Disclaimer: We all know I don't own it. Nothing new there. Next?

Chapter Three

Bottoms Up

"I don't want to hear it, Colin," Ginny said sourly when she stepped through the commons portrait. But her best guy-friend smiled, amused.

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen," he said. Ginny looked at him, suspicious. The baby-angel face stared back at her, eyes sparkling, girlish lips pulled up in a grin, framing his white teeth.

The commons were eerily silent as she slowly made her way toward the sofa by the fireplace. The hearth was cold with last year's ashes, left by the house elves. Ginny wanted somewhere warm and comfortable, and though it was too hot to actually light a fire, the sofa was the most comfortable of all. She wanted to sleep.

But first she wanted to think.

"Listen, I've had a long day, so please bug off." Sometimes you had to enunciate. He didn't always get the point. Then again, he made it a point not to.

"Nope," Colin said, giving a girly twirl. Ginny just laughed at his antics. No wonder people thought he was gay.

She shook her head. "You are such a stubborn—"

"Ginny!" Cheers erupted around the room. Her friends, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sprang up from behind the red and gold chairs and articles of furniture. Protesting weakly, Ginny was soon engulfed in a thrashing mob of happy red-clad Gryffindors.

Struggling to rise she spotted Ron charging through the portrait hole, Harry and Hermione trailing behind him. Ron's eyes shone with pride for his sister.

"Ginny!" he yelled, clobbering a first year in the head and shoving students out of the way in his attempt to reach her. Noting Hermione's warning glance, he looked back over his shoulder. "Sorry," he said meekly as the kid rubbed his head. "Midget," he muttered under his breath. Luckily, Hermione didn't hear him. Then he turned back to his sister.

"Gin, that was amazing! I can't believe you b-er, slapped the ferret in front of McGonagall. Just be glad it wasn't Snape." Ron's ill-timed remark about the hated potions teacher caused Ginny's smile to falter. Crap. Detention.

"I didn't know she was behind me," Ginny protested. Her face became red at the cat calls and hollers her friends threw about the room, and the radiant congratulations they pounded her on the back with. The people she didn't really know watched from the sidelines, mystified as to why everyone was yelling. Ginny blushed. She had only given Malfoy what he deserved. It was nothing much. Somehow she figured such humbleness wouldn't please Ron. And right then, she didn't need a rant about the atrocities Malfoy had committed during their infamous, and continuing, time at Hogwarts.

"That slap is definitely going to leave a mark," Harry chimed in, grinning from ear to ear. About to reply, Ginny let out a squawk as she was nearly bowled over by a cat-calling Seamus. Rolling her eyes at the usually reserved Irish boy, she managed a small smile, which soon turned into a large yawn.

"I guess the twins taught me well," she added mischievously. "Do you think I've topped them?" Harry shook his head.

"You've got a long way to go to do that," he said.

Another yawn nearly split her jaw open. Sitting herself down in the nearest chair, she eyed Hermione. The girl, her cheeks blushing light pink, split into a huge smile. "Great job, Gin. But, honestly, to do something like that in front of a teacher," she looked horrified at the thought.

Striding over, Colin plopped a butterbeer into Ginny's outstretched hand.

"Cheers," he said. "Drink. It's not very often anyone gets to slap the Prince of Slytherin, let alone a Gryffindor. Bottoms up." And with that he threw back his head and, with a hearty laugh, proceeded to drain the bottle. Ginny laughed with him, glad that her friends were enjoying the party. She, however, simply wanted to fall into bed and forget that the entire thing. That was not likely to happen, of course.

Ginny shook her head, handing the bottle to Ron.

"Come on, Ginny," Ron said, handing the bottle back to her. But Ginny refused.

"Why not?" he asked. "Are you feeling OK?" He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, searching her for any symptoms of a disease.

Great, she thought, just what I need. A double dose of Brotherly concern.

"Because, Ron," she said as patiently as she could. She couldn't get mad at her brother for nothing. It wasn't his fault that he could be a bit slow. Enunciating and holding in her temper, she continued. "I am tired. Or are my yawns testifying that I enjoy splitting my face in two? I now have two detentions. Not one, but two. One is with Snape and the other with McGonagall. I want to sleep. Drink some butterbeer for me; I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

With a final look in their direction, she said goodnight to Colin and her friends and walked upstairs to the dorm.

The common room went quiet after her abrupt retirement.

"Mental," Dean remarked as he watched his ex disappear up the stairs.

"Shut up, Dean," Ruby hissed as she followed her friend up the staircase.

Dean looked taken aback. Considered as one of the nicest, hottest guys in Gryffindor, he wasn't used to rejection. Frowning like a sullen puppy, he glanced at Lavender. To his dismay, his crush had gone with Ruby, and was nowhere to be found.

Sighing, he pushed himself up from the chair he was in and strolled to the boys' dorm. Girls. They were far too finicky and hard to understand.

Slowly the common room emptied. Several fourth-year partygoers remained behind, mourning the loss of a good party and drinking the rest of the butterbeer themselves. By the time it was over they had chugged until their speech was slurred enough that they thought they might just swallow their tongues. Butterbeer wasn't very alcoholic, but in large quantities it became as potent as a bottle of beer. You just had to drink more of the warm, pleasing liquid. Muttering, they staggered, with many crashes, to their beds, leaving the musty fireplace and somber red and gold décor sitting alone in the dark.

The next day during classes the infamous story of Ginny's 'bitch slap' had circulated the entire school, earning her whoops from some and murderous glances from others. She didn't understand how the word had traveled so quickly until Hermione pointed out that "about a quarter of the school witnessed it, and so therefore if they all told least tell two friends, and those two told two friends, and so on, in about three hours the entire population of the school would know. Ron simply pointed out that "This is Hogwarts." And left it at that. Ginny preferred Ron's simplification, but didn't dare tell Hermione that. She was proud of her 'mathematical' skills. She explained that math was sort of like Arithmancy. Ginny didn't press the point any farther.

You had to hand it to her, Draco thought as he surveyed the halls and watched her bounce towards her next class. She had guts. But where did those come from? The popular Gryffindor had seemed far from gutsy when she first walked into the halls of Hogwarts. She was timid, fearful—characteristics that seemed to grow as her first year progressed. Sure, she had been stubborn, but what Weasley wasn't? That hadn't seemed to do her any good, though, till the past few years. Slowly the fear and timidity had left her, replaced with her Weasley stubbornness, determination, and spirit, eager to try new things and succeed in whatever she put herself to. Not that she always did. Although good at Quidditch, she would never be able to match him, he thought. For one thing, they were riding completely different brooms. For another? Well, call him sexist, but Draco knew that guys were better at sports that girls. He was still waiting for someone to prove him wrong. But whatever way you looked at it, timidity was not a word used to describe Ginny Weasley anymore.

Malfoy continued through the day, observing the girl with his mercucial eyes. He glowered at anyone who came too close, hexed the first years in the Slytherin common room and behaved more haughty and conceited than ever. The only thing otherwise marring his perfection and character was the shaming red handprint on his porcelain face. He bore it as the medal of his chivalry. Or, he thought, the medal of my irresistibility.

Beyond the Slytherins, the rest of the student body pointed and whispered. The entirety of the school seemed to be laughing at him. Which is probably was.

Ginny, with a sedated air, ignored him most of the day. Through the hallways, in the Great Hall, she pretended not to notice his contemptuous looks and aloof air. She ignored the silver eyes that followed her, expressionless, and the prowling grace with which he stalked the halls. She acted as though he was invisible. Likewise, he ignored her, though it was simply because he refused to rise to the tantalizing bait. He yearned to pester her, provoke her—anything to drive her mad and make her crack. The red-haired Weaselette was amusing, if dangerous, when she was on fire, and he enjoyed savoring the fact that he could arouse such anger. Overall, it was only the reason that she seemed to find him so easy to ignore which kept him silent.

To put it simply, it irked him.

He was not going to have a Weasley be better at something, anything, than a Malfoy. That would be preposterous.

The battle of the wills had been ensuing for five hours when Malfoy finally snapped. Not a glance in his direction, not a tensing when he came near. She revealed nothing to his presence, and he wanted to know why.

Sidling up to her in the back of potions, he watched his prey carefully. He did not want to be ignored. He did not like being ignored; not when he knew that he was hottest guy in the school, the snobbiest, richest, sexiest teen to ever walk the halls. He was proud of that fact.

His sentence, "Looking good, Red," died in his lips as she robbed him of the chance to speak it.

"You have no self control, do you, Malfoy?" she hissed. He looked at her, raising one eyebrow.

"What do you mean? Malfoys are the epitome of self control," he scoffed.

"And you are displaying this so called self control how?"

"Well," he drawled, letting his sex god side take over. He motioned to the steamy fog that clouded the room. "There is very little visibility. If I felt like it I could make you squirm, turn you into a puddle of jelly, or otherwise have my way with you, no magic allowed."

"As if you would," she said angrily, her face lit up by a red-hot blush.

"You know I could, Red," he said softly, the threat lighting up his silver eyes.

"Is that a threat, Malfoy?" she asked defiantly, balling her fists.

He just looked at her. "Yes."

She glared. "Do you want to?"

Before answering, he let his eyes roam her body. His heated gaze caused the blush to reappear, redder than ever. "No," he said, disgustedly. But I'd like to see you squirm and melt into a puddle of jelly. It'd be very amusing.

He sneered. She shook slightly, her glaring gaze never leaving his. "Now who has no self control, eh, Red?" he asked.

"Oh, I have self control, ferret, I just don't always use it. You, unfortunately, don't have any. Poor you." Malfoy stiffened.

"That's a bad comeback, Red," he said.

Ginny seemed not to notice. She'd hit a nerve, and she wasn't about to back down.

"What? Has no one ever said that they are sorry for you?"

"I don't want their sympathy, so why should it matter?" he snapped. It was Ginny's turn to sneer in a very Slytherin like way. It was nice having the upper hand.

"Just admit it. No one's ever said "Draco, I'm sorry for you'."

A spark caught his eye.

"You just did." Ginny narrowed her eyes before letting out a silent shriek of frustration.

"Different context. Has anyone actually ever meant it?" His eyes narrowed. "Didn't think so."

"Maybe not, but I, however, feel sympathy for you. Poor as a hatter, you are, and enough of other peoples' pity to feed you for a year." He cursed himself. It was the worst insult he'd ever come up with.

Her eyes widened at his insult to her family. She raised her hand as if to slap him, and Draco leaped back, nearly running into an empty stool in his haste. No emotion registered in his fathomless eyes, but Ginny knew that her slap had hurt, and he didn't want to go through it again.

"Self control, eh, Malfoy? You show fear easily enough."

And with the final word, she disappeared into the thick steam, red hair bouncing, leaving a seething Malfoy and a victorious grin on her face. Ginny one, Malfoy zero.

Draco couldn't believe it. The impertinent little Weasel had managed to get in the last word. He was supposed to be the victorious one, not the one left seething in the background. It was a shallow victory, he consented, but a victory non the less. How did she do it? He huffed. He puffed. He stormed sulkily to his dorm room, nearly blowing the door down in his vehement anger.

"Tut tut, Draco," Blaise said from the bed. "Where did the calm, cool collected Malfoy go, eh? And your self control?"

He sneered at her. "Don't mind my self control. What's it to you?"

"I've never seen you worked up over a girl this much before."

"I'm not worked up over her. She pisses me off. That's all."

Blaise looked at him knowingly. "Right." Draco tried to change the subject.

"Why are you in here, anyway?"

"What happened to the word 'best-mate'?"

"That's two words, Blaise."

"So?"

"Holy shite, can you even count?"

"Yes: one, two, three, ten," she said sarcastically. "Get over it, Draco."

"Over what?"

"The little Weasley."

"I am already."

"Of course. That's why you're staring off into space with an angry look on your face."

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Am not, Blaise."

"Are too."

"Am not—"

"Jeez, will you stop acting like children in there!" came Pansy's voice from the door. "Draco, baby, I need to talk to you," she whined.

"Not now, Pansy." He threw a disgusted look at Blaise. "I'm busy."

"Doing what?"

Grinning wickedly at Draco, Blaise cut in.

"Oh, Draco, oh," she moaned.

Pansy shrieked.

"Draco! You cheating little—open the door right now!" Fighting off the giggles, Draco joined in on Blaise's joke. Through their combined moaning, Draco heard Pansy stomp off. Probably crying, he thought. As if I would ever do her. He grimaced at the thought.

As soon as she was gone they stopped. Blaise grinned, but Draco noticed that it seemed a little strained. He shrugged it off. Probably just her time of the month, he thought. Draco was brought back to reality by Blaise.

"So what are you going to do about the Weasley?"

Draco had no idea, and he preferred not to think about it. His anger at her shallow victory came back, and he inwardly let out a sigh. Outwardly he expressed nothing. Sometimes there were things he couldn't even say around Blaise, let alone think about. Girls were too intrusive. She shrugged.

Opening her mouth to say something, Blaise was stopped by Draco.

"I have to go," he said, picking up his cloak.

"Do what?"

"Nothing," he said lightly. In reality he wanted to go think and mull over his thoughts. There was only one place in the castle that he could. He strode away, not looking back at his best mate's face, who sat, still and silent, on his green duvet.

Blaise watched as Draco left the room, apparently thoughtful. She shut her mouth, knowing it was useless to try and call him back. Draco, for seem some reason, spent a lot of time doing 'Nothing'. In this mood (though highly cheered up by their combined joke on Pansy) there was no way she would get him to listen. Best to let him go and talk to him later. Nodding a mute farewell, she waited until the door was closed soundly and the lock clicked. Then, pulling out a small box, she hugged it to her chest and let a tear spill down her cheek. Cursing the mood swings of Malfoys, she sat there, resigned, waiting for him to come back so she could break the news.

Draco hurried toward the Great Hall. His footsteps, silenced on the stair carpet, now echoed as he hastened along the stone to the large room. Easing open the door, his eyes flitted around the room, making sure it was empty. It was. By 9:00 at night twilight had come and the students were in their common rooms, working on homework and playing wizard chess. He slipped through the door.

The cavern stretched on before him, hard stone floor cold, shadows from the tables and the few flickering candles magnified by the twilight. He stared up at the ceiling. The moon had appeared above, giving off a faint illuminating light. The night was clear, and stars gleamed softly. The figure of the Great Dipper, Ursula Major, shone above his head. Peace filled the entire room; peace instilled by the quiet moon and the gentle silence which seeped through the doors. All was silent, all was peaceful, and all thoughts were lost.

"Mars is bright tonight," he remarked softly as he noticed the bright planet. No breeze was there to ruffle his hair, but Draco felt that, if he tried hard enough, a breeze from the past would engulf him and leave him clean of all things. 'The power of the wind,' he called it. A spirit that comes to take all evil away.

Had anyone peeked through the open door they would have seen a tall blond-haired boy standing in the center of the hall, his black cloak slung loosely around his shoulders, his eyes fixed on the celestials above.

A/N.: OK, so I have a quote I'd like to cite. It's from a Panic at the Disco song, Nails for Breakfast, Tacks for Snacks. I wanted to put in more, but I couldn't find the right place. Next chappie! I hope you all enjoyed it, even though it was sort of long (on word it's five pages…yeah, I know, 'that's SHORT!' sigh. Well, I do try…). OH, and I know, Three Little Pigs quote ish. I just put it in cuz I felt it fit and it came to me.

Please, please, please review! They make me really happy and make me sing. Quite literally. They are also extremely motivating and urge me on in this fic. This is the farthest I've ever gotten with an actual book (I could never find the time) so please, if you want to read more, review! Or PM me! I would love to hear from you! Love you! Bye!