A/N: Before tonight's installment, I just want to thank everyone who's been reading, with special thanks to Nutmeg44 for all of the advising, fisherlinda53, Willowcloud, and GreyWolf2907 for the favorites. And without further ado, please enjoy the internal struggles of Draco Malfoy.


Chapter 8: Measuring Up

Damn Zabini. Draco shot a glare at his so-called best mate, who was eying up the Weasley girl again.

While he didn't hate the prat, he hated the prat.

Draco's cool grey gaze followed his friend's to the redhead. It had been a week since he'd supervised her detention, and – thanks to Blaise – he couldn't get the bitch out of his head, no matter how much he wanted to. Or, perhaps that was a lie. He could get her out of his head for a time, but the girl just kept clawing her way back. She may possibly have been more annoying than ever without even speaking to the blonde.

As the Weaslette tossed her ridiculously ginger-colored head back in laughter at something one of her friends said, Draco felt unreasonably irked. Why was she getting to him so much? It's not like she was that interesting. Her verbal game had been less than impressive as of late, with her insults sounding more like creative observations than true barbs, often coming across more like a self-aware joke than a true put-down, so it couldn't have been something she said. They hadn't even passed one another in the hall as of late. She hadn't really done anything out of the ordinary to upset him. It's not like she should even be all that distracting – she wasn't particularly good-looking.

At that thought, he examined her carefully. No, he'd certainly had better. He'd been with women that were taller, more delicate, graceful things, and girls who'd spent far more time accentuating their feminine assets – skinnier, curvier, or more finely formed. He'd seen prettier shades of brown eyes, more lustrous heads of hair, he'd seen porcelain skin that put her cinnamon-sprinkled complexion to shame. So why was he doubting his own assessment of her?

"So, I saw Red in the corridors yesterday," Blaise mentioned her casually, a smug look on his face as he murmured the words as though making small talk.

"Oh?" Draco tore his glare away from the girl, becoming intensely interested in his beans and toast. "Is she that bad at walking all the time, or was it just in detention?"

Blaise glanced to her. "Oh, she's quite adept at walking. I wouldn't mind watching her do it on a regular basis," he smirked, and Draco didn't need to look at him to tell he was trying to eye her hips through the table.

Draco caught the tone his friend was suggesting, and rolled his eyes. "Give it up, mate. You could do so much better." He speared a bite on his fork, bringing it to his lips, "Besides, she'd never be interested." His tone was bored and nonchalant as he finished off the bite, but Blaise didn't seem to accept that as a reason to back down.

"Precisely." His eyes narrowed, a determination becoming evident in his features. "I like a challenge."

Draco had to look up at that, raising a pristine blonde eyebrow. "She's not exactly a prize," he pointed out, flatly. She had nothing to offer aside from her body, as far as he was concerned, and even that wasn't superior to a few of the sixth and seventh years in their own house.

Blaise shrugged, "I suppose I'm bored, then," he shot back, cockily, a mocking excuse. Before Draco could argue, he added, "You saw her little… mishap during detention. …She's certainly got potential hiding under that uniform," he smirked, and Draco recalled the incident in the book room: the lacy pink bra that covered her pert breasts had been quaint, and the blush that spread down her chest as she scrambled to cover them was even more amusing. And he'd sneaked a peek at the rest of her figure as well, that night. Not a ten out of ten, by any means, but she was probably a seven. Or eight, if given the right accoutrements. ….Perhaps an eight and a half.

"And charisma. She's… entertaining."

While Draco wasn't about to nod, he couldn't really disagree with Zabini there. She was entertaining for one reason or another. Not always witty, perhaps, but she was stubbornly committed to things, which made for an interesting show. Even a comedic train wreck was funny, if in the right context. And her tiny little sneeze had been laughable. He might even call her determination endearing, if he didn't feel slightly nauseous using that word to describe a member of her particular ginger clan. "She's a Weasley," was all he told his black-haired friend in response.

"And the only attractive one among them."

Apparently, Blaise would not be swayed. Draco looked back up to find the Weasley girl grinning mischievously as she charmed strips of bacon to do a little dance over the head of one of her housemates. Alright… she had a nice smile. But that was all he'd concede.


A/N: Short chapter, but let it be known that some naturally longer chapters are coming up! The story is written through 16, all ready to post, and the inspiration is staying strong, so expect a post a night for the next week! I'd offer an ultimatum for reviews, but I'd like to think I'm a nicer Slytherin than that. ;D

-Turner