Draco Malfoy was coming back from the library, his gait slightly listing from the weight of books. This year was proving to be treacherous, in more ways than one. He couldn't afford to have poor grades. Not now. But it seemed like the Professors were just dying to work them to death. And while that would have been funny if it'd just been ol' Snape-eyes (who would somehow have managed to make the Gryffindors' lives even more hellish than his own)... it was every single teacher, and That Got Old.
Draco had a small desk set up in his room (now private, courtesy of Zambini leaving. - come to think of it, Snape'd shown a trace of sensitivity by not jamming him together with Nott. That would have been awful.), and he opened the door with numerical thoughts marching through his head. He strode in, and set his satchel down, and only as he started to open it...
Draco froze. There was a giant, orange, illtempered hellbeast on his bed, pure malice in feline form.
Draco stood, and slowly backed toward the door, grateful that the hellbeast appeared to be sleeping. Of course, if he was marooned in a foreign room, he'd be just pretending to be asleep, so best assume the cat was the same.
Draco strode toward the Slytherin Common room, and stopped at its threshold, steely silver eyes raking the room.
Pansy, on the couch, sprawled like a queen.
Draco strode over to Pansy, settling lightly behind her on the couch, as he pulled her into a firm embrace around her midriff. Girls nearby were giggling and pointing, their eyes dilated with romantic dreams. "When you said I needed a cat in my bed, I didn't think you meant that literally..."
Pansy stiffened, turning around to place a gentle hand on his chest, as she smiled sweetly for their audience - instead of poking him with her index finger and looking haughty. "It's your turn. I'm not dealing with it."
"You certainly dealt with it enough to put it in my room... Besides, it's your turn."
"If you ask me to take it to her, you may have a murder on your hands. As prefect..."
"You'd be in worse trouble than I would, that's for sure," Draco said, chuckling as if at a joke.
"Draco..." She said sweetly, and then in a low,purring undertone, "You'll do what I want, because you know I know everything."
"But I don't want to..."
"Someone has to, and you can't have Goyle do it."
"But he's good with beasts and mudbloods!"
"It's Your Turn."
"Fine." Draco Malfoy said.
[a/n: entire conversation, aside for that for public consumption, was conducted sotto voce. Because Slytherins (also, Draco was annoyed).
Leave a review? Lavender brown has decided to give me an entire plotline, because she's apparently sick of everyone treating her like she's a limp dishrag rather than a Person with an Agenda and Feelings, thank you very much.]