AUTHOR'S NOTE: Next in the installments...just to keep your minds off other things...hehe.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine unless it doesn't belong to J. K. Rowling.


Hormonal Half-Wits

Chapter 5: Malfoy


I hate Slytherins in general.

This day cannot wait to improve the spiralling trail of chaos and disorder it's spinning and I swear fate is laughing at me, chucking little pieces of discord at me from a cushy sofa in hell.

One of these little pieces was waiting for me in the bathroom…little did I know. The door was unlocked so I went on in, apparently forgetting to lock it behind me. I already had my shirt half off, over my head when I heard the toilet flush.

I swear I nearly coughed up my heart…it's still lodged in my throat. I, being my dreadfully calm and composed self, did the most reasonable thing and flailingly panicked. Started wrenching around trying to decided whether to pull my shirt all the way off and hold it over me, or figure out how to put it back on.

I ended up colliding with someone…a very hard-chested someone…who held me up and pulled the shirt off my head. Standing there in bra and patched jeans from Tonks, shivering and still damp, I stared up into the cold eyes of (who else?) Malfoy. Draco.

Bloody git!

And yet…it was very strange…what Hermione calls 'Twilight-Zone-ish'…he didn't sneer, or smirk, or do his little 'I'm-better-than-thou' eyebrow twitch. He just…stared...

Mostly at my chest, which I am horrified to say, was reacting…definitely to the cold and to the cold only…he kept glancing up and down my body and then coming back up to my eyes…for a moment I was worried he didn't recognize me…

My shirt had been dripping slippery suds onto the floor and I tried backing up, only to slip most unceremoniously.

I'm fairly certain I would have cracked my head open on the sink had Malfoy not reached forward and grabbed me around the waist, pulling me up. I nearly slipped again and the door to the bathroom opened.

Why the bloody buggering hell Ron wasn't downstairs enjoying desert, I have no clue. But this time, I think I understand the look he was giving me. It was utter horror. And can I blame him…I was shirtless, wet, and shivering in the arms of the handsome enemy…

Who am I kidding, of course I can blame him! What the hell was he doing up there! Malfoy let me go, but not as quickly as I think Ron would have liked. I'm not stupid…Malfoy just didn't want me to slip and split my ruddy head open…which come to think of it, is awfully caring for the Slytherin git he is.

Guess having your father torture your mum to death in front of you will change people. Must inform dad I will have to torture him with the help of Fred and George and kill him slowly and efficiently if he ever tries any such thing…