A/n: So, I finally made it Chapter 12! Yay. With minimal reviews for 11, I
decided to press on anyway and keep those who actually read the story
interested, hopefully...anyway, if you have any suggestions on where I should
go or possible pairings, then read & review & recommend....
I do not own anything but d/B/p.
Ron and Harry stumbled tiredly to the Great Hall. It was late, late last night, after almost falling asleep in the Room of Requirement when they still realized that they had a considerable amount of homework left, and had grudgingly stayed up and done it. Ron stared in the mirror in of the Great Hall.
"My God, I look like I haven't had any good sleep for days on end! Which, you know, I haven't."
"Oh really? Yesterday when you were snoring, keeping me up, it sounded like you were having a pretty nice rest," said Harry.
Ron shot him an 'I-don't-need-this' look and both of them dragged their feet into the Great Hall, which was oddly, quite empty. They did see Brooke sitting at the Ravenclaw table, though, absentmindedly picking at her toast, staring straight ahead. Ron and Harry sat down on either sides of her.
"You look tired."
"Thanks, Ron."
"No, really, did you sleep at all last night?"
"I left all of Snape's essay for the last minute, and I'm still a little under."
"Oh, wow. For once I am ahead of someone in homework production."
"And I am not at all prepared for McGonagall's check of what we learned so far. I'm going to do horrible."
"You probably won't be that bad."
"You probably won't even see me at all today because I'll be busy doing all this extra work." Brooke said all of this while still staring ahead.
By this time, Harry had gotten up to go to the Gryffindor table to have something to eat. He was not at all hungry, yet when he saw all the food, he strangely started to stuff himself, for lack of anything better to do. Someone sat down next to him, and he turned with a witty remark prepared for Hermione when he saw a pale smirk facing him instead.
"Hello, Potter."
Harry almost spit out his food all over Malfoy.
"What are you doing here?!"
"Needed to talk with you for a bit."
"What? Since when?!"
"Since now. Now get up Potter, I don't feel like sitting at a table where Mudbloods have sat before."
"I am NOT getting---"
Malfoy took Harry's arm and jerked him up, putting them face to face.
"I need to talk to you."
"Said that already." Harry's voice was clipped, for he didn't at all feel like conversing with Malfoy.
"I'm asking for your help."
Harry could have fainted, but instead, he produced a smirk not unlike the one Malfoy often wore.
"Me? For help? What, need help deflating your head a bit?" He and Malfoy did not break eye contact, Harry's green eyes almost boring into Malfoy's stone-cold gray ones.
"No. I'm only asking you because you can help me. You'll want to help me." His words for formed, as if Harry was deaf.
"Why would I want to?" He wanted to end this exchange of words swiftly and painlessly..
"Because you know Weasley and Manchester don't belong together just as well as I do." His voice was now persuasive, as if this wasn't really true, but rather Harry was stupid enough to believe Malfoy's words.
"Oh, do I?" Harry was almost impersonating Malfoy's voice when he said so.
"Yes, you do. You, like me, know that Manchester is light-years above Weasley in every kind of caliber."
"Is he?"
"Yes, he is, and you know it. So why don't we cut to the chase and I'll tell you what you have to do."
Harry tried his hardest to come up with a sharp retort to that, but lack of sleep interfered. Instead, he watched, loathing, as Malfoy laid out a vicious plan.
"First, you convince Weasley that Manchester doesn't like him, that she's faking it. You tell him that Manchester is just pitying him and being nice to him. Then, you tell Manchester that Weasley's using her for studies or something ridiculous like that that Weasley would do, and convince her that he's not true to himself." Malfoy was counting on his fingers the steps of this plan. "Then, he's off of her and back to the Mudblood, she's hurt and confused and will run to me, and everyone wins!" Malfoy almost looked actually happy, even though the coldness in his eyes remained. He looked at Harry, almost confident that Harry would agree. "What do you think, Potter? A plan like this should appeal to you, with your big head," he smirked, smug and intimidating. Or at least trying to be.
"I think two things. One, my name is Brooke, not Manchester. And two, Malfoy, you're a dead man." Malfoy turned around to one 11 and a half inch willow unicorn hair wand pointed straight at his nose.
Draco Malfoy's timing was not his strong suit.
"Did you hear? She cursed Malfoy in the Great Hall, didn't get caught, and managed to keep in the hospital for a week! Who knew someone like her could do that?!"
"I know! I heard he's covered in boils, barely able to say a word!"
"And none of the teachers saw her! I bet she could go around throwing out Unforgivables with her kind of craftiness and not get caught!"
Harry had heard comments like this all day, about Brooke's seemingly fantastical 'attack' on Malfoy. He loved how it took so little for things to be twisted out of context. After all, how many of these gossips was actually there that morning? He laughed to himself before turning another corridor.
Some of it was truth. The curse would keep Malfoy in the hospital for at least 24 hours. Brooke had told him it was because she whispered it, and when she whispered curses they were stronger. Harry wasn't sure how much he believed that, but it was plausible. It was also true that the curse was genuinely done by her, even though some denied in on account of the fact they didn't hear her say anything. What wasn't true was the fact that she did not get caught. Soon after the incident that produced floor rolling laughter and a great sense of triumph over most Gryffindors, Professor McGonagall pulled Brooke over. She was awarded with a week's detentions and 20 points taken from Ravenclaw. A small price to pay for such a large success. Malfoy was out of their hair for good. Or so he thought.
He walked into Charms to see Hermione looking awfully strange. She had the same wide-eyed look as Brooke had had earlier that morning, staring straight ahead. Seemingly, Flitwick had his back turned, and had already started the class, thankfully not noticing that Harry was a bit late. Ribbons were flying everywhere, as the class tried to make them wriggle, fly, levitate, slither, and tie themselves. Ron was happily making his pink ribbon follow his wand in a figure eight, a triangle, and almost got it to spell out 'Ron' before he had to recast the spell.
"This is awfully childish."
"And so much fun!" Harry could not tell whether or not Ron was amused because he liked the spell or could actually do it.
"Hermione?" Harry turned to her. "Are you alright?"
"Sure."
"Sure?"
"Well, not really." She turned to Harry. It seemed as if she was about to let out something big.
"Harry, you know how Brooke received those chocolates, right?"
At the mention of Brooke's name, Ron started to listen as well.
"And how it was this big basket chock full of expensive things from Hogsmeade?"
"Yes..."
"Well don't you remember that night...a couple weeks ago...I got a basket..."
Realization dawned upon Harry in a minute. But for Ron, it was a little slower, for that was the day Hermione and Harry had had a special moment...
"Class dismissed!" said Flitwick in his oh-so-perky voice.
Malfoy was in pain. It was not fun being in pain, not fun at all. He almost felt sorry for those who he had cursed until he realized none of them were ever brought to the hospital wing. He sat there, unable to move his leg, and pondered for the thousandth time how she had managed to land him in the hospital wing
He had turned around for one second and before he could have opened his mouth (and thank goodness he didn't) she had whispered something and he had felt it graze by his leg before he felt the shooting pain that made him fall over. It was sharp, in both legs, but it had only damaged one. The only reason he was still sitting here was because he could barely walk and that infliction needed an overnight potion to heal.
He laid back against the pillow, much scratchier then that of Slytherin's beds, and turned on his side. He thought to himself. This is what you get when you fancy a Ravenclaw. There too clever and conniving for their own good. He was so angry at himself for letting a Ravenclaw, and for that matter, a Gryffindor land him in the hospital wing. He desperately wished he had something to eat to take his mind off of things.
"Madam Pomfrey, I swear, I'm fine! Professor gave me something and the swelling's going down, and---"
"My dear girl, do you know how contagious that is? Just brushing someone else could erupt them in swells! You must stay here until it dies down!"
"But—"
"Dear, we're going to get you some food and have one of your friends bring me some pajamas. Don't worry, darling, its only one night!"
"But my homework! And my dinner!"
"Like I said, someone will bring you and Mr. Malfoy some dinner so then you can rest peacefully while the boils subside. Here, right in this bed."
Malfoy's back was turned, and he was too much in pain to see who his companion was. He hoped it was at least a Slytherin, and judging by the complaining, he was almost certain it was. The girl, or boy with high pitched voice, grumbled as Madam Pomfrey laid back the sheets and did the obligatory pillow fluff.
"Alright dear, I'll be back in 10 minutes or so to check up on you and give you some dinner. Malfoy, let me check on that leg of yours..."
He himself started to grumble as he pulled his numb left leg and paining right leg, as well as his entire body flat onto the bed. Madam Pomfrey pressed certain parts of his leg, then came to the nightstand to feed him some more of the thick, murky potion. It globbed down his throat and was hard to swallow, but the pain lessened and the feeling in his left leg was coming back. He turned to his companion, to see if it was anyone interesting.
Interesting was quite an understatement to the word that came to mind when Malfoy saw Brooke in the cot next to his.
Her eyes widened and she quickly turned away, her expression cold and hard. He turned away just as quickly, his face flaming at the sight of his 'attacker'. He looked down at his chest. He cracked his knuckles. He adjusted his robe. He tried to touch his toes. He did anything so he didn't have to look at her. Because looking at her would not be fun. His face would flame again.
"Feeling pain?"
He didn't want to answer to the only person that had ever shamed him. It would not be fun.
"I'll take that as a yes."
Still silence. He looked adamantly at his toes.
"Because someone like you can't admit when he's wrong."
His toes really weren't that interesting.
"When he's in pain."
Maybe he needed nicer shoes?
"Because his head's just too big."
"Shut up!" he said angrily.
She didn't looked shocked at his outburst. Rather, she seemed like she was expecting it.
"You know its true, Malfoy."
"You wish."
"Oh do I? Your ego has nothing to do with me."
"Now that's lying, Manchester."
"How so?"
"If I didn't have a big ego, you wouldn't be so relenting about trying to take me down."
She looked at him strangely. "Are you insulting me or complimenting me?"
"A little of both."
"Well that's nice of you."
"Thank you." She shot him a dirty look.
"So what do you suppose is for dinner?" He was turning on the charm now, since his toes were sincerely boring.
"Don't talk to me."
"Why not?"
"Because you're wasting your breath."
"I don't think so."
"I do, so shut it."
"You're the one still talking."
She almost smiled at this, but forced the corners of her mouth down. Point one for Malfoy.
"Because you won't stop annoying me."
"You're letting me."
"How so?"
"If you didn't keep throwing back witty retorts, I'd eventually stop."
"That's not true."
"Was that an insult or a compliment?"
"Stop mocking me."
"Who says I was?" She noticed he was being incredibly out of character.
"I don't know, just...your tone!"
"My tone?"
"Stop it!"
"Stop what?" He had an innocent and very attractive smile on his face. She looked away.
"Just shut it! I'm not in the mood."
"What, are you hungry?"
"Why do you care?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Malfoy, just...stop talking."
She looked at him, and he looked back and smiled at her. She was befuddled by the past five minutes. Why was he being so calm? He had, technically, not said anything insulting toward her, Ron, or anything she might get ruffled about in general. He just asked questions. Strange.
And she had a tingle in her stomach which was either hunger or something she didn't want to contemplate...
How very strange indeed.
I do not own anything but d/B/p.
Ron and Harry stumbled tiredly to the Great Hall. It was late, late last night, after almost falling asleep in the Room of Requirement when they still realized that they had a considerable amount of homework left, and had grudgingly stayed up and done it. Ron stared in the mirror in of the Great Hall.
"My God, I look like I haven't had any good sleep for days on end! Which, you know, I haven't."
"Oh really? Yesterday when you were snoring, keeping me up, it sounded like you were having a pretty nice rest," said Harry.
Ron shot him an 'I-don't-need-this' look and both of them dragged their feet into the Great Hall, which was oddly, quite empty. They did see Brooke sitting at the Ravenclaw table, though, absentmindedly picking at her toast, staring straight ahead. Ron and Harry sat down on either sides of her.
"You look tired."
"Thanks, Ron."
"No, really, did you sleep at all last night?"
"I left all of Snape's essay for the last minute, and I'm still a little under."
"Oh, wow. For once I am ahead of someone in homework production."
"And I am not at all prepared for McGonagall's check of what we learned so far. I'm going to do horrible."
"You probably won't be that bad."
"You probably won't even see me at all today because I'll be busy doing all this extra work." Brooke said all of this while still staring ahead.
By this time, Harry had gotten up to go to the Gryffindor table to have something to eat. He was not at all hungry, yet when he saw all the food, he strangely started to stuff himself, for lack of anything better to do. Someone sat down next to him, and he turned with a witty remark prepared for Hermione when he saw a pale smirk facing him instead.
"Hello, Potter."
Harry almost spit out his food all over Malfoy.
"What are you doing here?!"
"Needed to talk with you for a bit."
"What? Since when?!"
"Since now. Now get up Potter, I don't feel like sitting at a table where Mudbloods have sat before."
"I am NOT getting---"
Malfoy took Harry's arm and jerked him up, putting them face to face.
"I need to talk to you."
"Said that already." Harry's voice was clipped, for he didn't at all feel like conversing with Malfoy.
"I'm asking for your help."
Harry could have fainted, but instead, he produced a smirk not unlike the one Malfoy often wore.
"Me? For help? What, need help deflating your head a bit?" He and Malfoy did not break eye contact, Harry's green eyes almost boring into Malfoy's stone-cold gray ones.
"No. I'm only asking you because you can help me. You'll want to help me." His words for formed, as if Harry was deaf.
"Why would I want to?" He wanted to end this exchange of words swiftly and painlessly..
"Because you know Weasley and Manchester don't belong together just as well as I do." His voice was now persuasive, as if this wasn't really true, but rather Harry was stupid enough to believe Malfoy's words.
"Oh, do I?" Harry was almost impersonating Malfoy's voice when he said so.
"Yes, you do. You, like me, know that Manchester is light-years above Weasley in every kind of caliber."
"Is he?"
"Yes, he is, and you know it. So why don't we cut to the chase and I'll tell you what you have to do."
Harry tried his hardest to come up with a sharp retort to that, but lack of sleep interfered. Instead, he watched, loathing, as Malfoy laid out a vicious plan.
"First, you convince Weasley that Manchester doesn't like him, that she's faking it. You tell him that Manchester is just pitying him and being nice to him. Then, you tell Manchester that Weasley's using her for studies or something ridiculous like that that Weasley would do, and convince her that he's not true to himself." Malfoy was counting on his fingers the steps of this plan. "Then, he's off of her and back to the Mudblood, she's hurt and confused and will run to me, and everyone wins!" Malfoy almost looked actually happy, even though the coldness in his eyes remained. He looked at Harry, almost confident that Harry would agree. "What do you think, Potter? A plan like this should appeal to you, with your big head," he smirked, smug and intimidating. Or at least trying to be.
"I think two things. One, my name is Brooke, not Manchester. And two, Malfoy, you're a dead man." Malfoy turned around to one 11 and a half inch willow unicorn hair wand pointed straight at his nose.
Draco Malfoy's timing was not his strong suit.
"Did you hear? She cursed Malfoy in the Great Hall, didn't get caught, and managed to keep in the hospital for a week! Who knew someone like her could do that?!"
"I know! I heard he's covered in boils, barely able to say a word!"
"And none of the teachers saw her! I bet she could go around throwing out Unforgivables with her kind of craftiness and not get caught!"
Harry had heard comments like this all day, about Brooke's seemingly fantastical 'attack' on Malfoy. He loved how it took so little for things to be twisted out of context. After all, how many of these gossips was actually there that morning? He laughed to himself before turning another corridor.
Some of it was truth. The curse would keep Malfoy in the hospital for at least 24 hours. Brooke had told him it was because she whispered it, and when she whispered curses they were stronger. Harry wasn't sure how much he believed that, but it was plausible. It was also true that the curse was genuinely done by her, even though some denied in on account of the fact they didn't hear her say anything. What wasn't true was the fact that she did not get caught. Soon after the incident that produced floor rolling laughter and a great sense of triumph over most Gryffindors, Professor McGonagall pulled Brooke over. She was awarded with a week's detentions and 20 points taken from Ravenclaw. A small price to pay for such a large success. Malfoy was out of their hair for good. Or so he thought.
He walked into Charms to see Hermione looking awfully strange. She had the same wide-eyed look as Brooke had had earlier that morning, staring straight ahead. Seemingly, Flitwick had his back turned, and had already started the class, thankfully not noticing that Harry was a bit late. Ribbons were flying everywhere, as the class tried to make them wriggle, fly, levitate, slither, and tie themselves. Ron was happily making his pink ribbon follow his wand in a figure eight, a triangle, and almost got it to spell out 'Ron' before he had to recast the spell.
"This is awfully childish."
"And so much fun!" Harry could not tell whether or not Ron was amused because he liked the spell or could actually do it.
"Hermione?" Harry turned to her. "Are you alright?"
"Sure."
"Sure?"
"Well, not really." She turned to Harry. It seemed as if she was about to let out something big.
"Harry, you know how Brooke received those chocolates, right?"
At the mention of Brooke's name, Ron started to listen as well.
"And how it was this big basket chock full of expensive things from Hogsmeade?"
"Yes..."
"Well don't you remember that night...a couple weeks ago...I got a basket..."
Realization dawned upon Harry in a minute. But for Ron, it was a little slower, for that was the day Hermione and Harry had had a special moment...
"Class dismissed!" said Flitwick in his oh-so-perky voice.
Malfoy was in pain. It was not fun being in pain, not fun at all. He almost felt sorry for those who he had cursed until he realized none of them were ever brought to the hospital wing. He sat there, unable to move his leg, and pondered for the thousandth time how she had managed to land him in the hospital wing
He had turned around for one second and before he could have opened his mouth (and thank goodness he didn't) she had whispered something and he had felt it graze by his leg before he felt the shooting pain that made him fall over. It was sharp, in both legs, but it had only damaged one. The only reason he was still sitting here was because he could barely walk and that infliction needed an overnight potion to heal.
He laid back against the pillow, much scratchier then that of Slytherin's beds, and turned on his side. He thought to himself. This is what you get when you fancy a Ravenclaw. There too clever and conniving for their own good. He was so angry at himself for letting a Ravenclaw, and for that matter, a Gryffindor land him in the hospital wing. He desperately wished he had something to eat to take his mind off of things.
"Madam Pomfrey, I swear, I'm fine! Professor gave me something and the swelling's going down, and---"
"My dear girl, do you know how contagious that is? Just brushing someone else could erupt them in swells! You must stay here until it dies down!"
"But—"
"Dear, we're going to get you some food and have one of your friends bring me some pajamas. Don't worry, darling, its only one night!"
"But my homework! And my dinner!"
"Like I said, someone will bring you and Mr. Malfoy some dinner so then you can rest peacefully while the boils subside. Here, right in this bed."
Malfoy's back was turned, and he was too much in pain to see who his companion was. He hoped it was at least a Slytherin, and judging by the complaining, he was almost certain it was. The girl, or boy with high pitched voice, grumbled as Madam Pomfrey laid back the sheets and did the obligatory pillow fluff.
"Alright dear, I'll be back in 10 minutes or so to check up on you and give you some dinner. Malfoy, let me check on that leg of yours..."
He himself started to grumble as he pulled his numb left leg and paining right leg, as well as his entire body flat onto the bed. Madam Pomfrey pressed certain parts of his leg, then came to the nightstand to feed him some more of the thick, murky potion. It globbed down his throat and was hard to swallow, but the pain lessened and the feeling in his left leg was coming back. He turned to his companion, to see if it was anyone interesting.
Interesting was quite an understatement to the word that came to mind when Malfoy saw Brooke in the cot next to his.
Her eyes widened and she quickly turned away, her expression cold and hard. He turned away just as quickly, his face flaming at the sight of his 'attacker'. He looked down at his chest. He cracked his knuckles. He adjusted his robe. He tried to touch his toes. He did anything so he didn't have to look at her. Because looking at her would not be fun. His face would flame again.
"Feeling pain?"
He didn't want to answer to the only person that had ever shamed him. It would not be fun.
"I'll take that as a yes."
Still silence. He looked adamantly at his toes.
"Because someone like you can't admit when he's wrong."
His toes really weren't that interesting.
"When he's in pain."
Maybe he needed nicer shoes?
"Because his head's just too big."
"Shut up!" he said angrily.
She didn't looked shocked at his outburst. Rather, she seemed like she was expecting it.
"You know its true, Malfoy."
"You wish."
"Oh do I? Your ego has nothing to do with me."
"Now that's lying, Manchester."
"How so?"
"If I didn't have a big ego, you wouldn't be so relenting about trying to take me down."
She looked at him strangely. "Are you insulting me or complimenting me?"
"A little of both."
"Well that's nice of you."
"Thank you." She shot him a dirty look.
"So what do you suppose is for dinner?" He was turning on the charm now, since his toes were sincerely boring.
"Don't talk to me."
"Why not?"
"Because you're wasting your breath."
"I don't think so."
"I do, so shut it."
"You're the one still talking."
She almost smiled at this, but forced the corners of her mouth down. Point one for Malfoy.
"Because you won't stop annoying me."
"You're letting me."
"How so?"
"If you didn't keep throwing back witty retorts, I'd eventually stop."
"That's not true."
"Was that an insult or a compliment?"
"Stop mocking me."
"Who says I was?" She noticed he was being incredibly out of character.
"I don't know, just...your tone!"
"My tone?"
"Stop it!"
"Stop what?" He had an innocent and very attractive smile on his face. She looked away.
"Just shut it! I'm not in the mood."
"What, are you hungry?"
"Why do you care?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Malfoy, just...stop talking."
She looked at him, and he looked back and smiled at her. She was befuddled by the past five minutes. Why was he being so calm? He had, technically, not said anything insulting toward her, Ron, or anything she might get ruffled about in general. He just asked questions. Strange.
And she had a tingle in her stomach which was either hunger or something she didn't want to contemplate...
How very strange indeed.