Desrosiers: The idea for this story has been lingering around my mind for a good few months. Finally got 'round to writing it. Enjoy! R&R, flames will be used to light your shorts on fire.
Disclaimer: Don't own any characters, only the story. Yadda yadda yadda.
A Smirk is Worth a Thousand Words - Chapter One: Resident Bad Boy Gone Soft
Draco cringed as he approached Hermione. Was he really going to do this? He took a deep breath and took another step. He realized in a matter of seconds that he was four feet away from her spot beside the Great Hall fireplace.
She was getting an early start on studying for end of the year exams, and was surrounded with books all turned to various pages.
Draco took another deep breath and tried to calm his nerves.
"Hermione...?" He croaked. 'I'm going insane...' he thought.
"What is it, Malfoy?" Hermione answered sighing, not taking her eyes off of the book in front of her.
"I know what the answer is going to be...but you know that end of term dance that's coming up?" He gulped. No. This was just way too weird.
"Hm." Hermione mumbled, flipping a few pages.
"Well...I was wond--"
"You better make this quick. I'm really busy and I don't have time to listen to slime balls like you." Hermione interrupted.
"I..um..." he searched for another subject, "Get a hair cut, mudblood. Your hair looks like Filch's cat." He snickered at his quick thinking.
"Was that all?" She asked, spitefully, closing a few of her books and collecting some papers, already used to insults like this from him.
Draco tried to answer, but Hermione had already gathered the remainder of her things and was walking out the door.
Draco slapped his hand to his forehead and sighed. Another opportunity missed.
He turned on his heals and headed for the Slytherin dungeons.
As soon as Draco arrived, Crabbe jumped out of his spot on the sofa and ran over to him.
"Well? Did you?" He asked, eagerly.
"Not yet, don't rush me." Draco huffed and took a spot on the sofa, shoving a few Slytherins out of the way.
"You better hurry yourself up. The whole Quidditch team is waiting for this." Crabbe said.
"I know, I know! It's just..she's...a mudblood. If my father ever found out..."
"But you know what happens if you don't go through with it...Flint tells the whole school that you used to do ballet."
"Hush, I know!" Draco huffed and went up to his dorm.
He flopped down on his bed, and laid his head down on his pillow. He let out a long sigh, and was about to fall asleep, when a few Slytherin boys burst through the archway. He soon realized it was half of the Quidditch team.
"Do you think he's going to go through with it?" He heard Marcus Flint whisper.
"Not sure. The boy has a lot of pride..." Another boy said.
"Yea, I guess we'll just have to wait and see. He better ask her soon, the dance is only 3 weeks away..." Flint grunted. Draco could hear him rummaging in someone's trunk. "Aha! Here it is. Let's go polish our brooms."
There was a mumble of agreement, and the team shuffled out of the dorm, not noticing Draco at all.
Draco thought the whole thing was cruel, and that was saying a lot. They had found out somehow from Draco's mother, Narcissa that he used to take ballet class. Draco understood that because she talked endlessly about his accomplishments. She had signed him up for a ballet class with her, because he was too young to stay home alone while his father was working. Narcissa would take him with her every Saturday morning, and come back a few hours later. Narcissa considered it fun. Draco, on the other hand, considered it murder.
Why on earth did the team have to think of blackmail? Oh. Right. They were Slytherins. If it were happening to anyone else other than Draco, he would have been enjoying this to the highest limit.
But it wasn't happening to anyone else. It was happening to him. Draco Malfoy – Resident Bad Boy, gone soft.