by Perr

Perr hopes this is good enough.

Draco's POV

It's been forty-seven minutes of Trelawney. Her wild hair and thick, fingerprint-lined glasses offer me no pleasant sight. Although, she really is some sort of a freak...

"My dear," her hollow voice had sounded out through a thick throat, "your cards speak of strange, curious truths." Slytherins had Divinations, and I remember a keen interest in the pit of my stomach of Tarot Cards. Initially.

"What?" It had come out a little too unsure and timid. I hate that portrayal. Malfoys are nothing like that. I stared at the large cards on the table. "What do they say?"

"Was this the first you drew?" Her short-nailed finger had tapped on a card. I didn't answer. "The Fool," she had said, eliciting some snickers from around. I narrowed my eyes. It was an image of a man on the edge of a cliff with his arms thrown open, the sun shining behind him and what seemed to be a knapsack tied to the end of a long pole. He looked jolly, holding it on his shoulder, tucked under his elbow.

"The Fool," she repeated, "fresh, open, spontaneous. Embracing whatever comes your way." Trelawney's eyes narrowed on the second card. "The Lovers."

I wasn't pleased, but even Crabbe gave it a 'hmm' look."The Fool, then---"

"Gods, woman, get to the point," I sneered vehemently.

"Mr. Malfoy, see yourself entering a stage when you will experience powerful... urges." I shifted in my seat. "You seem to yearn for a relationship, if not now, later. And the card tells me of the decisions you need to make. You eventually will have to stand up for your own beliefs."

"What absolute nonsense," I frowned, hating to be the cause of interested grins. The third card was a nude woman pouring water. The bottom of it read, 'The Star'.

"The Fool suffuses with a serene calm," the Professor proclaimed. "Leaving a beacon of hope and inspiration." I was ready to leave. "But wait, you've got a Knight, an Ace of Cups, and an Ace of Pentacles, to do with immaturity, intimacy, love, trust, security and groundedness."

"Interesting," Crabbe said. I smacked him. "What?"

The Professor turned and walked away. "For your namesake, I shan't elaborate." Groans filled the room.

And now, I can't believe that I had taken the piss from that freak. I'll never touch those cards again.

Strangely, I'm reminded of my mirror from the parcel I that had gotten this morning. Out of my pocket, I look into the mirror. The flowers are still tied to its corner and other than that, all I see is myself, my handsome face. Blonde-white locks, attractive quirk of lips. But oddly, it feels strange in my hands, like a lingering presence looming over me. I keep it in a safe place again.

Thankfully, class ends sooner than I think.

I get out quite quickly, and leave everyone behind. I hope no one can see the colour in my face. Turning up for transfigurations early might earn the house a few extra points anyway.

At the corner of my eye, I see red, chocolate and ebony heads, taking strolls down the corridor. I turn my head fully and my face is already plastering a smile.

"My, my, if it isn't Potter," I almost spit, voice coming out deep and precise.

"Aren't you ever tired of chiding us, Malfoy?" Granger defends.

"Stand down, Mudblood, no one's talking to your short little frame." Weasel looks to someone behind me –-big-sized Goyle, I sense-- and he says nothing.

Potter has a different, deep-set tone in his voice that, for a millisecond, I am taken aback by. "What do you want?"

"Nothing much," I reply, folding my arms. I'm slightly taller than him, which gives me some kind of upper hand. "Just measuring up our next duel."

"Give it up, Malfoy, you've lost plenty of times," Granger says. "Ignore him, Harry." She tugs on his cloak sleeve as a gesture for their intended departure.

The star Gryffindor seeker chooses to ignore her instead. He steps up to my face, and snaps, "Bring it on, then."

Immediately, my hands fly forward to shove him back. "Harry!" The mudblood exclaims, and with the help of Weasel, catches him and pulls him back, away from me. There's a glint in his eyes that's half-angry, half-nothing-I've- seen-before. He huffs, and then the three walk away. "I don't know what the bloody hell you were thinking, Harry," I hear the redhead say. Then they're completely gone.

"Hmm." I shake my head and bask in a moment of respite. Potter was standing a bit too close for my comfort. I'll only admit this much though: His rare- seen attitude triggered something quite excitable in me.

Still hate his half-blood guts, though.

I feel heat in my pocket and pull out the mirror again. It's got a blood red streak running from the top to quarter-way, very much on the left, small, and definitely, tainting my mirror. Nevermind. I'll just keep it for another few days.

I sigh.

All this heat, the weather, the Potter, and the tension just makes me want to scream.