In a room locked away from the rest of the school, later that night, was a
thoroughly confused Harry Potter. He sat at his desk trying desperately to
look like he was reading. Trying desperately to convince himself he was
reading. Anything to stop thinking.
He had obviously done something wrong because Draco was locked in the bathroom showering. That was not in itself an anomaly, but she had been in there for 5 hours straight. No matter how vain the blond may be, that was much too long. There just weren't that many things to clean, even with her hundreds of bottles of scented this and that's.
Looking back on what he'd said, Harry could honestly say that was the nicest he'd ever been to her. In years of squabbling and feuds, that was the closest he had ever come to suggesting that anything the Veela had ever done was anything other then selfish. And look what it got him!
Where was the gratitude? The snide comment about idiocy? "Yes Potter, all for you. The world does revolve around you after all. How very Griffyndoor to not even consider the rules and laws you may have broken. I'm surprised your pet mudblood didn't tell you. That is why you keep her, isn't it? To compensate for you lack of brains?". She looked, instead, appalled. How very odd.
Perhaps, he thought, it was a girl thing. Crazy hormonal ups and downs were sure to bring more than just an overly healthy sexual appetite. Girls where known, after all, for their extreme mood swings. Some chemical reaction was clearly happening in her head that confused his words. Maybe even his actions. This was most definitely a 'girl' problem. Best left alone.
Draco, meanwhile, was staring blankly at the wall of the shower cubicle in a fit of panic. The water was still on, but she barely noticed. Crouched on the floor of the shower tying to figure out how to smoke while still under the waterfall.
Turning the shower off took more energy then she could muster. Where this mysterious cigarette would come from, no one knew. The important thing was to work out how to smoke it without moving. Then work out how to get it without moving.
Distractions. Her mind was clinging to them. Trying to focus on a lost cause because somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that something was wrong. Why hadn't she questioned keeping this whole situation a secret? Every word she had spoken to Potter was true.
The poor Malfoy orphan who was cursed by the new Dark Lord. The wizarding world loved a Malfoy like the muggles loved their royals. Some would grovel at your feet, some would complain about your power and money. All of them loved a good fuck up. Do anything wrong and it's printed as far as the eye can see. But in the end they loved Draco Malfoy. They loved to hate her. If she painted herself as Potter's victim, she may even be able to talk her parents out of prison. Convince the world that her family was right. Three Dark Lords in a row, all Muggleborn or raised. Grindelwald, Riddle, Potter. She could have her face plastered over 'Witch Weekly' where it rightly belonged. Purebloods back in power. This was an opportunity to grab hold of with both hands. But she hadn't.
And that was scary. The only possible explanation, of course, was that she was loosing her mind. A Slytherin always thinks of self-preservation first. Family preservation second, and allies third. Friends? Well, if they're not allies, who cares? You have to give something to get any in return. But Potter gave nothing but trouble. Her godfather's explanation was fine. For everyone else, their alliance meant the two families had joined. "Take advantage of the situation, Draco. And you will be the hero alongside him, without ever lifting a finger." All very well and good for Snape to say that, but she knew sharing the glory wasn't the only option here. She could rip it out from under him too.
But she didn't want to.
And so she sat in the shower, contemplating ways of keeping a non-existent cigarette out of the water without loosing the steady stream in her face.
In the other room, Potter had had enough. This was ridicules! Girl problems? Hermione was a girl, and while incomprehensible at times, she never took a compliment badly. That was not an adequate excuse and all he'd read from the Veela book gave no indication that that caused this either.
The Veela were cold creatures who very rarely loved and seldom monogamously. But most importantly, they were logical and straightforward. A Veela will tell you exactly what they think, which is quite often very little to do with anyone other then themselves. 'The Nature of a Veela' was the title of one chapter, Harry found himself crossing it out and replacing 'Veela' with 'Malfoy'. That was such a Lucius thing to say. "The Nature of a Malfoy is too be cold and distant, to care about oneself first and foremost", bla, bla, bla...
If it wasn't hormones of either the girl or Veela variety, then Draco was really upset about something. And for some incomprehensible reason, that bothered him. He checked his watch to find it 8.50 pm. Last night's frenzied attack took place at 9 pm. He clearly cared because he wanted to get laid. That was all. That was it. Normal teenage boy stuff. No matter that this morning he felt rejected by her. That last night he wanted to cuddle. That was all behind him now.
The door to the bathroom opened and a the Veela stepped out glaring at him. Leaning against the door frame in a defeated manner,
"I hate you, Scarhead."
A fact. Simple statement that they both knew was true, no matter what those inner voices said. Harry looked back at his lap ashamed of his last though. He didn't just want to get laid and even if he didn't voice that to the blond, he felt bad about it.
"I hate you too."
The Veela snorted at his pathetic attempt at mirroring the hate in her statement and walked over to sit on the table I front of him. She wasn't sure how to say this, afraid he would think she wanted him after his idiotic show of appreciation earlier. She instead murmured,
"I'm hot."
No attack took place this time, and things were considerable quieter. When they were done, she went back to her own bed and pulled the curtains shut to feign sleep as she stared at the canopy.
Across the room, a similar situation was presented as a brunet lay on his bed frowning. Why was it so important to him that he make her happy again? Why was it so hard to make her happy? Why was she unhappy to start with?
It was definitely a girl thing and he definitely just wanted to get laid. He was almost certain.
He had obviously done something wrong because Draco was locked in the bathroom showering. That was not in itself an anomaly, but she had been in there for 5 hours straight. No matter how vain the blond may be, that was much too long. There just weren't that many things to clean, even with her hundreds of bottles of scented this and that's.
Looking back on what he'd said, Harry could honestly say that was the nicest he'd ever been to her. In years of squabbling and feuds, that was the closest he had ever come to suggesting that anything the Veela had ever done was anything other then selfish. And look what it got him!
Where was the gratitude? The snide comment about idiocy? "Yes Potter, all for you. The world does revolve around you after all. How very Griffyndoor to not even consider the rules and laws you may have broken. I'm surprised your pet mudblood didn't tell you. That is why you keep her, isn't it? To compensate for you lack of brains?". She looked, instead, appalled. How very odd.
Perhaps, he thought, it was a girl thing. Crazy hormonal ups and downs were sure to bring more than just an overly healthy sexual appetite. Girls where known, after all, for their extreme mood swings. Some chemical reaction was clearly happening in her head that confused his words. Maybe even his actions. This was most definitely a 'girl' problem. Best left alone.
Draco, meanwhile, was staring blankly at the wall of the shower cubicle in a fit of panic. The water was still on, but she barely noticed. Crouched on the floor of the shower tying to figure out how to smoke while still under the waterfall.
Turning the shower off took more energy then she could muster. Where this mysterious cigarette would come from, no one knew. The important thing was to work out how to smoke it without moving. Then work out how to get it without moving.
Distractions. Her mind was clinging to them. Trying to focus on a lost cause because somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that something was wrong. Why hadn't she questioned keeping this whole situation a secret? Every word she had spoken to Potter was true.
The poor Malfoy orphan who was cursed by the new Dark Lord. The wizarding world loved a Malfoy like the muggles loved their royals. Some would grovel at your feet, some would complain about your power and money. All of them loved a good fuck up. Do anything wrong and it's printed as far as the eye can see. But in the end they loved Draco Malfoy. They loved to hate her. If she painted herself as Potter's victim, she may even be able to talk her parents out of prison. Convince the world that her family was right. Three Dark Lords in a row, all Muggleborn or raised. Grindelwald, Riddle, Potter. She could have her face plastered over 'Witch Weekly' where it rightly belonged. Purebloods back in power. This was an opportunity to grab hold of with both hands. But she hadn't.
And that was scary. The only possible explanation, of course, was that she was loosing her mind. A Slytherin always thinks of self-preservation first. Family preservation second, and allies third. Friends? Well, if they're not allies, who cares? You have to give something to get any in return. But Potter gave nothing but trouble. Her godfather's explanation was fine. For everyone else, their alliance meant the two families had joined. "Take advantage of the situation, Draco. And you will be the hero alongside him, without ever lifting a finger." All very well and good for Snape to say that, but she knew sharing the glory wasn't the only option here. She could rip it out from under him too.
But she didn't want to.
And so she sat in the shower, contemplating ways of keeping a non-existent cigarette out of the water without loosing the steady stream in her face.
In the other room, Potter had had enough. This was ridicules! Girl problems? Hermione was a girl, and while incomprehensible at times, she never took a compliment badly. That was not an adequate excuse and all he'd read from the Veela book gave no indication that that caused this either.
The Veela were cold creatures who very rarely loved and seldom monogamously. But most importantly, they were logical and straightforward. A Veela will tell you exactly what they think, which is quite often very little to do with anyone other then themselves. 'The Nature of a Veela' was the title of one chapter, Harry found himself crossing it out and replacing 'Veela' with 'Malfoy'. That was such a Lucius thing to say. "The Nature of a Malfoy is too be cold and distant, to care about oneself first and foremost", bla, bla, bla...
If it wasn't hormones of either the girl or Veela variety, then Draco was really upset about something. And for some incomprehensible reason, that bothered him. He checked his watch to find it 8.50 pm. Last night's frenzied attack took place at 9 pm. He clearly cared because he wanted to get laid. That was all. That was it. Normal teenage boy stuff. No matter that this morning he felt rejected by her. That last night he wanted to cuddle. That was all behind him now.
The door to the bathroom opened and a the Veela stepped out glaring at him. Leaning against the door frame in a defeated manner,
"I hate you, Scarhead."
A fact. Simple statement that they both knew was true, no matter what those inner voices said. Harry looked back at his lap ashamed of his last though. He didn't just want to get laid and even if he didn't voice that to the blond, he felt bad about it.
"I hate you too."
The Veela snorted at his pathetic attempt at mirroring the hate in her statement and walked over to sit on the table I front of him. She wasn't sure how to say this, afraid he would think she wanted him after his idiotic show of appreciation earlier. She instead murmured,
"I'm hot."
No attack took place this time, and things were considerable quieter. When they were done, she went back to her own bed and pulled the curtains shut to feign sleep as she stared at the canopy.
Across the room, a similar situation was presented as a brunet lay on his bed frowning. Why was it so important to him that he make her happy again? Why was it so hard to make her happy? Why was she unhappy to start with?
It was definitely a girl thing and he definitely just wanted to get laid. He was almost certain.
