Draco Malfoy lay below the trapdoor in the North Tower of Hogwarts. It was after hours, so no one would be bothering Trelawney with Questions. And Trelawney only left her tower for mealtimes, anyway. There had been rumors of Trelawney's relationship with one Professor Severus Snape, but Draco Malfoy had been in the perfect position to understand the precise level of lunacy those gossips had transformed their minds into. As Looney as Lovegood, Draco cruelly quipped.
Oh, sure he could sink into a meloncholic air, and think his life was over - because he was in love, and it was entirely unrequited.
But, he thought, his mind turning bucolic - at least he wasn't in love with Lovegood! There would be a true challenge for the ages... The daft bint didn't seem to have a hint of romanticism in her - just foolish delusions that she'd rather chase than even think about a dance with a bloke! Ha!
Granger, on the other hand, well, had the air of someone who was a closet romantic. Who would really enjoy a gift of roses (blech. Roses were boring. He'd give a gift of snapdragons, if it wouldn't be bloody obvious. And if he wouldn't have to somehow get her into something flame retardant first.), but who had trained herself not to expect, nor really desire it.
Draco Malfoy knew the tale of the Fox and the Sour Grapes by heart, after all. As a child, it had been one of his favorites (even if, strangely, only his godfather seemed to know the tale).**
With a fond smile on his face, he put quill to parchment...
Tall like an oak tree you stand
Taller in countenace and mien than stature
Steady and stiff and stout
Beware the thunder, herald of the of the lighhtning
That could split you in twain, from head to toe
And think not less of me,
who like a reed bends and does not break
for sheltering beneath your lofty boughs
when the storm winds blow
Be it reedy raft or oaken craft
we are both adrift on the sea of fate
when the sails are furled, through the teeth of the wind
I'd imagine both of us might need a first mate.
It was not wonderful, it was not amazing. Draco Malfoy knew he was great at many things, but this was far from his strong suit. Not honesty, or poetry, in truth. He knew what he was good at - lying. But, he'd never been one to back away from a challenge. Sealing the letter, he walked swiftly down, curled in a tatty brown cloak, spattered with mud and stained dark in places. It was the perfect disguise. No one would ever believe it was Malfoy in such scrappy wear.
**Snape is a literate man whose reading spans both worlds. This particular tale got brought up because, surprise surprise, Draco had been jealous. Again. Sadly, the tale didn't seem to have any impact on Draco - though he rather did seem to like the clever fox.
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