Disclaimer: The characters and setting don't belong to me. The song Talking Like An Angel doesn't belong to me. They belong to JKR and Beth Thornley, respectively. What might belong to me, though, is the way in which the characters and settings are used for my own amusement. Tee hee.
Notes: More thanks to the kind reviewers. *hands you all Fire and Ice banners*
Contacting the Author:
e-mail: praeludium104@yahoo.com
livejournal: www(dot)livejournal(dot)com/~la_triste
Talking Like An Angel
Chapter III: Hogsmeade.
-+-
I really did hate large crowds. Well, large crowds of idiots, to be more precise, but you get the general idea.
Which is why it was no wonder I was scowling heavily as I trudged alone through Hogsmeade, lost somewhere in the sea that was the Hogwarts student body.
The day was a bitterly cold one—the kind of cold that bit your skin no matter how many layers of clothing you wore, because it was just that kind of weather.
None of these reasons succeeded in improving my mood, and I had half a mind to just turn back—
But I didn't, because I was standing in front of The Three Broomsticks, and I decided firmly that I needed a warm butterbeer.
Upon entering, I noticed many things:
1) It was practically bursting.
2) It was practically bursting with scarlet-and-gold wearing Gryffs all of whom emanated Look! Look! I'm a complete meathead!
3) I probably stood out like a prickling cactus in the midst of an Alaskan blizzard.
Grabbing the nearest seat to the door, just in case I had the sudden urge to bolt, I ordered a steaming mug of butterbeer, eager to warm up and go back, then complain endlessly to Pansy. Betrayer.
And so I sat in loneliness. Such a picture of solitude should have never ever happened—not me! I was great and loved and was supposed to be surrounding by almost-as-great, almost-as-intelligent people prepared to worship me.
All of this, while Pansy was probably off somewhere, snogging her brains out. I was willing to bet that this boy of hers was nothing much, anyway. Heck, if she just wanted a good snog, she could have come to me, and I, being the great and loyal companion that I am, would have obliged!
Carelessly sipping at the butterbeer (even it did not taste up to par), I glared down at the shiny surface of the bar as if it were to blame for all my troubles.
I was despondent. So much, that I really didn't give a rat's arse about the dorks and nerds trailing around me, nor did the mental note to take a bath to rid of such filch register in my mind. In fact, I wasn't quite able to notice anything—until, my awesome, great, stupendous luck would have it (please note the sarcasm)—it already happened.
" Oh, hello."
Later, she told me that I had yelped. I sincerely beg to differ. Malfoys don't yelp.
But it seemed as if a red blob had obscured my vision.
" What the—" I shouted, instinctively backing away from such bright colors.
" Oh! Sorry I surprised you." I blinked again and realized who it was.
" Peppy." I muttered to myself, eyes narrowing. She frowned daintily.
" Excuse me?"
" You. Overly peppy." I struggled to keep my sentences coherent. " Eugh! And why must you insist on wearing so much red? As if your hair isn't red enough…" My nose scrunched up in dislike. Her lower lip protruded in a decided pout.
" No particular reason, really. I just like the color."
" Well—anyone with half a sense of fashion would know that red on red absolutely clashes." I muttered sullenly. She literally resembled something akin to an overgrown tomato.
And then everything was shaking because she was laughing like the world would end, tiny drops of tears forming at the edge of her eyes.
I sat there feeling oddly humiliated (had a very nasty feeling that she was laughing at me) and confused, two feelings that I most certainly did not welcome. What was so bleeding funny?!
" Are you finished yet?" I snapped irritably, eyeing the doorway furtively, because that urge to bolt suddenly came to me. She shook her mass of hair out of her face and let out one last sigh, before grinning at me.
" Oh, you're such a laugh!" She cried. I stared at her in horror.
" What?!"
" Harry and Ron never told me you had such a wacky sense of humor—but honestly, anyone with half a sense of fashion would know that red on red absolutely clashes—acting like a pansy, are you? That's great!" She giggled in that annoying way all girls do, bringing her hands up to her mouth.
So. Peppy thought I was a joke. And she was completely serious about it.
Trying not to glare too horribly at her, I swallowed and just pretended that I had meant it all along. At least this way, she wouldn't know how embarrassed I felt. And let me tell you, Malfoys weren't used to feeling embarrassed…it was…such a lower class emotion.
" Oh, yea. I am very funny. Act like it all the time to make people laugh. Foolish of you not to know that." I said nonchalantly. Oh, you're such a laugh!
I wanted to really leave now and simultaneously wondered what I had done to anger whatever God was up there.
" They said you were absolutely horrid, but if you do things to make people laugh…you can't be all that bad, can you?" She mused matter-of-factly. But I'm not quite sure I was listening, because if I were, I would have called her a bit naïve.
Harry and Ron never told me you had such a wacky sense of humor--
Wait.
" Hang on—what're you on about, Potter and Weasel?" I squinted at her. " What's your name again, kid?" She blinked owlishly at me for a moment, like a deer caught in headlights.
" Ginny." She said quietly. She was twisting her gloved hands in her lap.
" Ginny what?" I rolled my eyes impatiently. I smelled anxiousness.
" Weasley!" She cried, refusing to look at me. I looked at her. Red hair. Freckles. Red hair! Freckles!! Why was I so stupid??
" No!"
" Yes!"
" Tell me it's not true!"
" It is—Malfoy, why does it matter so much?" She looked very saddened all of a sudden.
Oh bloody fucking shit.
" All this time I have been sitting here wasting my time, conversing with a Weasley." I said dumbly. " That is why it matters!"
" Oh, don't be ridiculous, Malfoy. We were getting along fine until you found out what my name was. As long as we can have a decent conversation together, you shouldn't be prejudiced against me!" She said, eyes wide.
Oh, but she didn't know. I was NOT getting along fine with her. Nope. Not even from the beginning. I didn't know what was wrong with me, but I would start acting like a total bastard right away, if she assumed I was this nice all the time. I hadn't even meant to be nice…it was just one of those days, right?
" I am not allowed to be seen with Weasleys." I blurted. I cringed at the words that had come out of my mouth. Whatever happened to shove off, annoying little weasel—I hate the whole lot of you, and there's nothing that will change that?
" Why not?" She asked incredulously. Suddenly, I felt a slight pang of sympathy for her. She was so verdant.
" Er…my father." I replied lamely.
" Oh." She looked at me with sympathy. Then she licked her lips and went on. " You don't have to conform with everything he tells you, you know. Break free! Rebel! Be your own person, and one day, break away from this life!" Her fist was up in the air, and her face was flushed with excitement. I looked at her like she was a total airhead, which, she was.
" I happen to like this life the way it is, thank you very much." I said haughtily. I didn't need some Weasley telling me what to do. She looked a little affronted.
" Hermione calls you a sociopath, you know." She said softly, almost regretfully.
I gaped at her.
" Granger called me what?"
" Sociopath; it means, one who is affected with a personality disorder marked by aggressive, antisocial beha—"
" I know what it bloody means, Weasley! Don't take me for an imbecile!" I barked. Stupid mudblood Granger. Once again, living in her delusional world where she is supposed to be 'brilliant'. Ha.
I ran my hands through my hair, teeth grinding in effort to think of something to say.
" Alright—next time, Weasley, you go tell Granger that she's a stupid blockhead who doesn't realize that for everything there is a reason—ask her if she's ever pondered the reason, that I'm a so called 'sociopath' is because of disgusting people like her, ok?"
" No!" She squeaked indignantly. " I'm not your messenger, go deliver the message yourself!" Suddenly, her tongue peeked out of her mouth mischievously.
" Or are you too cowardly to approach her? Because according to Harry, you're not very brave--Afraid she might slap you again?"
How the hell did she know? According to Harry…Harry and Ron said…Hermione said…Boy, when I got my hands on those three, I would kill them. No, no. That would be too kind. Let them suffer cruel and unusual punishment.
Then, one of two things happened: Either, I grew inexplicably pale, or I grew positively pink. Neither idea suited me. Annoying, twittering weasel was giggling again.
" I'm NOT afraid of her. You best not believe everything they tell you—the little liars that they are." I spat. My mind was too flustered to come up with a half-witty response. It wasn't fair that wit should fail one when one needed it most, was it?
" It's alright." She leaned towards me in a conspiratorial manner. I cringed, expecting her to smell like, oh, you know…bad, like a dirty Weasley should. Her hair tickled the side of my face.
" Hermione scares a lot of people, anyway." She said cheerfully. " It's understandable." I squinted my eyes. Why was she so understanding towards me? Something must have been not-quite-right with her head, because any other self-respecting Gryffindor would have fled at the sight of me. And she smelled like strawberry jam. Definitely not right.
" Yea, yea." I choked out, backing away from her. " Whatever you say, Weasel." But I was surprised at myself. Contempt seemed void in my voice, and the term 'Weasel' was uttered in an almost affectionate matter.
What was the world coming too??! Would I have to start rehearsing all the nasty things to say next time I saw Weasel?
" My name's Ginny." She said firmly. " Not Weasel. That would be my brother."
But my lips quirked up into a little smile, and a small voice in the back of my head (maybe my Good Conscience yet again??) told me, to hell with it all. She was strange, but at the very least, she seemed not to mind me too much. If that was a good thing at all…
The room I was in suddenly felt a little warmer.
" Whatever you say, Ginny."
A/N: Eh. I had trouble writing this chapter for some reason. Maybe next chapter there will be more action, rather than just dialogue, hmm? Sorry about the fluffy little ending, but it had to be done.