A/N: Hello again one and all, my dearest little readers! It's been a bit of a while, I'm afraid, but blame that on school and my sudden inability to write anything on the computer. Instead, this chapter came out slowly in my notebook during Latin class. So forgive me if it's short or otherwise under par.

Enjoy!

I had been spending most of my free time either shut up in my rooms or out on the Quidditch pitch. The time I spent hiding away usually (and improbably) became entirely committed to schoolwork. It was easy enough to keep my mind off of Ginny as long as I kept it occupied with other work.

Over the period of time that Ginny and Todd spent together, my grades slowly rose until at last I was second in the class only to Granger, and by a small margin. Despite the fact that I still harbored a deep-seated hatred and contempt for Potter, I gradually began to spend time with Granger, seeking to better my grade further and pass her in the rankings. It was hard work, but I found some kind of inexplicable solace in it.

I spent the remainder of my time tiring my body, so that when I retired to my bed, rest came more easily that it usually did. A tired body and a tired mind inevitably helped to lure me, a proven insomniac, to sleep.

Sunny afternoons became designated for solo Quidditch practice, chasing my snitch up and down the pitch, and learning new moves on my broom. These stunts I picked up mostly from watching other seekers, both live (Potter) and magically reproduced.

In the small amount of spare time I had, I applied myself to the abstract expressionism of art, letting all of my daily anguishes drain away through my hand into the lines it carved into the pages of my sketchbook.

All in all, my days passed as such: wake up, groom, eat, go to classes, practice Quidditch, eat, go to the rest of my classes, practice Quidditch, study, eat, study, draw, groom, sleep. And somehow, this overly-full schedule managed to extricate Ginny from my thoughts—as long as I kept my eyes from wandering during meals.

However, she always managed to slip through the bars of the cell I'd put her into within my subconscious when I drew. The curves of her body, the tint of her cheek, the flaming redness of her hair; it all emerged when I let myself go, as I inevitably did when I drew. Page after page of my sketchbook I filled with Ginny. She was becoming something of an obsession, even when I was away from her.

I only allowed myself fantasies of her. I hadn't spoken a single word to her since our heated argument in the Great Hall.

All of my friends thought I was going crazy.

Pansy had taken to fawning over me again now that Ginny appeared to be out of my picture.

At first I tried to ignore her. But she became more persistent in her mission, always managing to find excuses to touch me. I told her to stop. She doubled her efforts. Soon, she was trying to sit in my lap and was calling herself my girlfriend. Until I gave her real proof that I honestly didn't want her, she wasn't going to stop, either.

One day Pansy came to visit me in my rooms. I was busy with my sketchbook, sprawled comfortably on my oversized bed, my bare feet hanging off of the side, my hand threaded through my fine hair, my elbow propping it up as my other hand sketched. I paused to set down my orange pencil, trading it for a red one. I always drew Ginny in red; different shades of red and orange.

The way I drew her was extremely systematic. I drew in a simple sketch with a regular pencil, and then I would change it out for an orange one, adding color to her hair and her skin. A red pencil followed soon after that, putting a blush upon her cheeks and neck, and darker hues in her hair. I didn't usually draw her clothed; instead, I drew her fair skin, in all its bare beauty, as I imagined it would look. This wasn't out of some inner sexual desire on my part. No, it was out of a desire for Ginny herself—all of her. And this was the only way I could have her.

I didn't hear Pansy come in. She, like Ginny, Crabbe, Goyle, and my godfather Severus, had been keyed into my wards, and knew all of the passwords that would dissolve them. I was in the middle of adding the flush to Ginny's neck, shoulders, and chest that I figured would be there if I were to see her so close (and so exposed) in person. My hand shifted down to the twin globes of her breasts as Pansy spoke, giving me my first proof that she was present. "Still in denial, Draco?" she asked, slinking over to my bed.

"No...that's you, love," I replied quietly, not looking up from my work as I shaded in the warmth only my eyes could see in Ginny.

Pansy peered over my shoulder, and pulled a face. "A bit pervy, don't you think?" she questioned, obviously referring to my sketch.

"Not at all," was my short, undisturbed answer. I paused to admire my own work. I added a few finishing touches, and rolled off of my bed, walking to a section of the stone wall. I pressed the sketch against it, where it stayed, for I'd placed a sticking charm upon the stones. I stepped back with a hint of a smile.

Almost all of that part of the wall was covered in my various sketches of Ginny.

"Obsess much?" commented Pansy dryly, coming to stand by my side.

"Can't help it," I muttered, in a very un-Malfoy-esque tone. "But I hope it discourages you some," I added.

This was very, very wrong of me. My father had promised me to Pansy years ago. I was supposed to be madly in love with her, not trying to avoid her affections! That was why she had been included in my wards from the start. Father expected her to be in my rooms often, and expected her to "spend the night" on occasion; I had yet to let her stay through a night. I didn't trust her not to try and take advantage of me. See, Pansy was one of those girls; she'd jump you as soon as speak to you. Needless to say, I always kept my guard up around her.

"I doubt you could ever discourage me, Draco," she retorted. She was close enough now that I could feel her body heat radiating towards me.

"Back off, please, Pansy," I said softly, evenly, my voice holding the menacing tone of warning and command that only a Malfoy seemed to be able to control. My eyes were as cold as ice, but devoid of emotion.

A hideous simper emerged on her face. She took a step back. "Why don't you want me, Draco?" she asked pathetically, turning so that she was face-to-face with me. Now all I could see was her, blocking out my wall of sketches.

"Why don't I want you," I repeated calmly. I got right up in her face. "Why don't I want you? Maybe it's because you're a bloody beastly little girl who only wants me because of my money and status. You're nothing but a blinkered, gold-digging whore unable to do anything but what you're asked to do. And since you're so damned good as taking orders, Pansy dear, why don't you move your arse right out of my room and leave me the hell alone!" I finished, my eyes now filled with an angry fire.

Pansy stared at me with wide eyes, and slowly backed away from me. She hit the wall, gasped, and ran straight for the door, not stopping to look back.

I sighed in relief, and collapsed onto my bed, rubbing my eyes. At least that stupidity was over. Or at least I could think it was.

A/N: Here's a poll. Please leave your answers as reviews.

Who would like to see skinny-dipping!Draco?

How amazing! This chapter was longer than most of the others I've written! Perhaps I ought to try writing at school more often. :D

And again, much love to my beta Herbie (hearts!).