
"Dammit," the young Malfoy muttered, pulling his velvet hangings shut with his left hand and sliding his right hand into his trousers quickly. He cursed Crabbe, Goyle, his father, Potter, Granger, and Snape in quick gasps, but his mind could only see one image, and it was the one that finally drove him over the edge, making him very glad his friends were having a long (and hopefully loud) chess game.
He decided while he changed into his pajamas that he would go to Hogsmeade. Miss an opportunity to see Weasley? Not bloody likely.
He drifted to sleep a little while later, but not before reading the "People" section of the Daily Prophet. Just for ammunition.
Thanks to Jaime, for pointing out to me that it was 'sweets', and not 'candy'. I forget, you know. Not being from Great Britain and all that. ;) Thanks for making my li'l fic a little less bastardized.
Also thanks to MamaLaz, adrithor, scythe_fire, Dala, Illumina, and LillianaNoelia, for reviewing and being so nice. J
