Draco Malfoy and the Disownment Project
Chapter Five
Disclaimer: See Chapter One
Despite what Draco had said to Blaise, he was, in fact, feeling the immense pressure of impending failure. He would never admit it willingly, even under the threat of Unforgivable Curses, that he was extremely rattled by Lavender's refusal.
He tried to go through the rest of his day normally, attempting in earnest to put forth his normal, casually indifferent façade. Thankfully, he had no more classes with Blaise that day. She had always been able to see through his mask of unconcern, a fact that vexed him to no end.
Draco spent his least prolific hour in Arithmancy ever, in which Granger gave him dirty looks and Professor Vector handed out detention like Snape on stimulants. He was rather disappointed, as Arithmancy was usually one of his favorite classes, but he could not possibly bully his mind into behaving and he hadn't managed to evade a detention, either. It was with a slightly heavy heart, therefore, that he left the class and walked morosely to the Owlery to send a letter home to his mother.
Draco found his eagle owl in the corner of the Owlery, removed some parchment and a quill from the pocket of his velvet robes, and hastily scribbled a note to his mother. He restricted himself to strictly neutral and innocent subjects—the weather they had been having at Hogwarts ('It's been dreadful, mummy, all rainy and grey, but there is always the promise of sun on the horizon'), the new robes she had just sent him ('What a marvelous shade of blue! They accent my eyes perfectly and the fabric is absolutely heavenly. Send Madam Malkin my regards.'), what he'd had for supper ('I ate a most scrumptious stew the other day—though it couldn't possibly hold a candle to one of your delightful recipes!'). His dear mum was a bit of a worrier and she wasn't above nagging, so Draco tried his best to discourage all potential prying by stuffing his notes home with loads of information about how well he was living here at school. Hyperbole, all of it, but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. He was often amazed by how quickly he could fill five long-winded pages without really saying anything. He closed with a request for a boxful of sweets ('The next Hogsmeade trip is a month away and I'd really love a nice snack to have while I'm studying!), then tied the letter to his owl's leg and watched as it flew off.
He lingered for a bit, amusing himself slightly by spooking random owls in the room. If anything could lift his spirits, it was the prospect of candy from home and passing the time by tormenting the innocents. As he poked an old barn old with his wand, he felt his mood slowly rising from the depths of despair and depression to vaguely melancholy. Seemingly from out of nowhere, and taking Draco by complete surprise, a snowy white owl swooped down and raked the top of his head with its talons.
"OW!" Draco screamed, his hand flying to his head to check for blood and to smooth down any stray hairs that the beastly owl may have kicked up. "You stupid, bloody bird! What is with you monsters!? First that hippogriff in third year, now this! Is every feathered creature in this place trying to kill me!?"
The owl made an angry sort of noise and glared down at him, her large amber eyes full of bird-like scorn. It figured that Harry Potter's owl, for who else owned a snowy owl than that sissy boy, would be just as self-righteous as her owner.
He stomped out of the Owlery, muttering darkly about Gryffindor tendencies popping up in the birdlife at Hogwarts. He made his way huffily down the stairs where he shoved a Hufflepuff second year into a broom closet and locked him in, then stalked into the library to grab a few books for his homework. Draco gathered several books for Potions and Charms, then spent ten minutes searching the place for what he would really need. He finally found it in the very back, close to the restricted section. It was a very large, well-worn, dusty old thing that had helped many a Hogwarts graduate pass their Arithmancy N.E.W.T., and it was currently just out of reach of a very short Ravenclaw with curly hair. He reached up under the pretense of helping her, and she turned around to thank him. When she saw just who it was who had aided her, however, her smile of thanks turned into a scowl.
"Why, thank you Malfoy," she said with a sneer, her hand outstretched expectantly. "So you do have a heart. How touching."
Draco smirked. "It's not for you, you silly little swot," he said, loving the way her eyes narrowed in thinly-veiled dislike. "I have a test to pass this year, and quite frankly, that is all that matters. Next time, may I suggest a footstool? Ta, now!"
He turned on his heel and walked serenely to the checkout table as he listened delightedly at the remarks now emanating from the girl. He grabbed a collection of biographies of Dark Lords of the last few centuries on a whim, and handed his selections over to Madam Pince. He gave her a jaunty smile, perfectly showing every last one of his sparkling white teeth. She merely narrowed her eyes at him. A man with less self-confidence than Draco Malfoy may have thought he was losing his touch. Draco merely comforted himself with the knowledge that Pince, like Granger, was too in love with books to notice any mere mortal boy, despite how ravishing his good looks were. Personally, he didn't know how they did it. If he were a girl, he would be all over him.
He was forcibly reminded of his terrible mood when he exited the library and caught sight of Lavender Brown, moving in a giggling pack and not noticing him. He quickly headed toward the Slytherin common rooms before that particularly situation could be rectified. As his surroundings grew progressively gloomier, his frame of mind followed suit. The dungeons really were a horrible place to live. So cold, dark, and drab. Draco could do simply magical things with the ornamentation if only he had the chance. He may even let Blaise help. She seemed to like color, after all. And regardless of what he had previously said to the contrary, the girl really wasn't too bad of a dresser. She was not anywhere near his level, but who was, really, and the Bohemian look really was somewhat appropriate for her. Draco, of course, was fond of the elitist look, but to each his own.
He eventually reached the Slytherin common rooms, gave the password, and rushed up to his dormitory without a word to anyone. He threw his books carelessly onto his bedside table, knocking over most of his hair products in the process. He executed a perfect swan dive to land precisely on the center of his bed, carried out an agile somersault to top it off, and in one smooth motion he closed the curtains and flipped himself onto his back to stare unseeingly at the top of the canopy. He gave himself a perfect ten for performance before settling back into grief. He had a date with dolor and he did not intend to be interrupted for quite some time.
How could this have happened to him? If there was one thing on a list of a great many things Draco had never struggled with, it was the female persuasion. It was a talent, a gift, an art form, you could say. And it was wholly and thoroughly natural. Until today. Never had Draco dreamed of the day when he would fail to get any girl he wanted, especially a ditzy, empty- headed one like Lavender Brown that he was simply using to further an evil ploy. It was supposed to have been like taking candy from a baby, though as Voldemort himself had proven on many occasions, some found that harder than others.
Draco felt his soul gradually slipping away into the very maws of anguish and suffering. His claim to fame, his favorite pastime, the most important thing that he had staked his existence on, had finally, it seemed, forsaken him. Not once in his seventeen years had such an easy opportunity been wrenched away from him. Never in his life had such effortless prey slipped from his grasp. More importantly, never in his teenage years had he been refused by a girl. He consoled himself with the thoughts that he hadn't really been refused. It had been more like a reluctant decline. Nevertheless, one fact permeated Draco's muddled, woebegone mind, and that was that for the first time ever, he hadn't gotten the girl he wanted. Until this afternoon, his womanizing had always produced results that had been more than satisfactory. His perfect record was forever tarnished.
You're better off, he tried to convince himself. You'll find a new way in. A better way.
Draco rolled over once more and put his face in his hands. He couldn't fool himself. Lavender was the perfect way in to the Gryffindors and he had blown it. If only he had given his silvery laugh, or displayed his sleek yet manly Quidditch muscles. If he had only thought to give an extra, aloof little head toss that would have set his hair off to a most flagrant advantage. If only...
He stopped his brooding abruptly as he heard the dormitory door open, then close once more. It couldn't possibly be those goons, Crabbe or Goyle. The footsteps now rapidly crossing the room were much to light and quick to belong to those bungling fools. He supposed that the mystery person might be Nott, who was considerably less bulky than Draco's troll-like bodyguards. Yes, it had to be Nott. He was probably just coming up to grab a book or something. That would be it. Draco had just rolled onto his side when he heard a familiar huffy breath and the unmistakable sounds of curtains being roughly opened. He whipped around to find his accomplice, standing with her hands on her hips, once foot tapping impatiently, as she looked down at him, an eyebrow raised.
"Blaise!" he shrieked. "What if I hadn't been decent!?"
"Oh thank heavens you were. Thank God for your stupid velvet robes you import from all corners of the world," she said, cringing. "I will be saying extra prayers of indebtedness tonight that you're not into sleeping in the nude, Malfoy, or I would have been blinded, and to be blunt, as scarred for life as Potter. I cannot even imagine the therapy bills. They'd have to stick me in St. Mungo's. I would be given a comfy little bed right next to all the other unfortunate people who have lost their minds. I may have even been worse off than the rest of them, for what could be more horrible than the sight you just hinted at?! I can just see myself sitting there, staring at the walls, blibbering inarticulately—much like you speak, actually—about the awful sight that I stumbled upon in my youth. I'd be completely and irrevocably incoherent. I'd–"
"Shut up now, Blaise. Let's not mislead ourselves. You would have been enraptured and inspired to make statues and paintings of my incredibly magnificent countenance."
"I will not even attempt to begin counting the absolute wrongs buried in that egocentric remark."
"Why are you here, anyway?"
Blaise rolled her eyes upward, clenching her teeth tightly. When she finally looked back down at Draco, it was with a horribly forced smile. Draco thought it looked more like a grimace.
"Well, Draco," she said slowly and carefully, "you've been avoiding me which leads me to think that you're sulking. And the only reason for that would be because your pride has taken a blow. You can try to pretend otherwise, but you never miss a chance to boast unless you're self- conscious, and while that doesn't happen often as you have a ridiculously high opinion of yourself, it seems that way now. So stop hiding and come downstairs so we can fix you up and have you right back to your normal, conceited self."
"Why do you care?"
She sighed. "For some reason, and I blame this on a rare lapse of judgment, I promised that I would help you on your stupid little quest. I'm a lot of things, but a promise-breaker isn't one of them. So, if God forbid, I need to mend your broken self-esteem to help you on your way, then I'm going to do it. Besides, the sooner you're satisfied and on your evil way, the sooner I can get back to my normal life."
She reached for his hand and pulled him bodily from the room.
"Blaise! I wanted to mope in peace!"
"Well, tough. We can't always get what we want, now can we?"
She led him to a secluded corner in the common room and shoved him into a chair. He landed softly and settled himself into a pococurante yet elegant pose. Blaise stifled a laugh and forced her face into a look of assumed concern.
"Now, tell me, Draco," she said in a calm, soothing voice, "what it is that is plaguing you."
Draco remembered his promise to remain silent on this matter.
"Nothing is wrong," he muttered, not quite meeting her eye.
"Oh sure," she said sarcastically. "Nothing is wrong. You are always so cowed that a lack of bravado would not be worrying in the least. Let's just pretend that I've pestered you for hours so you can quit playing your little game and just be out with it."
"Why must you constantly spew forth such vitriol?"
"Please, Malfoy, I revel in it."
He gave a pretentious sigh. "If you insist upon knowing...." He trailed off, hoping that Blaise would get the point and leave him alone. He had no such luck.
"I do insist. You're humiliated by being turned down by a girl, aren't you?"
Draco reddened slightly. Blaise looked triumphant.
"Obviously. But what's the big deal? Everyone gets a negative answer once in awhile."
"Not me!" said Draco in anguish. "I never have! This is all new to me! How am I supposed to act?"
Blaise's mouth twitched. "I think this might be good for you. You will just have to pick yourself up and start anew. What's the plan, Boss?"
Draco thought. Just because he had been turned down once didn't mean he was out of the game! Lavender had been jumping at the chance for a study date. He'd just have to get Seamus out of the way—then his path would be just as clear and easy as it had been before. He had just needed to put in all into perspective.
"Well, we'll press on!" he said loudly, thrusting his fist into the air. "My new plan is to make myself as visible as possible! Then Lavender will realize what she's missing!"
"Merlin," said Blaise, laughing and shaking her head, "it doesn't take long for you to regain your confidence, does it?"
Draco patted her arm affectionately. "And it's all thanks to you, Blaise. Starting tomorrow, Operation Overexposure will be put into action!"
"And I'm praying that by overexposure you only mean making yourself more visible in a completely clothed way, correct?"
"Of course, Blaise, what did you think?"
"I was just making sure I was clear, as my mental health seems to be perilously drifting toward extreme jeopardy with you."
"Tomorrow we will make Lavender covet what she does not have. She'll be in our clutches within a week!"
"If you say so," said Blaise.
Author's Note: It is a sad, sad day for my fandom. J.K. Rowling has finally talked about that elusive Blaise Zabini's gender, and our worst fears have been realized: it's a boy. Now really, what is a parody author to do when she's writing her first Slytherin story and she needs a sassy girl to counter Draco? She can't use Pansy or Millicent, that's for sure. Sigh. Well, for obvious reasons, Blaise will remain a girl in my story, as I can't very well change her into a boy now (the 1997-1998 school year doesn't include a leap year, for one), so let's call it artistic license and be done with it.
Also, chapters may start coming out less frequently as I seem to have pulled a Hermione circa PoA.