West Side Story
ACT 1 SCENE II
Back in the Slytherin Common room sat Draco Malfoy, directly in front of the fire, the warm light tickling his face as he worked on a lengthy potions essay. It was near the end of the day—classes were over, although dinner had not yet been served and neither had the dance been started.
Blaise entered the room and walked silently over to him, twirling a piece of her jet black hair around a perfectly manicured finger.
"Coming tonight?" she asked him.
"No," he said simply, not looking up.
"Why not?" Blaise asked angrily. It bothered her that he had been so quiet the past month. "You're freaking me out lately, you know."
"Well then don't talk to me. Problem solved."
"DRACO!" Blaise shouted. "You arrogant twit, tell me what's wrong with you!" She stood up to stand in front of him, blocking the light from his face. He looked up at her, annoyed.
"I don't think so Blaise," he said. "Go bother Potter, I'm busy, and you're blocking the light."
Blaise shook her head. "Draco Malfoy. Tell me RIGHT NOW what the hell is wrong with you," she shrieked, throwing her hands in the air.
"You don't want to know," he said.
"To hell I don't! Tell me!"
Draco sighed deeply. "Fine," he said sharply, in a voice that made Blaise almost regret making him talk. "Ever since my father had been locked up in that bloody prison, I've been having this...dream. I'm always reaching out, like I'm some sort of idiot. I've written the manor to find out what the hell is going on..."
"Reaching out? For what?" Blaise demanded, feeling weird about his story. Draco Malfoy was having... "dreams"? Dear Lord, alert the media.
"You think I would know?" he said quickly. "It's so close, I can almost get to it, but I can't. It's going to drive me mad. It's not even that important, but it's getting...well...annoying."
"Why do you want to get it? Ignore it," Blaise offered.
"I can't, that's the thing. It's like...getting a Gryffindor. You know it's pointless, but you can't resist..."
"You don't do that anymore."
"I do," Draco said hotly.
"You can't resist because they're people, Draco. But you've boxed yourself up lately...it's weird."
"It's not irresistible being a Slytherin if that's what you mean. Believe me."
"Whatever," said Blaise. "What I came here for though wasn't to talk about that. I need to ask you a favor."
Draco leaned back in his chair, and turned his essay over.
"We need you for a duel--an all out one, no returns. It'll be huge...but not without you. You're one of the best the Slytherins have got. Be in charge of it. With me."
"Blaise, no. I've had it with all these stupid elaborate schemes to get at the Gryffindors, why can't you see that they're not even worth it?"
"We can't sit back and watch them pick us out, one by one, and ruin our school and lives! Come on, they fight hard, and we've got to too. Do it for me," Blaise said, the last part softly. She was very good at getting what she wanted. "And besides, I already told everyone you'd come to the dance tonight. We're going to propose to the Gryffindors," she added smiling seductively.
Draco sighed and put away his paper, scowling. "Fine."
Blaise laughed, and let herself drop into the tall-backed armchair Draco had been sitting in. She was sitting in his lap, and this made him roll his eyes. "Oh, I love you," she joked, toying with the power she felt like she had over everyone else in the school. Draco frowned.
"If I end up regretting this," he hissed, "you'll be the one to deal with it."
"I'll see you at nine!" she chirped, ignoring him, and strode out of the room once again.
Draco was finally alone. Alone, angry, and annoyed: the three A's that were never a good combination when applied to a Malfoy.
So he had let Blaise talk him into going to the dance. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to go, or that he was strictly against it, he had actually been rather indifferent. The only reason that he had made such a deal out of the matter was probably because it had been Blaise, once again, trying to get him to do something for her. She was tricky that way.
"Damn it," he whispered to nobody.
Maybe, he began to think, the dreams had something in connection with the dance. Maybe what he was looking for would be there. Was he looking to be a part of the Slytherin's highest crowd? No, he was still fairly near the top. He wanted to shout at the dreams, to tell them to either get the fuck away from him, or to stop teasing him, taunting him with the prospect of something...something new, good, exciting...something coming.
ACT I SCENE III
Lavender Brown and Hermione Granger, two intelligent Gryffindors, stood in their sixth year dormitory. In the air was the buzzing with the frenzied excitement of the upcoming dance, and the two girls fussed over a short plain dress laid out on one of the school beds.
"It looks...boring," observed Lavender. The dress was a simple pale yellow, wide-strapped and down to just above the knees.
Hermione was not a fashion bug, but was able to agree. "Definitely," she said. "Maybe we could magic the neck down a bit..."
"Brilliant!" shouted Lavender. "Brilliant, let's just...ah...er...wait. Hermione. What about Harry?" she asked. Lavender had currently been dating Harry, although only after Hermione had broken up with him the first week of school. They had gotten together over the summer.
"What about him?" Hermione asked.
"Wouldn't it make him...I don't know...uncomfortable? Besides, he told me that you looked better in plain clothes. Simple ones."
"And your point?"
"How about we keep it the way it is," said Lavender. She appeared to be having a difficult time restraining herself; she obviously agreed with Hermione. But her connection to Harry, she felt, was too important to chance something like that.
"Oh come on," Hermione tried. "I'm not asking to look like a prostitute; I'm just suggesting we take...say...one inch off the neck. How much can one inch do?"
"Too much."
"Lavender!" Hermione shrieked, and began to laugh. "You, of all people."
"I know, I know," she said, screwing up her face with guilt. "It's just that—"
"One inch," interrupted Hermione.
"No!"
"Well then what's the point of going to the dance if I'm going to be wearing...this?"
Lavender winked. "Ron," she said. Lavender, ever the matchmaker, had been trying to set the two of them up for ages. She constantly acted as the go- between for them, delivering messages and planning dates or trips to Hogsmeade together.
"Ahh...no, Lavender. I just don't...feel anything about Ron. He's my friend!"
"Feel? What do you expect to 'feel'?" she raised an eyebrow.
"I don't know. But what do you feel when you look at Harry? Think of it that way."
Lavender grinned slyly. "It's when I don't look that it happens..." she said in a quiet voice.
Hermione gaped at her. "Lavender!" she shouted and gave her a reprimanding look. Lavender laughed.
"Well if this bothers you so much then don't come to the dance."
"I have to go! Everyone goes, and nobody would leave me alone if I didn't."
"Exactly," said Lavender slowly. "And for the next dance...we'll lower the neck." She smiled. "Just try this on like it is."
Hermione went into the bathroom and changed into the yellow dress, examining herself in front of the mirror before she went back into the dormitory. She decided that it wasn't as bad as it had looked spread out on the bed. Now that it was on, she could see how it hugged her figure and went very well with the color of her skin and hair. She walked out.
"It looks fine!" shouted Lavender.
"It does," said Hermione, twirling around. "That was the stupidest argument we've ever had."
"I agree."
There was a knock on the door. "Are you ready? You've been in there for almost an hour!" shouted the anxious voice of Harry Potter. Lavender scuttled over and let him in, followed closely by Ron Weasley.
"We're ready," she said firmly, looking at Hermione and then to Ron, smiling to herself. "Isn't Hermione's dress gorgeous, Ron?" she said.
"Er...yeah." Ron shuffled his feet.
"Come on, we've got to go," said Lavender hastily. "This is the first dance of the year!"
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