A/N: This chapter isn't very xGinny. It also gives you a glimpse into the real Lavender Brown. THANK YOU SO MUCH to reviewers. I love you guys! –hug-

Disclaimer: I am not lucky enough to as smart as to invent these characters myself. They are not mine. Too bad. –pout-

The Stone Speaks

Eight: Heroism, or Lack Thereof

DRACO

Draco opened his eyes. Morning light was flooding in, and the after-effects of his potion were making his head feel light and woozy. He tried to remember what had happened… why was he in the Hospital Wing?

"Now, remember, do not squeeze the Bubotuber. It will explode, and have a very bad reaction with human skin," Professor Sprout said…

Draco's hands tightened around the Bubotuber…

Bang. Pain. The Granger girl, helping him up the stairs…

"No, that's my name," Draco drawled. "If you recall, I asked for yours." He stared through the half-darkness and saw a small, slim figure wearing black, and familiar red hair. Shocked…"Weasley?"

"Are you scared? Are you?! Then what a fool you must be, to wear your emotions like a scarf, on display for the world to see," Draco snarled, balling his hands tight. Ginny stared at him, stunned, for a long time, and then abruptly stood. She seemed unsure of herself, and then reached over – what little light there was sparkling on the Stone of Montol and in her large eyes – and rested her hand briefly on his fisted one, before turning and leaving with a quiet, "'Night, Malfoy."

Draco groaned and rolled onto his stomach, burying his head in his pillow. He had told Ginny too much. Far, far too much. She'd probably tell all of her little friends – Potter, Granger, that peculiar Lovegood girl, and her unpleasant brother, Ronald, with whom Draco had shared a particular dislike. Then again, however, this was a whole new Ginny that he was seeing; a nice, friendly Ginny.

The touch of her hand of his suddenly came back to him, and, to Draco's own disbelief, pink rose in his cheeks. He shook his head wildly, causing his already-mussed hair to fall out of place even more, and he raked a hand through it.

Madam Pomfrey entered through the curtains, and Draco sat up eagerly. "Can I go?" he inquired brightly.

Madam Pomfrey chuckled. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, let's just see if you're fit to go first," she told him, and she dabbed a hot cloth on his forehead. She dropped the cloth into her cauldron, and said clearly: "Ivangeo." A huge haze of shimmering pearly steam swirled upwards, and the cauldron spluttered; Draco and Madam Pomfrey stared inside once it had stopped smoking and squeaking. The liquid, which had first been clear, was now a shade of green that Draco secretly admired.

"Well, the potion says you're all set… say 'Ah'," Madam Pomfrey commanded, and when Draco did as instructed, the chubby matron peered inside his mouth. "Yes, you're good."

Draco forced out a smile and a polite thank-you, before climbing out of the bed, slipping into his shoes, and sweeping through the curtains. As he made his way towards the door, his ice eyes scanned every bed, telling himself that he was just curious which first-years had hurt themselves in the first month, but knowing in his heart the head of scarlet that he was looking for.

The blonde seventeen-year-old reached the door without finding her- without finding any first-years, I mean, Draco hastily corrected himself – and presumed that she-they – had left earlier. He heaved a small sigh, and jogged down the stairs.

As he headed down flight of stairs after flight of stairs to get to the dungeon so that he could collect himself, Draco had a panic attack. What day is it? Do I have a class or a break now? To answer these questions, he needed his school bag, which was, unfortunately, as far away from the Hospital Wing as it was possible to get (save for perhaps Hagrid's Hut or elsewhere outside), in the Slytherin common room.

Draco ducked through a hidden tunnel, and stepped out into the cold, slightly clammy air of the dungeons, and made his way deeper to the bust of Salazar Slytherin that he knew so well.

"Pureblood," Draco told it, and, for some reason he did not understand, the password unnerved him and made him feel slightly uncomfortable. The bust ducked down, sliding under a hidden iron grate, and the wall behind it slid open, revealing a dark, green-themed common room.

Draco stepped over the bust and held the wall open while he quickly retrieved his bag from beside the hearth – where Professor Snape always left abandoned bags from his house members – and then burrowed through the contents of it to locate his timetable.

"First class," Draco muttered, tracing the table with his finger, "Double potions." Realizing how lucky he was that the class he was already ten minutes late for was in the dungeons, Draco hurried up the stairs to the higher level of the dungeons, where the advanced potions classroom sat.

He flung the door open and found every pair of eyes trained on him. Granger and Potter were hunched together at the back, and, upon seeing him, began whispering hurriedly. Their secrecy always annoyed him greatly; today more than ever.

"Sorry I'm late," Draco called, bowing his head briefly to Professor Snape, and slid into the nearest seat, beside a Gryffindor girl who he didn't remember being in his class before. Nonetheless, she wrinkled her nose and shifted sideways, away from Draco, so she knew him, and who everyone thought him to be.

"No matter," said Professor Snape silkily. "I will not deduct any house points from Slytherin due to your tardiness," several Gryffindors gasped and began to protest furiously, "SILENCE – because I know that you were residing in the Hospital Wing at the time that class began. Open your potions book to page 381, Mr. Malfoy, and study the ingredients needed for the Draught of Heroism. You'll be making it during the lesson; without your books."

Someone near the back grumbled something about Professor Snape, followed by a hissed reprimanding – Granger and Potter, no doubt. Draco scowled, and focused on the book.

The Draught of Heroism is a strong, tricky potion, only to be attempted by the advanced. When taken, it makes the drinker feel invincible and capable of anything – often to both positive and negative results.

Ingredients

Bezoar Stone, powdered

Wormwood, finely sliced

Unicorn Blood

Loran's Leopard-Orchid Solution

Water……

Draco re-read the list of twenty-seven ingredients again, before scribbling it down hurriedly in the back of his potions notebook (I'll copy it out neatly later, he promised absently, half-knowing that he'd probably forget) before starting to memorize the procedure. It was fairly complicated, and the only person to finish learning the theory on the Draught before Draco was Granger.

"Class," Professor Snape barked. "Stop that chatter, and close your books." There was a general snapping and rustling sound throughout the chamber as everyone closed their books reluctantly, and, with a sweep of the Professor's wand, thirty battered or brand-new textbooks flew towards Snape's desk and piled themselves there neatly. "Begin."

Draco stood, and moved quietly to the less-used store cupboards. They weren't used as much as the main cupboards because strange green goo dripped from every shelf, appalling most students and teachers into staying away, but Draco felt that perhaps this year he would prefer to risk the slime than he included in the crowd bustling around the main cupboards.

He retrieved his ingredients, and set them down on his table. Going over the method in his head, he pointed his wand at the cauldron (Flagratio, Draco told his wand silently), and flames flickered into life. Draco prepared his ingredients, and began.

"Very well, class, now please collect some of your Draught in a small vial and hand it in on my desk. They will be given time to simmer and stew, as is intended, and by our next lesson they will be ready for testing," Professor Snape said icily. "Now let us just pray that you all performed the task correctly."

Draco looked into his cauldron. It was a thick purple near-solid mixture that slightly resembled colourful wet cement, and he grimaced. What was it supposed to look like? He wondered anxiously, and as he ladled some into a flask, sneaked a glance at Granger's potion – hers was also a thick, cement-y paste, though hers was a few hues lighter purple than Draco's own.

A satisfied smirk emerged on Draco's lips as he took his vial to the front. He stored his flask into the correct deposit slot, and then returned to tidy up his things.

CRASH.

"Oops! My bad, Malfoy," sneered the girl that Draco had sat beside as he stared down at the purple mess on the floor. His cauldron was up-ended, with a large dent in its gold surface where it had hit the stone floor, and his books were sprawled in the purple potion, smoking as they became sealed to the floor.

Everyone turned to look at him, and Draco felt his face burning. He quickly dropped down and tried to pull his books and quills from the tiles as mocking laughter filled his ears.

"He's so stupid," someone giggled unpleasantly. "I can't believe he came top in potions last year."

"Ms. Brown," Professor Snape said coldly, "that will be twenty points from Gryffindor and a detention tomorrow. You'll probably destroyed the floor."

The girl gasped, sucking in more air than Draco would have thought could fill an elephant's lungs. He guessed that the whiney complaint of the century was coming. "But sir!" she whined. Bingo. "Sir, I didn't do anythiiing. Malfoy put his books all over the plaaaace and I fell! I knocked his cauldron and it dropped and burnt his books to the ground but it was all his faauuuult, Professoooor!"

Professor Snape's lip curled as he strode towards the girl. "Ms. Brown, I do not care who's fault it was or how it happened! The fact of the matter is that you have knocked over a highly destructive potion and ruined the potions chamber! You will have a detention with me tomorrow whether you like it or not – and I think you'll have one next Wednesday as well for sheer cheek!" he snapped. "Now get out of my sight."

With a huff and a swirl of straight blonde hair, the girl stormed from the classroom, and the others followed in her wake. Only Draco and Professor Snape remained; Snape sitting at his desk and inspecting the various flasks, Draco scraping purple gunge from the floor.

"Mr. Malfoy, leave the mess. Ms. Brown can clean it tomorrow," Professor Snape said aloofly, a sneer curling his lips. There was a silence as Malfoy packed away his ruined books, and then the potions-master asked awkwardly, "Mr. Malfoy… is everything alright? You seem rather detached from the other students."

Draco avoided the Professor's piercing, hawk-like gaze. "No, sir," he replied softly, and, slinging his bag over his shoulder, left without a word.

A/N: A whole new side of Mr. Malfoy. Hm.. Please review! D