Tell Me Why I Don't Like Mondays

In spite of at least three very fervent pleas to the contrary, Monday morning did in fact arrive as scheduled.

There was much avoidance of eyes and shuffling of feet in one particular dorm room; raised voices and throwing of hissy fits in another.

Eventually, Pansy succumbed to the pathetic bleating of her fellow Slytherins; shaking her head she headed for the stairs to the boys dorm with a very determined tilt to her chin.

As Draco's last tantrum had driven everyone else from the room, he had been reduced to taking out his frustrations on the wall. When Pansy walked in he was hopping around on one foot cursing up a blue streak.

"Tch, Draco, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

The blond boy had now slumped onto his bed and was examining his toes. He didn't bother to look up as he replied. "Fuck off, Pansy! We both know if I ever kissed mother the shock would instantly kill us both."

Of course, Draco would never admit it, but he was secretly pleased that Pansy was here; Pansy was usually the only person who Draco could rely on to make him feel better.

"You are an utter total wanker, you know that right?"

Or perhaps not…

Hermione took one look at the faces around the breakfast table and reached for the book in her bag. She had slipped a false cover over it entitled 'The Giant Rebellion from a Goblin's Perspective' by J R Hartley. Opening the covers she selected a date at random.

June 5th

Today was blisteringly hot and most of the school had taken to the grounds at some point to escape the stifling heat of the halls. I had limped down to the lake with Draco directly after lunch; though to be honest given his behaviour of late I seriously doubted the wisdom of Draco spending any extended time out in the sun. I had even gone so far as to suggest a sun hat but Draco hadn't really been keen on the idea (hence the limp).

{~~~~~~}

Draco dropped to the grass and stretched out on his back staring at the sky. I sat down next to him and examined the deep purple bruise that was developing rapidly over my left shin. I took a moment to glare at Draco before staring at his shoes – I swear the evil little tit wears steel-tips!

"I'm bored, Draco. Why don't we take a walk around the lake?"

"Sod off, Pans!" Draco didn't even bother to open his eyes. "I've no intention of moving from this spot for anything short of a Death Eater attack. And then it would only be to gain a better view of Potter being torn limb from ridiculously skinny limb."

He lifted his head and looked over at me. "But please don't me let stop you, by all means bugger off and leave me in peace." And he made shooing motions at me with his hands before settling back down on the grass.

Annoying little turd – a simple no would have sufficed!

I looked back over towards the school and watched as another large group escaped into the sunshine, recognising them I let out a groan, "Oh, way to spoil a lovely day!"

"What's wrong now, you irritating cow?" Draco asked in a bored voice. He always knew how to make a girl feel special.

"Nothing important, it's just that the Gryffindorks have decided to contaminate the air with their presence."

Draco sat up immediately and nearly did himself an injury turning to look behind him.

"Where?" He was shielding his eyes with his hand and squinting off into the distance. "Stupid bleeding sun! I can't see a bloody thing. Are they coming over here?" By this time Draco had twisted himself into a convoluted shape that would have made a contortionist weep.

"Relax, Draco, they're heading towards the other side of the lake."

"Oh."

The poor boy sounded disappointed; obviously he had been looking forward to sharpening his acerbic wit at the expense of the Trying Trio and their nauseating chums. Bless him.

Suddenly Draco jumped to his feet. "Right, I can't be doing with this lying around doing nothing. I'm off for a walk around the lake. You coming?"

"But I just suggested…" I got no further as the contrary little twit stalked away so I stood up and followed him. I probably wouldn't have bothered but I had seen through Draco's ruse – he was clearly heading towards the Gryffindors and there was no way I was about to miss out on some free entertainment.

As we drew closer to where they sat under a large willow tree, Draco let out a gasp of horror. "Merlin! I think I'm going to vomit."

I followed his gaze and realised Draco had a point. Most of the boys had shucked their ties and a couple had even opened their shirts. Urgh! I'd never seen so much pasty white flesh in one place – well, outside a morgue (and incidentally didn't Snape have some very strange ideas regarding field trips?).

"Good grief there should be a law against it." Draco was clearly not impressed either.

I'd been quite surprised earlier when Draco had actually ventured out without his own robes, he so rarely went anywhere without them. I took a moment to thank Merlin that he'd at least stopped at the robes. The idea of Draco shirtless was quite frankly terrifying – I could all too well imagine the mayhem and carnage as birds and Muggle aircraft plunged to the ground blinded by the glare from his scarily translucent skin (I decided it was probably best not to share these thoughts).

To my surprise, Draco sat down on the small rise of ground a dozen or so feet behind the group. I had thought his intention was to accost them immediately and make mean comments; perhaps he was biding his time. I sat down next to him in eager anticipation of the verbal mauling to come.

A few moments passed without comment. Draco was hugging his knees and resting his chin on them, he looked really rather cute.

"Weasley must be sweltering."

Huh?

"Why doesn't he take his shirt off? Or at the very least open it."

I glanced at Draco, surprised by his comment. Surely he wasn't encouraging more unnecessary exposure? He was looking intently over at the group and had started to gnaw on his thumb.

Before I could respond he let out a loud groan. "Oh, good grief, no!" Draco's eyes had widened in horror.

I turned to follow his gaze. Potter was unbuttoning his shirt. I started to giggle (I'm not sure why).

Draco glared at me and leaned over to thump me on the arm. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Pans stop being such a girl!" He turned back to the group in front of us. "I feel deeply nauseated. First Longbottom thinks that it is somehow acceptable to reveal his flabby guts to us and now The Boy Who Really Should Have Died Horribly At Birth decides to flash his puny chest at us. Is there no end to this madness? And why isn't Weasley joining in? Stupid Weasel!"

I started giggling again. "Maybe he's too embarrassed."

"What?" Draco was glaring at me now. "Why would he be embarrassed?" He glanced back over at Weasley. "He's in damn sight better shape than Potter, tiresome little weed that he is."

I took a good look at the two boys in question. Of course, I'd never admit it to Draco but well, Potter's chest wasn't all that puny…

"Perhaps Weasley doesn't want that Mudblood [expletive deleted] to see all his freckles!" I said.

"Whoa!"

I stared at Draco in amazement. That was quite possibly the most non-Malfoyesque sound he had ever uttered. I waited for him to elaborate but he seemed mesmerised by events over at the Gryffindork tree. I turned to see what had arrested his attention so completely.

Weasley was blushing deeply but had started to unbutton his shirt, the other boys clearly teasing him into submission. He was standing up and facing us so we had a pretty good view of this disturbing development. Granger, the buck-toothed [expletive deleted] sad [expletive deleted] excuse for a witch was sitting at his feet gazing up adoringly, red-faced and glassy-eyed.

[Hermione paused to frown; she had never gazed adoringly at Ron ever, nor had she ever been glassy-eyed! She huffed in disgust before carrying on reading.]

I turned back to Draco to express my horror at this turn of events – at least now I understood his uncharacteristic outcry, I'd come over a bit uncharacteristic myself at the thought of yet more pasty flesh on display, only worse this time as it would inevitably be equally dappled with unsightly blemishes! Poor Draco couldn't seem to tear his eyes away – I suppose it was a bit like picking at a scab – you know you shouldn't, that it will only prolong the pain and slow down the healing process but you just can't help yourself…

"Do you really think so?"

I was so shocked that the poor traumatised boy could even speak at this point that for a moment I just stared at him before his actual words filtered through to my brain.

"Er, do I really think what, Draco dear?" Taking in his appearance I began to feel that Draco + sun had been a dreadful mistake. He was almost as red-faced as Weasley and he had suddenly come over all breathless; I began to wonder what would be the quickest means to get him in doors and into some shade.

"You know, what you said." He nodded his head towards Weasley. "Do you really think he has freckles –" Draco paused to take another deep breath, "on his chest."

I was a bit perplexed by his question; why would Draco even care and if he waited a couple of minutes he'd know anyway. And why did he want to discuss Weasley's chest for Merlin's sake? Still as always when Draco was in one of his odd moods I thought it best to play along (I felt certain that my shins would thank me in the long run).

"Well, duh! I imagine the ginger freak has freckles just about everywhere," I replied scathingly.

I glanced at the boy in question, he had about half the buttons undone now and Granger was positively drooling. [Was not…Hermione muttered] Shaking my head in disgust I looked back over at Draco. He said something that sounded like "everywhere…." in a sort of high-pitched strangled voice. Then, before I could make any response, Draco leapt to his feet declaring "Oh Merlin, I can't take anymore!" And he ran back off towards school (I didn't even know the little tyke could run that fast. I suppose he just needed the right motivation and clearly the threat of Weasley's freckle-soaked chest was it).

I was just thinking about following Draco to check that he was okay when Potter stood up and started to remove his shirt completely, and I thought perhaps Draco needed some time alone and settled back onto the grass.

When I entered the common room an hour later, Draco was just returning from a refreshing shower and had an ice lolly firmly wedged in his mouth. He seems to have grown inordinately fond of those things lately – they'll rot his teeth if he's not careful.

Professor McGonagall sat watching the drama playing out at the Gryffindor table. She glanced down the row of her fellow teachers; as she suspected the headmaster was also taking a keen interest in developments at that particular table. She heaved a sigh of relief; at least the old goat had stopped taking notes.

Taking in the clearly unhappy faces of Mr Potter and Mr Finnigan, she felt a sharp tug of guilt; had she done the right thing? Then she looked at Mr Weasley as he walked from the hall. There was definitely something about the boy this morning that arrested one's attention. Glancing around the room she noted several other interested parties. Of course, there was bound to be a certain amount of idle curiosity surrounding events down at the lake but there was also something else going on. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, it wasn't that Weasley suddenly seemed happy or content, it wasn't that simple. The closest Minerva could come to defining it was peace… Mr Weasley was at peace. For a boy seemingly always at odds with the world around him, a boy constantly in motion, fighting a thousand insecurities and struggling just to be seen it must have come as a bit of a shock. And a definite relief.

Professor McGonagall nodded happily to herself… yes, she'd made the right decision. She was roused from thoughts by the sound of shouting; she looked up and took in the disturbing sight of Mr Finnigan apparently trying to bite Mr Potter on the ankle. Mr Longbottom, meanwhile, appeared to have come second in a fight with a bowl of cornflakes.

At that moment, Miss Granger glanced up from the book she had been reading and looked around her, she didn't seem particularly surprised by what she saw. Shaking her head, Hermione turned towards the teachers table and for a moment their eyes connected. Hermione shrugged and rolled her eyes in the universal sign language for 'men!' Minerva smiled nervously back… oh dear, perhaps removing the screen had been a mistake after all.

Hermione exchanged a sympathetic look with Professor McGonagall. She was beginning to think neutering was the way to go with Harry and Seamus, a couple of strategically placed bricks would probably do the trick.

Shaking her head disapprovingly, she spared the grappling twosome one last scornful glance before returning her attention to her book; she had time for one more entry before class.

July 24th

Well, I'm finally home, back in my room. Thank goodness, for the next seven weeks I won't have to listen to Millicent's snoring!

And I must admit I'm quite looking forward to having a break from Draco. He's been quite irksome this past year. It's this obsession with Potter and the Weasel. I am sick to death of hearing about what he intends to do with them both, particularly the ginger half of the Trying Twosome. And why does he always have to dash from the room after talking about the Weasel for any length of time? True, he always returns in a good mood, and usually requiring a nap but where does he go? And why? Perhaps he goes for a run to burn off all that aggression; but then he's always so clean when he gets back…

Oh, of course! What an idiot I've been - Draco must be running and then he showers on account of being all sweaty and sticky afterwards. Makes sense… still… next year I might follow him to check it out… could be interesting. I find the idea of Draco jogging positively hilarious. Actually, anything involving Draco and sweat is highly amusing, if somewhat improbable!

This week in particular he nearly drove me to violence with his never-ending Weasley/Potter chatter. I mean it was the end of term I should have been able to relax and plan out my summer itinerary in peace but no such luck. It started with the news of Potter's encounter with Quirrell and Lord V. Incidentally I'd never admit it to Draco of course (the tantrums just aren't worth it) but I was a little impressed that Potter had survived a confrontation with the Dark Lord. I certainly wouldn't fancy going up against him. I heard that Voldemort had attached himself to the back of Quirrell's head - urgh! That must have been a lovely sight!

But anyway, as usual that fountain of all gossip, Millicent, had entertained us at breakfast with the details of the Gryffindorks' previous day's little adventure. She was describing (with some relish it has to be said) how Weasley had been knocked unconscious during a giant chess game, when Draco suddenly stood up and stormed out of the hall without a word.

He is so jealous of any attention those three get!

Millicent continued to fill us in on the details in Draco's absence.

When we returned to the common room, Draco was there, sulking in one of the armchairs.

Poor Millicent! As soon as she walked in Draco jumped up, slapped her around the head and shouted, "For your information, you silly fat cow, Weasley is fine now and has been released from the infirmary!"

I thought that was a little harsh - after all, it's not like Millicent could be held responsible for Weasley's recovery. I'm pretty sure if she could have managed it, then, she would quite happily have finished him off herself. If only to get into Draco's good books (I happen to know that poor old Mils has a bit of a thing for Draco. Doesn't she realise that she doesn't stand a chance - she is just not his type - far too masculine).

Anyway she absolutely hates Weasley with a vengeance - I've personally been privy to some of the death fantasies she has thought up for the ginger pest. Funny but she doesn't seem quite as homicidal towards Potter; surely if she wants to endear herself to Draco then that would be just as good a way to go? Maybe she just hates that ginger git anyway. I must admit I too would welcome Weasley's violent early demise but that is definitely due to the fact that every day for the last nine months I have heard the name Weasley spoken anywhere between twenty and forty times! I suspect after that even his own mother would be tempted to throttle the little shit.

Hermione closed her book and looked around the Great Hall. Ron was nowhere in sight and Harry had just managed to dislodge Seamus from his leg and was limping out of the room, a rather dishevelled Seamus following close behind.

She was contemplating making her way to class when a large snowy owl, not unlike Hedwig except with a cute tuft of feathers on its head, landed in front of her.

For a moment Hermione regarded the bird in surprise, it was a little late for the regular post. However, she got no further in her thoughts as the bird stepped forward, let out a snort of impatience (she didn't even know birds could snort!) and lifted its left leg in a very pointed manner.

She looked at the feathered little snot with narrowed eyes; it positively reeked of disdain and all at once Hermione knew exactly who the bird belonged to… what did Pansy want now?

Hermione took the note tied to the proffered leg and began to unfold it. The snooty owl gave her a final haughty ruffle of its feathers and took off with a scornful hoot. Hermione didn't look up, but did pause in her reading to give it a sarcastic wave, then focusing her attention back on the note she frowned.

Granger

We need to talk. Meet me outside the kitchens at lunch time.

Oh, and if you haven't figured it out yet (and let's face it for a supposedly intelligent person you can be disturbingly slow in some areas) my journal continues to write itself… and perhaps I may have recently witnessed a certain interesting incident.

P

Hermione hastily gathered up her things and hurried out. Insults aside, this promised to be interesting. Transfiguration would just have to wait.