A/N: This is part two in the Draco character development series! Enjoy!

Lacy

Draco didn't see Gwendolyn again until the first day of classes at Hogwarts. He and Crabbe and Goyle had discovered Neville Longbottom pacing back and forth outside the greenhouses before Herbology and had decided to give him a little attention.

"Oy! Loser!" Draco called with barely concealed glee. He was always most in his element when he had someone to jeer at, someone to belittle, and he had just the taunt to send Longbottom over the edge. He'd been saving it up all summer since his father had told him what had happened at the Ministry, and he was dying to use it.

Longbottom stopped dead in his tracks and drew his wand at the sound of Draco's voice. Crabbe snickered at the sight as they approached the cowardly boy, but Draco tensed ever so slightly; Longbottom was one of the idiots who'd decided to take lessons from Potter in defense. Not that it would do them any good of course.

"Have a nice summer on the mental ward, Loser?" Draco taunted as he and his friends stopped a few feet from where Longbottom was standing. Longbottom didn't reply, he merely clenched his fist tightly around his wand. Fine, Draco thought to himself, time to cut to the chase.

"My aunt wanted me to tell you hello," he began genially enough. Longbottom's forehead creased in confusion, but still he didn't say anything. "She awfully enjoyed meeting you, she said. In fact, my father told me that my aunt Bella took quite an interest in you." That had done it. At the mention of her name, Longbottom had visibly tensed, his face beginning to turn red, and beads of sweat breaking out across his pudgy face. Draco almost laughed out loud at how easy it was. "Seems she saw quite a family resemblance -- something in the way you twitched and screamed..."

"Tired of picking fights with me already, Malfoy?" a voice shouted from somewhere behind him, and Draco felt his insides turn cold with hatred at the sound. "Or are you just tired of losing?" Very slowly and deliberately, Draco turned to face the aberration as he ran across the damp grass towards them. He sneered with loathing at the abhorrent face of Harry Potter. He felt Crabbe and Goyle take a step forward in his defense, and he forced himself to smile.

"Ah," Draco said smoothly, running his hand through his white blonde hair, "the great Harry Potter arrives. Have they added 'Longbottom's Body Guard' to your Chocolate Frog card yet? Only a matter of time, I suppose..." Crabbe and Goyle chuckled appreciatively on cue, and Draco felt his confidence building as Potter sidled up next to Longbottom and they exchanged significant looks.

"All right there, Harry? Neville?" It was Ron Weasley with his Mudblood Granger in tow. His face was flushed and his wand was drawn.

"Oh look, Potter," Draco drawled. "The cavalry's arrived. Too bad your army's made up of Mudbloods and weasels."

He was about to make another decidedly witty and cutting remark, when he saw something that almost made him forget that Harry Potter even existed. Just cresting the nearby rise in the hill was Gwendolyn Griffiths.

Potter, Longbottom and the rest momentarily forgotten, Draco brushed past them to meet the young woman walking directly towards him.

"Gwendolyn!" he drawled smoothly, walking up to her. "We meet again!" He took her hand in his own and kissed it.

"Hello, Draco," she said. Potter, Longbottom, and Weasley all turned to stare and Draco felt triumphant. He fancied he could almost feel the jealousy radiating off of them as they watched him with the beautiful American girl. At that moment, however, he realized that Gwendolyn wasn't looking at him any longer, but over his shoulder at Potter.

"Tell me," Draco continued in his most charming voice, "has Potter been bothering you?" Gwendolyn smiled slightly.

"Not at all," she replied. "Actually, he was just showing me to class." Draco felt a surge of anger pulse through him as he turned and shot Potter a very black look. He was pleased, at least, to see that Potter looked no happier than he felt.

"Had I but known," he continued, turning back to Gwendolyn, "I would have offered to escort you myself. You see, I was hoping to renew our acquaintance. Your father whisked you off so quickly that I didn't get a chance to thank you properly for the dance we shared." Gwendolyn lowered her eyes demurely, and Draco wondered if he had made her blush. He looked triumphantly back at Potter who had gone pale and positively green about the edges with envy.

Just then, dumpy Professor Sprout came bustling around the corner jingling a fat ring of keys. "Sorry I'm late," she said brightly. "In you go now, we've got lots to do!"

"Saved by the bell, Potter," Draco laughed as he pushed past Potter and Longbottom, Gwendolyn's elbow clutched in his pale hand. He walked to the greenhouse door and held it open, smiling at her. He thought he felt her pause slightly as she looked back at Potter before allowing him to lead her into the warm greenhouse. Good manners, he decided. She was simply trying to be polite. His mother would approve.

But for the rest of the class, Draco couldn't help but notice that his lovely partner seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time looking across the greenhouse to where Potter and Longbottom were butchering their project. In fact, she was so distracted, that she accidentally tipped an overly full container of manure directly into his brand new leather book bag. He assured her it was nothing as they left the greenhouses, and that he would write his father and have a new one sent in the morning, but she seemed less than interested.

"What class do you have next?" he asked as he held the door open for her, carrying the offending bag as far away from her as he could. "I would be happy to--"

"Thanks, Draco, but I think I can find it myself," she said curtly before breaking into a run up the slippery hill in the rain. As she crested the top of the first rise, he distinctly heard her call, "Harry! Harry, wait!"

Draco clenched his fists as he felt the cold pit of jealousy that had been forming in his stomach grow by several sizes.

Over the next week it became increasingly apparent to Draco that Potter had somehow managed to beat him to the finish line once again. It didn't add up, didn't make sense. In the well ordered world he'd been brought up in, weak, meddlesome blood traitors did not ever have the upper hand. It was the pureblood families that ruled, and rightfully so with an iron fist. Yet here, in this castle, the place his father had once referred to as "the best and worst thing to happen to a man," here, everything was different. Nothing made sense in the order of things as he knew them to be. Blood counted for practically nothing in every house other than his own, and even the Slytherins were beginning to watch in horror as the hierarchical foundations of their world began to crumble at the edges. Mudbloods were at the top of the class and the stars of the Quiddich teams, and one Harry Potter seemed to be determined to beat Draco at everything he tried.

When Draco had dreamed of a spot on the Slytherin house team, Harry Potter was already on the Gryffindor team, and the youngest Seeker in a century. When Draco wanted to discover who the heir of Slytherin was, Harry Potter was already in the Chamber of Secrets. When Draco wanted to win the Quiddich Cup, Harry Potter was snatching the Snitch out from under his nose.

On and on it went. When Draco wanted to enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Harry Potter won it. When Draco wanted to earn his father's respect, Harry Potter had it, in a loathsome sort of way. And now, when Draco wanted Gwendolyn Griffiths, it seemed Harry Potter already had her, too.

He had tried being friendly and flirtatious with Gwendolyn. He had found her sitting alone at the Ravenclaw table before Potter in his gang had emerged from their ridiculous Defense class and had tried to strike up a conversation.

"Gwendolyn, you're looking lovely, as usual," he said smoothly, drawing up next to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. His fingers brushed her hair and he felt a shiver go up his spine at its luxurious softness. How he would love to run his fingers through it...

"Oh. Hello Draco." Her voice was flat, hollow. She shifted slightly and his hand slipped off of her shoulder. He took this as an invitation to sit down and, shooting a furtive glance around the room to make sure that no one was watching -- no one important at least -- he dropped down onto the bench next to her.

"What classes do you have this afternoon?" he asked conversationally, trying to look into her lovely bright blue eyes. She looked away demurely and began rummaging about in her bag.

"Care of Magical Creatures," she replied, pulling out a textbook and opening it to the side of her plate. Draco scoffed.

"I do as well," he said sympathetically. "It's taught by that disgusting half-breed Hagrid. He can barely speak clearly, let alone teach, and he's always bringing these frightfully unruly beasts to class. I wanted to drop the class, but father insisted I take at least five N.E.W.T.s..." He leaned towards her conspiratorially. "In our third year he showed us a hippogriff and it attacked me, completely unprovoked!" He held out his arm and flexed it experimentally for her. "It's a lucky thing I have quick reflexes or I could have been dead. Father tried to have him sacked straight away, but he's a pet favorite of Dumbledore's..." Gwendolyn made a vague noise of agreement, her nose buried in her book. Draco frowned slightly. He wasn't used to being ignored.

Deciding to try a different tact, he reached out and grabbed her book away from her, snapping it shut. She stared at him and he grinned playfully. Unfortunately, she didn't seem amused.

"May I have my book back please?" she asked firmly, her eyes never leaving his face. They seemed a bit harder, a bit colder blue than he remembered. She held out her hand to take the book and he held it further away from her.

"I just wanted to catch your attention," he said, still smiling his most charming Malfoy smile. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you weren't pleased to see me." Gwendolyn continued to stare at him. He expected her to counter with apologies and excuses of overdue homework or impending essays, but she merely continued to stare, without smiling.

Anger began welling up inside Draco as he slapped the book down onto the table. Gwendolyn took it, opened it, and began trying to find her place. "I'm going to go grab a bite to eat," he said finally, trying one last time, "but I'd be happy to show you down to class after." She did not look up from her book.

"That's OK," she said firmly. "Harry's going to show me."

Draco didn't really remember much of the rest of his lunch. He had gone back to his table in a cloud of angry fog and poked at the food that Pansy put in front of him. She was blathering on about something or other, as she was wont to do, and he had long ago found that if he just agreed whenever she paused for breath, he could happily occupy his mind with other things. He had watched as Harry Potter and his retinue of admirers had entered the Great Hall looking like the cats who've caught the pixies, all secretive and pleased with themselves. And then he watched in horror as Gwendolyn, apparently no longer the least bit interested in her text book hurried happily across the hall to sit next to Potter at the Gryffindor table.

The feelings bubbling up inside him were fiercely strong as he followed the ridicules oaf of a teacher up one stairway after another. He could see Gwendolyn talking cheerfully with Potter and his friends up ahead of him, and it made him want to draw his wand and hex them all. But he and Nott were seriously outnumbered by Potter devotees in this class.

He tried to expend some of his venom on Weasley's head, and then on Hagrid's, but the futility of it only seemed to exacerbate his wrath, especially as he watched Gwendolyn voluntarily partner up with Longbottom. The boy was little better than a squib! Didn't she have any pride?

He didn't know why he decided to kill the Gargoyle really. When Nott had located it hiding under a ledge, the idea had just come to him, and with barely a thought, he had pointed his wand at the creature and muttered the curse.

He had been practicing all summer, of course, with his private tutor. They'd used garden gnomes for the most part, and Draco had particularly enjoyed the odd keening noises they made when subjected to the Crucius curse. He'd also enjoyed the small flicker of pride on his father's face when the tutor had told him he'd never seen someone so young master an Unforgivable Curse so quickly.

The Gargoyle fell over with a dull thud. That was the problem with the Killing Curse, Draco felt: awfully anticlimactic. He had hoped that he would receive some kind of catharsis from killing the repulsive little monster. Instead, all he had gotten were a few detentions, fifty points taken from Slytherin, and a letter home to his father, who had reprimanded him for being a show off and drawing unwelcome attention to his abilities.

None of that bothered him, however. He'd even managed to repress the squirming feelings he'd had when he'd first started using the curses. He hardly even noticed it any more. The thing that bothered him, was that when he'd done it, at first he'd wished that Gwendolyn was there to see what he'd done. And then he'd wished that he'd been able to do it to her.