Chapter 23:
Of Suggestive Looks and Drooling Over Bums
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Draco paced down the corridor, only pausing when Millicent pointed out that his designer shoes were beginning to leave scuff marks on the stone floor. At this inconsiderate comment, he told her to sod off, in turn causing Millie to tramp down the hallway after a group of giggling first year girls, looking for some "fun". The word "fun" in this instance, meaning, beating the firsties mercilessly in chess. Surprisingly, this was considered normal, as recently Dumbledore had brought in school counselors/physiatrists to lower the amount of parental complaints about injuries sustained at the academy. The wimps…
At his sullen glare at her comment on how lovely he was looking while resembling a psychopath, Pansy fell silent and busied herself with knitting him a sweater, a lofty goal indeed, considering the only sewing she had done was crocheting a sock for her 10-year-old niece. Needless to say, the sock is now currently being used as a quaint hat for the little girl's favorite doll.
Draco sighed and poked his head into the library, wincing and pulling back at Madame Pince's wicked look. Drumming his fingers against the frame of the door, he stared absently at the wall opposite.
"What the bloody hell are you on, Malfoy?"
Draco glanced up at the fiery mass of muscle above him- erm…at the red-headed Weasel above him and then at the boy-who-lived-to-be-a-silly-prick-incapable-of-dying.
"Oh, you're here." And with that he stalked down the corridor, pausing when the sound of additional footsteps did not manifest.
"Coming?" He turned and led the Gryffindors to a deserted classroom, Pansy bringing up the rear and trying to inconspicuously check out Harry's bum. Though stopping in mid-step and drooling, may not have been the best way to go about it, Pansy realized, it was highly effective.
Ron gulped and attempted to avoid the rather heated looks Malfoy was sending him. One minute the blonde would look like he wanted to eat him, and the next that he wanted to cut him into tiny pieces and then barbeque him. And possibly, Ron decided, then eat him.
So occupied with staring at anything but Malfoy, he missed the majority of Harry's conversation with the blonde prick.
"-Fine. When they're getting busy and making lots of little Granger's and Blaise's don't come crying to me, Potter."
"You're insane, Mal-"
"She's doing what? With who?" Ron's breathing picked up as he leaned against a desk.
"Don't you mean, 'She's doing who'?" Draco smirked as Ron fought for a hold of the desk.
Harry rolled his eyes and extended a hand to Ron, "Hermione is not shagging Zabini."
"I should hope not," gasped Ron while taking Harry's hand and hoisting himself upright.
Narrowing his eyes at the pair, Draco ran a hand through his hair, "They're at least snogging."
At Ron's choke, he smirked, "I walked in on Blaise," he paused for dramatics, "ravishing her."
Hermione gasped and looked up from her regular table in the library.
"I swore I heard someone scream," she muttered and then shrugged, turning back to her essay on the Uses of Goblin Blood in Medical Advancements of the Present.
Harry felt his eyes narrow of their own accord as Malfoy paced around Ron's prone body. The bloody prat had known his comment would have that kind of effect on Ron, but the git said it anyway. Wanker…
Running a hand through his unruly hair, he stooped and shook his friend out of the reverie he'd fallen under, and then stood, glaring at Draco.
"Hermione wouldn't do that, Malfoy. She's too-"
Draco smirked and eyed Ron's untucked shirt, "Gryffindor? Potter, I'm afraid it's impossible to predict these things, don't blame yourself." He paused and licked his lips, "No, no. Go right ahead and blame yourself. Maybe a suicide would make up for all the wrong you've-"
Eyes rolling, Harry grabbed Ron's arm and started to drag him out of the room, "We don't need this."
Draco bit his lip and yanked Ron back, "No, you do need this."
Ron gulped and clawed for the door, "No, we most certainly do not."
Smirking, Draco eyed the redhead, "I didn't mean that Weasel, though that is a lovely thought…" He trailed off, looking up and down Ron suggestively, "I really do think we ought to concentrate on the disturbing couple parading their sick and twisted affair right under our noses."
Grudgingly Harry stepped back into the room, eyeing a drooling Pansy suspiciously. "You're sure?"
Draco sneered, "Of course I'm sure Pothead. I wouldn't have gone to you if I wasn't."
Gulping, Ron watched as Harry and Draco shook hands, a practice otherwise known as attempting to squeeze the life out of an enemy while keeping touching at a minimum, and agreed to stand together against the evil that was the heterosexual relationship between Zabini and Granger…in Draco's words of course.
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