Later that morning, everyone was discussing what had occurred at breakfast. Nobody was exactly sure what it all was about, but the more it was talked about, the funnier it got.
"I bet Parkinson sent it…that sure would make me vomit!" yelled a Ravenclaw in the hallway.
"No, it probably was from Snape…you see the way he looks at him in class?" said another.
Draco laid in the hospital wing the rest of the day. He thought he might just die. The letter, the thong. It was just too much. He wondered though. Was this some sort of sick joke? Whoever sent it had some real issues, he thought. Then Madam Pomfrey came in to check on him.
"How are you feeling dear?" she asked.
"Well," he began. But then he remembered something. The Quidditch game was tomorrow. The showdown event. The big shaboozy. It was bigger than Ozzfest, or Lalapalooza. He had no idea what those were, stupid muggle terms perhaps, but he knew they were important. If he told her he was sick, he wouldn't be able to play. More importantly, he wouldn't be able to kick Potter's ass.
"I'm fine!" he said. He nearly fell over as he jumped out of the bed. This made him somewhat dizzy, but he hid it.
"Are you sure dear? You don't look alright."
"I'm fine." He said. "Just fine." Then it happened. He saw it. The thong. That stupid pink hell raiser. He threw up. He didn't know how long he did, but it must have been ages. When he finally controlled himself, he laid back down in the bed.
"You are not fine!" said a puke covered Madam Pomfrey. "Stay in that bed!"
"No problem…" he managed to say. His throat was burning. But so was his heart. He had to go to the match tomorrow. If it was the last thing he did. He had to unleash the Slytherin team's new weapon.
No one else had a clue about this so called 'weapon' but Draco knew plenty about it. Apparently, her name was Christina, she was a 6th year, just like Draco, and she was superb at Quidditch. Her position: Keeper. They say she's never let one by her. She was transferring to Hogwarts from America.
"Hmm…American." Draco said to himself. "Should be interesting…"
He also knew she was pureblood and that she had been sorted into Slytherin over the summer. He didn't know she could get much better. He didn't know, until he saw her. The next morning he was let out of the hospital wing. He had learned to control his thong-vomiting and seemed to feel much better. He thought more about the letter on his way to breakfast. He would figure it all out later. For now, he was concentrating on the new arrival. The secret weapon.
He sat down, more cheery than usual. Everyone seemed to have dropped the thong incident, but there were still talks of it every once in a while. He helped himself to some toast while he waited. It was funny to think he was the only student in the entire room to know about "the weapon". If it wasn't for his father, he probably wouldn't have any idea about it.
"Damn that bastard. He's one evil mofo, but ya gotta love him for it." he said as he took another bite of toast.
"What are you rambling about now, thongboy?" Weasley approached the Slytherin table, black eye and all.
"Please don't spoil my morning now, hobo. The last thing I need is some red haired peasant blocking my view of the secret weapon as it graces itself with our presence on this fine day."
"Malfoy, what are you on?" asked a very confused Ron.
"What am I not on Weasley? Now get the hell out of my way. Important things to see this morning." Replied Draco as he looked to the side of Ron, who turned his head to see exactly what Malfoy was looking for. Coincidentally, Hermione was standing near the doorway talking to some people at the end of the Gryffindor table.
"If you're looking at Hermione, I'll Avada Kedavra you, Malfoy…" said Ron, looking furious.
"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Weasley. I'm not looking at that frizzball you desire so. And please don't ever imply that I am again, because you might not wake up a little boy the next morning."
"You're sick Malfoy…sick."
"You're really ruining my morning Weasley. Please leave, before I beat your ass away with my Nimbus 2001." Said Draco as he held up his shining broomstick for Ron to see.
"Whatever…" said Ron.
"Oh yes, Weasley, I almost forgot. Do try not to break down into tears like a little girl when her puppy is ran over when we crush you at the match today."
Ron just stared at him for a while, and decided not to comment. When he finally walked away, Malfoy decided to make an announcement to the Hall.
"Good morning fellow inferiors. I would just like to take this time to say that…" but he was cut off by the large doors of the Great Hall opening. People began whispering. Draco couldn't see who was standing there from the Slytherin table, but they moved into the Hall soon enough. Draco slumped back down on the bench from where he was standing to make his "I'm gonna kick those sorry little Gryffinwhore's arses today" speech. Nobody was sure what he said, but it sounded awfully close to 'secret weapon.'
"I bet Parkinson sent it…that sure would make me vomit!" yelled a Ravenclaw in the hallway.
"No, it probably was from Snape…you see the way he looks at him in class?" said another.
Draco laid in the hospital wing the rest of the day. He thought he might just die. The letter, the thong. It was just too much. He wondered though. Was this some sort of sick joke? Whoever sent it had some real issues, he thought. Then Madam Pomfrey came in to check on him.
"How are you feeling dear?" she asked.
"Well," he began. But then he remembered something. The Quidditch game was tomorrow. The showdown event. The big shaboozy. It was bigger than Ozzfest, or Lalapalooza. He had no idea what those were, stupid muggle terms perhaps, but he knew they were important. If he told her he was sick, he wouldn't be able to play. More importantly, he wouldn't be able to kick Potter's ass.
"I'm fine!" he said. He nearly fell over as he jumped out of the bed. This made him somewhat dizzy, but he hid it.
"Are you sure dear? You don't look alright."
"I'm fine." He said. "Just fine." Then it happened. He saw it. The thong. That stupid pink hell raiser. He threw up. He didn't know how long he did, but it must have been ages. When he finally controlled himself, he laid back down in the bed.
"You are not fine!" said a puke covered Madam Pomfrey. "Stay in that bed!"
"No problem…" he managed to say. His throat was burning. But so was his heart. He had to go to the match tomorrow. If it was the last thing he did. He had to unleash the Slytherin team's new weapon.
No one else had a clue about this so called 'weapon' but Draco knew plenty about it. Apparently, her name was Christina, she was a 6th year, just like Draco, and she was superb at Quidditch. Her position: Keeper. They say she's never let one by her. She was transferring to Hogwarts from America.
"Hmm…American." Draco said to himself. "Should be interesting…"
He also knew she was pureblood and that she had been sorted into Slytherin over the summer. He didn't know she could get much better. He didn't know, until he saw her. The next morning he was let out of the hospital wing. He had learned to control his thong-vomiting and seemed to feel much better. He thought more about the letter on his way to breakfast. He would figure it all out later. For now, he was concentrating on the new arrival. The secret weapon.
He sat down, more cheery than usual. Everyone seemed to have dropped the thong incident, but there were still talks of it every once in a while. He helped himself to some toast while he waited. It was funny to think he was the only student in the entire room to know about "the weapon". If it wasn't for his father, he probably wouldn't have any idea about it.
"Damn that bastard. He's one evil mofo, but ya gotta love him for it." he said as he took another bite of toast.
"What are you rambling about now, thongboy?" Weasley approached the Slytherin table, black eye and all.
"Please don't spoil my morning now, hobo. The last thing I need is some red haired peasant blocking my view of the secret weapon as it graces itself with our presence on this fine day."
"Malfoy, what are you on?" asked a very confused Ron.
"What am I not on Weasley? Now get the hell out of my way. Important things to see this morning." Replied Draco as he looked to the side of Ron, who turned his head to see exactly what Malfoy was looking for. Coincidentally, Hermione was standing near the doorway talking to some people at the end of the Gryffindor table.
"If you're looking at Hermione, I'll Avada Kedavra you, Malfoy…" said Ron, looking furious.
"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Weasley. I'm not looking at that frizzball you desire so. And please don't ever imply that I am again, because you might not wake up a little boy the next morning."
"You're sick Malfoy…sick."
"You're really ruining my morning Weasley. Please leave, before I beat your ass away with my Nimbus 2001." Said Draco as he held up his shining broomstick for Ron to see.
"Whatever…" said Ron.
"Oh yes, Weasley, I almost forgot. Do try not to break down into tears like a little girl when her puppy is ran over when we crush you at the match today."
Ron just stared at him for a while, and decided not to comment. When he finally walked away, Malfoy decided to make an announcement to the Hall.
"Good morning fellow inferiors. I would just like to take this time to say that…" but he was cut off by the large doors of the Great Hall opening. People began whispering. Draco couldn't see who was standing there from the Slytherin table, but they moved into the Hall soon enough. Draco slumped back down on the bench from where he was standing to make his "I'm gonna kick those sorry little Gryffinwhore's arses today" speech. Nobody was sure what he said, but it sounded awfully close to 'secret weapon.'