Draco forced himself not to quail as the female Slytherin contingent sent him predatory looks. He found himself wondering - They don't know, do they? If - if Snape knew, he'd have said something - please, don't let them know. Instead, he stood regally, as if the girls were utterly beneath him.

Daphne crossed her legs, and said in a mild voice that dripped poison (Draco knew this from long association - she tended to be cutting and cruel normally - this meek and mild disposition rang as true as the Queen's rubies*), "You smell like spring, Draco." At that comment, Tori aimed a swift slippered kick at Daphne's shin. Pansy's eyes said it all - We need to talk privately, now.

All in all, it added up to one thing: They know.

Pansy's sweet smile drew his attention, as he looked at her. Draco felt a frisson of fear at that look - it was one that the Borgia's had used. His father had made certain that he had seen it in a penseive. "Draco, may I have a word?"

"I believe you just had several, in fact." Draco said calmly, his aristocratic drawl neatly masking his scrambling thoughts. There wasn't enough space here for a private chat, anyway. Too many people, and Slytherins loved to spy. And gossip - at least amongst themselves. And any real explanation of Draco's whereabouts would cause a cataphract of gossip, plunging him in to a deep pool at the bottom. He might not manage to rise to the surface before he expired.

"In private, if you will?" Pansy said, her voice gentle velvet over iron.

"I'm afraid that's not possible right now." Draco belatedly realized that Pansy hadn't thought of that, and realized he'd have to neatly suggest that, in such a way that she came up with it herself. "I find myself in a bit of dishabille, and all I can really think about is freshening up." Pansy sent him a skeptical glare that told Draco that she was sure he was bamboozling her. Still, she didn't actively throw herself on him, in order to stop him. Probably thinks she can worm something out of me later. And she's right, she does deserve to know... later. Outside these walls. And, particularly, after I figure out where the bleedin' Wild Hunt has dropped me. I hardly recognize myself, let alone my surroundings. **

As Draco Malfoy stood in the shower, running his hands over his whipcord body, he thought back to the night before - his lower half showing a persistent interest that he took care of, before leaving the shower and flopping (in a most unMalfoylike fashion) on his bed. What do I do now?

*Queen's rubies are all garnets. What did you think Narcissa was drilling into his head?

**Draco's being a bit metaphorical here. Suffice it to say that it was rather beyond his comprehension, the day before yesterday, that he'd have had a night like the one he encountered last.

[a/n: Leave a review! Pity Draco, his summer's going to be hell. Ice to one side, Flames on the other.]