Here's chap 7. Im so so sorry it took so long. I've been so so busy, and I'm moving out of the house.. It's very hectic.. This is un-beta... Hope you guys would enjoy it. I'll try to update as soon as I can. Later.
.Draco got to Transfiguration—Lord, bless me! Don't let class be a bloody killer—just in time for Zabini, as Draco was sitting down next to him, to hiss in his ear—"Parkinson was looking for you at lunch. She didn't buy the solitude excuse. She bloody screeched in my ears."—and for McGonagall to stride purposefully into the classroom, to the front.
Not so blessed, it appeared for Draco, they were having Transfiguration with the Gryffin-dorks. Draco effortlessly brought attention when he entered the room, especially Potter's, who was as far as he was concerned, a fixed glare could say volumes. Threatening volumes; that is. Potter was sitting at the table next to Draco and Zabini's, and while he was pointedly staring at Draco, Weasley (Ron) was looking to the front, but at nothing in particular. His back was impossibly straight and his eyes were boring, focused but no precision.
When Draco first came in, which, except the Slytherins—they were still chatting, plotting, softly among themselves— the class, became hushed. Silent accusations were goaled at him. Draco didn't notice it at first, thinking it was caused probably; McGonagall was marching into the class, but when a trickle feeling scratched his back, he became aware of the charging looks. The air was full of tension, that if indictments were less dilute, none would be able to respire. Looking back from Weasley to the rests of the Gryffindors, the Slytherins were abashed of the episode, which they knew nothing about and didn't care to take heed of it. But now, where oxygen was weaker than the rests of the air-polluting factors, the Slytherins could not help to response to the occurrences. Something was on, and few of them already were jotting down notes, probably to alert others on the Weekly Meeting. They weren't too dense to not be aware, to whom the hatred the Lions channelled to. Slytherins are excellence, particularly in scheming, and eluding, and forestalling.
Draco weren't surprised at all by the episode. The real shocker was that none of the Lions attacked him, yet. Physically, physiologically, mentally, he didn't get any verbal abuses from them. None tried poisoning him, or hexing him. No attempted murder that he know of. No Occlumency tried on him. Not even swearing! None! All the attack he got was the fierce goggling and the fight from this morning, and that was provoked. Are revenges not sweet these days? Is it was not taken seriously by them, the fact that he had, intentionally or no, caused Weasley almost muted? If that were to happen to any of the Slytherin students, none of the causers would stand the abuses from them. Did they really didn't believe of in-house unity? The House is everything.
Making himself care less of the Gryffindors, Draco purposely overlooked the whole thing, and copied Weasley's façade. Draco was succeeding in ignoring the rest of the class, when a bird crane, magicked bird crane, was flapping its paper wing right in front of his nose. He grabbed at it, scrunched it for annoying him, and opened the crumpled paper with exaggerating roughness, that made even McGonagall stared at him. There was nothing there for a second, then, slowly, appeared the line of words of the only sentence on the piece.
Draco, it read.
Meet me, after dinner, at the third turn from the Venificium Hall.
That was it. No name. No signature. How polite. And this bugger thought Draco was going to take an order from somebody who didn't introduce himself? Draco turned the piece over, searching for any initials, but found none. The paper folded itself to represent a crumpled crane and flew away, with a slightly awkward wing. Draco tried to catch it back, but McGonagall rapped her wand at the table to get everyone's attention. The already quiet class settled down, and Draco's interest left the crane.
"Settle down, please," Draco resisted the urge to snort. "For today's lesson, we will do a rather tricky spell. The Switching Spell, but at a different level. It could switch into anything, as the usual Switching Spell, only at greater distance." McGonagall took out the heavy text of Transfiguration; Seven Years and continued to explain the uses of the spell.
"Alright. Pair up! Choose your partner from the next table." She turned from the class to inspect the large book.
"Excuse me?" Zabini exclaimed, rather loudly and offensive. McGonagall, eyes narrowed, turned with provoked sharpness, with the book in her hands.
"Was I indistinct? I said pair up!" McGonagall replied.
"You said choose a partner from the next table! I would never—" he looked at Potter and Weasley aggravatingly. "—with those" he pointed to the duo. Potter only glared at the Zabini, but Weasley walked towards Zabini and pointed to his table; gesturing for Zabini to change place with him.
Zabini, who was oblivious of the accident with the Reticent Potion and the altered Weasley's behaviours, sneered at him. "You're mad, aren't you? I would never work with—what's his name? Pinhead? Pathetic? Ponce? I know it's P-something—over there."
"Orders are orders, Zabini. Go." Weasley replied, gave no sign at all that Zabini had been crude. And he said that with zilch emotion and impossibly flat, it wasn't possible to nudge argument of any sort. Zabini stubbornly stuck his chin up, but moved to other table.
In the meantime, McGonagall was staring at Weasley with incredulous plain on her face. Draco was shocked too. That was the longest sentence that Weasley had ever vocalised since the accident. Was it possible that Weasley was remedied? Had last night achieved something? Looking at Ron's unreadable serene face, it seemed too much too hope for. McGonagall blinked and put the book in her hands gently on the table, gripping the edges a little too long.
The rest of the Gryffindor were watching silently at Weasley, astonished. Draco wagered they had never heard him talk more than Draco did. And the Slytherins kept their false silence-- Zabini would have to atone for his mistake of giving up to a Gryffindor-- rather than meddling with others' business. Grateful for that, Draco elevated his praises to the heavens, Weasley already at Draco's side, readying for to practice the spell. If Weasley, possibly, was cured, he might be rampaging inside, waiting to take it out on someone.
Draco thought of changing partner, but Potter was the only alternative. But he tried his luck. "Weasley, choose someone else to be your partner. There," Draco pointed to the Slytherin sitting behind his place. "You can have him."
Weasley looked at him with empty eyes, and replied, "The order is to choose from the next table." Simple and straight to the point. Draco almost flinched when he didn't receive any remark. He moved a bit to allow Weasley to take his place beside him, and Zabini frowned at him.
When everyone had settled down, McGonagall looked at Weasley a little disturbingly time, then, she gave the word and everyone started to practice the spell.
Transfiguration went fine, despite when Potter accidentally switched Weasley's nose to what resembled a ferret's nose. And somehow, Potter's shoes started to tap on its own accord and Potter did a mad jiggle that nearly waters everybody's eyes. And somehow, Draco's tie did a snake dance and poked him in the eye, which in turn, oddly poked Potter's eyes after that.
After the last class, Draco madly ran to his room to drop his bag and change into more comfortable clothes before going to dinner. On his way out from the common room, Parkinson called him. Draco regarded her not quite friendly and she told him that he better start to treat her much better after this.
"Something gotten up your bottom, Parkinson?"
"No, but I wish it will be you, Draco darling," she smiled falsely that made Draco cringe from the horrible sight. "But anyway, would you walk me to dinner, Draco? Hmm? The dungeons are cold tonight."
Draco snorted, crossed his arms and looked at her aggravatingly. What on earth would she want with him? Isn't she being his—Draco doesn't even want to think of the word—in the future, and he would have to see her dogface everyday, is bad enough? And now she wants him to walk her to dinner?
"No, Parkinson. I will not walk you. I know you're capable of walking alone. I have stops to do." With that he turned to go, but Parkinson stopped him.
"I know about Weasley, Draco."
"Really? Good for you. It is rather obvious that he changed, isn't it? It would be so not dense of you—" He replied without turning.
"I'm talking about the girl Weasley, Draco."
"Yeah? What's with her?"
"I saw you with her that day, Draco. In the Potions room. I was the one who found you," he could hear her smirking. "And your father knows, Draco."