A/N: After a long, long wait, I'm proud to present (drumroll)...chapter 8! It's a bit shorter than the others, but I wanted to get it up and out there, since it's been so long. Thank you, thank you Opalfire for reviewing--it's the only reason I picked this story up again! See how much difference a review makes? Please read and review!
Standard disclaimer applies.
Chapter 8
This was, quite possibly, the weirdest thing he'd ever experienced. Draco found himself huddled in a small cupboard in the wall, just tall enough to sit up in and only a few feet deep, with Ginny Weasley curled up right beside him. They hadn't spoken for some minutes, and Draco cast a few sideways glances at her. She was a right mess, looking disgusting with eggs and flour covering her pumpkin-stained clothes. He snickered at the ridiculous picture she presented, and Weasley's head snapped in his direction at the sound.
"What's so funny?" she demanded in a hostile whisper. Draco just smirked, knowing she could see him in the dim light filtering in from the cracks around the door. "What are you laughing at?"
"Just wish I had a camera," he drawled, hoping to rile her up. "You look like you've been rummaging for food in a trash heap. I could finally prove that you Weasleys really do live in a bin." He waited for her infuriated reaction and was shocked to see a mischievous smile grow on her face.
"Pot and kettle, Malfoy. Would you like me to summon a mirror? Or the camera you wanted—I think people would be much more interested in seeing a Malfoy looking like he lives in a dump, don't you?" Draco glanced down and realized, with a start, that he was quite as dirty as she was. Ew.
"This is all your fault—" he began, but froze when he saw her wand trained on him. He didn't have a chance to say anything, before—
"Scourgify. Scourgify." Methodically, without meeting his eyes, Weasley waved her wand all around his hair, clothes and extremities, cleaning off the food that she had thrown at him. As he watched her work, Draco found he was able to see the relation between this girl and the Ginny Weasley from his vision, despite the filth that covered her and the cheap robes she was wearing. He waited in silence until she finished, then worked on smoothing out all the wrinkles in his robes when she'd lowered her wand.
"Could you do me now?" she asked, with a hint of trepidation in her voice. Draco smirked again.
"I'll help clean you off, Weasley, but I'm afraid I don't grant sexual favors to Gryffindors." Weasley actually laughed, and Draco grinned as she did. Guess she had a sense of humor after all. "Now sit still, or I won't get everything." She did, and Draco returned the favor until she was as clean as a Weasel could get. Then there was a rather awkward silence.
"Er…d'you think Filch is gone by now?" Draco was glad she had said something; he was feeling decidedly jumpy sitting so close to her, probably, he thought, because he wasn't used to close contact with dirty Weasleys.
"Let's check. Look out the door and see if anyone's there."
"Why don't you?"
"What, are you scared? Aren't you supposed to be a Gryffindor, Weasley?"
"Yeah, I am. Fine, I'll check. You go on being the typical, cowardly Slytherin while I risk my neck. Sound good to you?"
"Sounds perfect." She let out a half-laugh, half-snort of disgust, and crawled forward towards the small door. She had to climb over his folded legs to reach it, and Draco jerked back when she brushed over him.
"Sorry," she whispered. He watched as she pushed the door open, and flattened his back against the far wall as she stuck her head out into the dimly lit corridor. Even if she got caught, hopefully Filch wouldn't spot him. Weasley ducked back in. "Coast looks clear to me. Think we should try it?"
"If no one's there, what choice do we have? Stay here?" He got to his knees, ready to crawl out.
"Right," Weasley said, not moving. She was glancing between him and the door.
"Gryffindor, remember? You go first."
"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, and crawled out, getting to her feet just beyond the door. Draco followed her and brushed off his knees and bottom. "Right," Weasley whispered again. "Well, Slytherin is that way, Gryffindor is this way, so, erm, bye." She turned and started nearly running, but Draco leapt after her and stopped her.
"What are you, nuts?" he hissed. "You're going to run through the hallways at night like that?"
"Like what?" she demanded, looking over her clothes in a paranoid fashion. He rolled his eyes.
"Don't you have Potter's invisibility cloak or something?"
"No."
"You just ran around with no protection whatsoever?"
"Gryffindor, remember?" Merlin save us all from Gryffindors, Draco thought, annoyed at her foolishness.
"Well, you'll likely be caught if you go around like that, especially with Filch skulking somewhere nearby."
"It's not like I have a choice; or d'you want me to sleep in that cupboard?" Draco wasn't really listening, though, as he was busy having a furious debate with his conscience. It would only mean more risk for him, after all. And less sleep. A total waste of time. Nevertheless, he found himself irresistibly urged to help Weasley. It's just to gain her trust, he finally rationalized. I have to learn more about her, don't I?
"Fine, I'll walk you."
"Wh-what?" To say that she was astonished would have been akin to saying Snape disliked Potter. Not quite the whole story.
"Shh! I won't do it if you plan on making that much noise! Now come here." She sidled over to him, watching curiously as he pulled out his Hand of Glory. When she saw it, she let out a cry of disgust and leapt back.
"Ugh! What is that?"
"Be quiet, would you? It's a Hand of Glory. It—"
"Ooh, really?" she crooned, approaching him again. "I didn't realize they were so gross, but I've heard of them. It's just so…real-looking. It's not a real hand, is it, Malfoy?"
"Of course not," he lied. "Now put out those corridor lights." As she did, he slipped a candle into the withered hand, which closed its fingers around it. He knew it would cast light for them only and leave the space around them unlit. "Come on," he said, then realized she couldn't see him.
"Malfoy?" There was a trace of fear in her voice, and while he was sorely tempted to scare her, he knew he couldn't risk her screaming.
"Sorry," he said brusquely, grabbing her hand. "Hold on." He placed her hand on the edge of the Hand he was holding.
"Oh! That's much better. Come on, Gryffindor is this way."
"I know," he said, rolling his eyes again and walking with her. "But be careful—we can still be seen if we're caught in a lit corridor."
"Okay." They continued along, peeking around corners and putting out the lights before entering a new hallway. "Malfoy," Weasley asked in a low voice after awhile. "Isn't the Hand of Glory dark magic?"
"Ugh. How is it any different from Prince Potter's invisibility cloak?"
"That's true. Except…aren't they used to rob houses?"
"Are we robbing a house now?"
"No, that's—"
"Do you think I need to rob anyone's house?"
"No, I guess not."
"Then it's not Dark Magic, is it?" Stupid Gryffindors. An invisibility cloak was much more dangerous than a Hand of Glory—just look at what Potter had done third year—but Draco was sure Weasley had never posed the question to her dream boy. He harrumphed in annoyance. "Don't know why I'm doing this," he muttered, and saw Weasley wince.
"I didn't mean anything by it, Malfoy. I'd just only read about them in Dark Arts books—"
"All written by prejudiced Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, I'm sure." She smiled, and the tension thankfully dissolved.
"I said Dark Arts books, not defense books. So that means Slytherin authors, I'm afraid. Or Hufflepuffs, of course." Draco guffawed, and Weasley immediately slapped her palm over his mouth.
"Gerroff," he said irritably, jerking his head away.
"Keep it down, then!"
"Yeah, yeah. Still can't believe I'm doing this."
"Me either, actually. Did one of those eggs to the head knock something loose up there?"
"Probably. Expect an owl from my lawyers first thing tomorrow."
"What would you sue a Weasley for?" Draco glanced at her, surprised she had mentioned her family's poverty when he had so tactfully avoided doing so.
"I could have you in debt to me for the rest of your life. That would be worth it."
"Don't you mean the rest of your life? You're a year older than me, you'll probably die sooner. Plus witches live longer."
"I'm a Malfoy, we live lives of luxury. You'll probably tire yourself out having twenty kids or something."
"You arse!" she replied, shoving him lightly with her elbow. But it was a friendly sort of shove, and she was smiling good-naturedly. As for himself, he realized that instead of smirking maliciously because he had hit a sore spot, he was smiling because he had made her laugh. What was going on?
"Had to live in a bloody tower, didn't you?" he panted as they reached the seventh floor landing. "Ruddy Gryffindors have to do everything the hard way."
"And yet, somehow, it's the Slytherin who's gone out of his way tonight for no personal gain. Unless you're trying to get in my pants?"
"In your dreams, Weasley," he said as they arrived at the corridor where the Gryffindor's portrait hole was. "Besides, you were the one who propositioned me, remember? Don't try to turn this around."
"I wouldn't dream of it; that's a Slytherin skill. In any case, Malfoy, I get off here. Erm…thanks for walking me. That was really decent of you." She sounded very doubtful.
"Yes, I can hear the sincere gratitude in your voice, Weasley. A very genuine thank you."
"I'm sorry. You have to admit, it's kind of hard to grok—a Malfoy rendering service to a Weasley?"
"I think a lot of things have been turned upside down tonight. Personally, I'm going back to my dorm and am going to forget this ever happened." Weasley smiled at that.
"Sounds like a plan to me. Then, well…see you…"
"Preferably never again."
"Right. Never again." This time, neither sounded like they really meant it. Weasley stood there for a moment, looking at him, then said abruptly, "goodnight, then!" and hurried down to the Fat Lady portrait. He watched her whisper the password and climb in the hole. When the painting finally shut again, Draco broke out of his daze and hurried off to his dormitory.
A very bizarre night indeed. He would have to think it over very thoroughly—he had no intention of forgetting about it at all.
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