Draco sat in the astronomy tower watching the sun slowly inch its way over the horizon, fuming in anger. Hours after he had spoken to the she-Weasley, he just couldn't get over what she had said. "Following in your father's footsteps?" she had asked him. She doesn't know anything, does she? he thought angrily.

If he admitted it to himself, however, which he was highly unlikely to do, the sparky, little redhead had gotten closer to the mark than he had liked. Growing up, he admired his father. He had been a hero-figure, unafraid to stand up for what he believed in and not caring who got hurt along the way. He was admired and respected by the community. As Draco grew older, however, he realized that it was fear, not respect, that his father commanded, but even then Draco did not mind. To be able to inspire fear in so may people was certainly an admirable trait as well. It was when the Dark Lord regained his power, however, that Draco understood his father a bit better.

Lucius Malfoy was no more than a puppet. The Dark Lord could pull a string here or there, and Lucius did whatever was commanded of him, no questions asked. How strong and hero-like was that? To do another's bidding without question? Draco then realized that his father was strong, because one even stronger was manipulating him, and that was not a pleasant thought.

If Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had taught their heir anything, it had been that Malfoys were better than anyone else, and that pride in their name was everything. As a child, one hates to think that they are only important because of their name, because that means that they owe something to their parents. So Draco took his pride further and found himself superior to others, not in name, but by consequence of his own inner strength. Combine that with the new knowledge that your father is a mindless sheep, and your world begins to crumble. He thought himself better than everyone, so why should he listen to anyone else? This epiphany came after the Dark Lord's order to murder Dumbledore. A right stupid idea to tell a sixteen-year-old boy's inflated ego to kill one of the most powerful wizards. Then when he realizes that he cannot do it after all, and that he was manipulated just like his mindless father, he has to break away.

After the incident in the Astronomy Tower last spring, Draco had no faith in the Dark Lord as a leader. He had not, however, as some would have liked, changed his ways and fought for the light. A single incident, no mater how enlightening, cannot reverse sixteen years of deeply ingrained teachings. No, he still knew that purebloods were far superior, and he still knew that the Dark Lord had the right idea getting rid of the Muggles and Mudbloods. He just wouldn't fight for him. He was his own man, and he was eager to prove it.

That big-mouthed Weasley girl had really touched a nerve with him. She was too busy with her fight for the bloody Saint Potter, that she didn't realize that she didn't know anything. At all. She is just another sheep, Draco thought bitterly, following the masses, and the orders of Potty. No idea what she is doing at all.

Finally, sure that breakfast must be open at last, Draco stood and walked down the stairs of the tower. He paused at the bottom to check for teachers in the corridors before heading down to the Great Hall.

In the previous years, it was common to see Draco Malfoy strut into the Great Hall surrounded by a band of goons in an immaculate robe and perfect hair atop his pale, icy face. In his seventh year, however, it was more common for him to saunter in with wrinkled robes, his hair askew, and bags under his eyes. In his walk and in his eyes, the same cold, superior indifference still resided, but it was clothed differently.

He sat at his usual place at the Slytherin table, facing out across the hall. Conversations around him immediately hushed, much to his pleasure, as he surveyed the students with a haughty self-indulgence. As his gaze passed over the Gryffindor table, he noticed the little Weasley girl watching him warily. Serves her right. I hope she's bloody terrified of me, he thought. His eyes narrowed as she unabashedly stared at him. No one could win a staring match with a Malfoy, surely she had learned that by now. A few moments later, her cheeks colored and she looked away. Ha! he thought triumphantly, I win again.

His morning passed slowly. This being his NEWT year, Draco's classes were intense and difficult, but he immersed himself in his studies, so he made higher marks than usual. His potions class was punctuated by piercing looks from scar head, which Draco did not take lightly. Why can't the bloody boy just stop staring at me? I know I have devilish good looks, but honestly, get a hold of yourself, Potty. And don't go all stalker on me, either. It's weird enough that you are looking at me without knowing that you are roaming around the dungeons in the middle of the night looking for me.

Draco sighed in frustration and went back to his potion, which naturally was the perfect glistening golden color that the book described. He corked some into a vial, handed it in to Professor Slughorn, who looked pleased despite himself, and quickly left the classroom.

Draco found himself in the library minutes later, surrounded by potions books. His hobby had become creating new potions, and he was actually quite good. His most recent project was creating a shield potion that lasted more than a few minutes.

He was so immersed in his studies that Draco did not notice that someone had come to sit at his table and was staring expectantly at him. In fact, Draco didn't even look up until he heard someone say, "You are as bad as Hermione when she is on a mission. It's a one track mind, you've got."

Draco looked up indignantly. Who in Merlin's name would be stupid enough to compare me to the Mublood? He noticed Weaslette sitting across from him and rolled his eyes. I should have known, the entire Weasley family probably has no more brain cells between them than sickles in their family vault. He snickered at the thought.

"This is the second time in two days that you have forced me to come in contact with your blood traitor germs. As I would really rather avoid the germs and the gossip, would you kindly step away from my table?"

"No."

Did she just- "Did you just say 'no?' I think mine ears deceive me."

"No, I won't go. I need that book," she said pointing to the book in his hands. He looked down at the book. Potent Potions Ingredients and their Properties was hardly sixth-year reading, so he told her as much.

"You know, Weasley, if you want to be near me so badly, you don't have to come up with excuses, especially not stupid ones about books, you can just ask. I'll just say no, but it's better than embarrassing yourself."

Her hazel eyes narrowed at him. "I need the book, not you Malfoy. Trust me, I'd rather join Voldemort and dance on my Uncle Albert's grave than lay a hand on your pallid skin."

Did she just insult him? Surely not. "Ah, I see, a diversion tactic. You don't want me to know of your affection for me, so you hide it in insult. You do realize that that is a technique used more by five-year-olds than teenagers, but to each his own," and he looked back down at his book.

She growled and Draco looked up alarmed. "You are so conceited, Malfoy. Give me the book, and I will leave you alone. I am not like the masses of stupid women who throw themselves at you so that you can add their names to your list of little toys."

"Really. Then what are you?"

"Smarter than that," and she snatched the book from him and ran.

It took him a moment to register that she had not only insulted him again, but stolen his book. He stood and threw a few hexes at her retreating form, but she was out of range, and a stormy-faced Madam Pince was moving quickly toward his table. Several furious minutes of whining that the Weasley girl stole his book and 2 weeks of worth detentions handed out later, Draco returned to his pile of books and chose another to begin working with.

She had bested him and he knew it. She stole his bloody book, for Merlin's sake. What she completely mental? Stealing a book out of his hands? No one had ever tried that before. He would admit that the girl had some spunk, but he was still furious. He wanted that book back! Just as Draco resolved to go, find her, and steal back the book, he heard a throat clear above him.

He looked up and saw two hazel eyes and a mass of red hair looming over him. Her eyes looked angry, indignant, and defiant. He noticed her eyes shift to the front desk where Madam Pince was watching the exchange like a hawk. Draco chuckled and the Weasley girl's expression turned to bewilderment.

"What was that awful noise? Don't tell me that was supposed to be a laugh. It's no wonder you have no friends. No one could stand to be around you when you're happy and when you are not, you brood."

Now Draco's eyes narrowed. "I do not brood."

"Oh right, so you weren't just sitting here sulking over the fact that I stole your book?"

"And now you are being forced to return it, and you hate that you have to show civility to a Malfoy."

"True."

Draco cocked his head at the girl. She intrigued him. She wasn't fawning over him or running from him. It was… interesting. "What is your name?" he asked.

The girl's confused expression before had nothing on the look of complete and utter bewilderment across her face. "My name?" she asked.

"Yes, I assume that your fat mother was smart enough to give you one, seeing as everyone else got one. Then again, maybe she took one look at you and was struck dumb by the hideousness of your face and forgot."

Weaslette's red head shook. She seemed to have overlooked the insult in her obvious confusion. "Ginny."

"Agh. You'd be better off without a name. Ginny? It's so plain. No doubt short for something like Virginia. Bloody unlucky you are. Cursed with bad hair and a bad name."

She finally snapped out of it. "It's short for Ginevra, actually, and I don't think that you are one to talk about bad hair or names. You look like you have had one dye job too many, and Draco? What was your mother thinking?"

Draco's hand flew instinctively to his hair. "There is nothing wrong with my hair. It is dignified. And Draco happens to be a very sophisticated name. At least I don't run around having people call me Drake or something. Ginevra is far better than Ginny any day."

The conversation had taken a very strange turn. And the fact that he was even conversing with a Weasley at all was disconcerting. He decided to end it. "I take it that you came to bring me my book back. Are you in the habit of stealing other people's things, then insulting them instead of apologizing?"

"No just you," she said as she handed him the book.

"Don't I feel special. Now leave."

Ginevra rolled her eyes. "Have fun, Malfoy."

"You too, Ginevra." She looked shocked that he said her name, then shook her head and walked away.

Draco watched her go. She had irritated him, but he didn't really mind. She was more interesting and witty than most people that he had the misfortune to see everyday. He frowned slightly, then reopened his book to the page he had been reading before his book was so rudely snatched away. As he did, however, a piece of paper fell out that said, "Try hellebore, it will work better." How the bloody hell did she know what I was doing, he thought savagely. And of course, hellebore, why didn't I think of that! Draco glowered at Ginevra's retreating back wondering what else she was hiding.