When Pomfrey finally allowed her to see him, Draco was already bandaged up and sitting upright on his bed. He was scowling something awful, though, and Pansy knew it was more of his pride than his arm that was injured. She approached him tentatively, waiting until they made eye contact before daring to speak.
"How are you?" she asked as she came to stand by his bed.
"How the bloody hell do you think I am?" he bit out angrily. He cast a scornful look to his arm, which lay limp on his lap. "Bloody Potter showed me up again, I nearly died, and that big oaf is still teaching!"
Pansy gazed at him sympathetically. "For now," she said, simply. "I'm sure once your father finds out, that lout will be out of the school in no time."
Draco made a frustrated sound in the depths of his throat before turning away. "Whatever. I want to be alone now, Parkinson. Go away."
"I'm only trying to help—"
"Well you're doing a bloody awful job," snapped Draco. "So bugger off."
Pansy blew out an indignant puff of breath and clenched her fists. "Fine," she nearly shouted, before turning sharply on her heel. She'd made it halfway to the door when Draco's voice called out to her again. She turned, glaring. "What?"
"You're actually leaving?" he asked her, looking genuinely surprised.
She placed her hands on her hip. "You said you wanted to be alone."
"And you believed me?" he asked, amused. "Don't tell me you're going soft, Pans."
Pansy actually growled. "You're a bloody prat," she bit out, but she came to stand beside him anyway.
8. It isn't that Ron's oblivious, he just doesn't know what to do.
"Fred," Ron hissed, catching the attention of his older brother across the common room. "I need to speak with you."
Fred looked at him oddly. "You haven't swallowed one of those gumballs, have you? Because I told George not to put them out, I swear I did—"
"No," Ron said, growing impatient. "No, there's something I have to ask you."
Fred, sensing the younger Weasley's dire attitude, nodded sagely. "Alright, ask away."
"It's…" Ron sighed, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. "It's about girls." He waited for the burst of laughter, but, surprisingly, Fred didn't do anything of the sort. In fact, he looked… Well, he looked sort of proud.
"It's about bloody time," Fred said finally, a grand smile lighting up his features. "George and I were getting a bit worried, really. I mean, even Percy had shown some interest by fourth year—"
"Look, are you going to help me or not?" Ron snapped, sure that his ears were now a glowing, fire-red.
"Of course I will," Fred answered happily, before he suddenly looked worried and held up a hand. "Wait—this isn't anything, ah, personal is it? Because if that's the case, I think dad would be better suited—"
"Personal?" Ron echoed, frowning.
"You know," Fred urged, "personal. Intimate. Birds and the Bees-like?" When Ron continued to give him a blank look, he let out an exasperated sound and gestured helplessly with his hands. "Sex. Intercourse. Wanking-in-the-middle-of-the-night type of—"
Ron threw up his hands. "No!" he nearly screamed, his face burning scarlet. "Merlin, no, no, I just—wanted to know what to get a girl for Christmas, that's all."
Fred's smile was back on in an instant. "Oh," he said, "well, alright. So, who's the girl?" Ron only glared at him, his cheeks as red as his hair. Fred nodded. "Secret, gotcha." He put a finger on his chin. "Well, what's she into?"
"Into?"
"Yeah, her interests. That's usually a winner, right there."
Ron frowned thoughtfully. "Well… she likes to read a lot, I guess."
"So get her a book."
"But she always gets books," said Ron, shaking his head. "I don't want to get her something she gets from everybody else."
"Ah, so you want to give her something special," said Fred. "How 'bout perfume? Or jewelry?"
Ron made a face. "She's not really that kind of a girl," he said. "And I don't really want to get her anything special special, just… just something different. Something she'll remember."
"Do you like her?" came Fred's blunt question.
"Like her?" repeated Ron, his face contorting into a look of deep thought. "I'm not really sure. I just know I want her to know I care, even if I'm not really sure how much I care at the moment…"
Fred scratched his head. "Gee, Ron, I don't really know. This seems like something you'll have to figure out yourself. It might actually be better that way."
"How do you mean?"
"Well," sighed Fred, "if you gave her something I helped you out with, it won't really mean as much. Whereas you give her something you thought of on your own."
"But that's the problem," sighed Ron, "I don't have a clue what to give her!"
"Well, you've got now til Christmas to figure it out."
"Figure what out?" chimed an extra voice, one that sounded an awful lot like the first voice, belonging to a face that looked a lot like the first face.
"Ickle Ronniekins here doesn't know what to give his girlfriend for Christmas," answered Fred.
George gave Ron a cheeky grin. "We've got a new batch of Wart Waffles coming in; we'll even give you the family discount."
"I'm not going to give her warts for Christmas," scoffed Ron. "And she's not my girlfriend."
"Chocolates?" said George, after a moment of thinking.
"Ron wants it to mean something," snickered Fred.
"Awe, how cuuuute," George cooed, and the two twins immediately dived on him, pinching his cheeks and ruffling his hair.
Ron fought them both away, his neck enflamed with red. "Bugger off!" he said, stalking away.
"What about perfume?" George called after him, and the two twins chortled as he increased his speed to his dormitory.
"I knew I should have asked Ginny," Ron lamented.
9. What Lucius wants, Lucius gets.
Stormy gray eyes narrowed as Lucius Malfoy beat a steady rhythm with the tip of his wand, cracking the table's polished surface and causing an involuntary twitch on the store owner's left eye.
"You do realize," he drawled impatiently, "that I do not have all day."
The store owner visibly winced, doubling his efforts in sifting through the mass of papers that was his official documents. "A-Are you sure you don't want me to just fly them to you?" the store owner cautioned, pausing in his search to wipe his dampening forehead. "It would be m-much more convenient that way—"
"No," came the dark reply, and the store owner's twitch grew much more erratic.
"B-But it's most troublesome," the store owner persisted. "To buy such a load, then carry it yourself is a bit unorthodox—"
"I do not remember asking you for advice," the eldest Malfoy clipped. His beating became more hurried and edgy. "Have you not found the papers yet?"
"H-Here they are," the store owner nearly wept with joy. He brandished the slightly crumpled stack of papers as if they were the one thing keeping him alive—which wasn't that far of a stretch, considering… "Just sign here and here," he said, fighting hard to keep the sigh of relief from escaping his mouth. As he handed the quill over, he couldn't resist asking the question he'd been dying to ask since the Malfoy had walked in. "M-Might I ask who they're for?"
Lucius Malfoy took the quill, cast the store owner a brief and chilling glance before replying, just as coldly, "They're for my son."
"A-Ah," was all the store owner could say.
Lucius Malfoy signed, rushed but fluid, and bid the store owner adieu as he walked out of the store, his large purchase charmed to follow him. Only when the daunting figure of the eldest Malfoy disappeared from view, did the store owner release the breath he had been holding. A shaky hand came up to rest on his heart while the other proceeded to wipe his forehead dry.
It wasn't everyday a man like Lucius Malfoy walks into the Quality Quidditch Supplies.