A/N: Big thanks to iRedeem and magical witch for the reviews! I hope I'm not too late, magical witch. Read, review, and enjoy!
It was the last Saturday before winter holidays started. The Malfoy-Parker issue had died down, primarily because of Heather's scathing comebacks whenever she caught someone shouting at her, and because it was already a week old.
Heather was at the Owlery, attaching a letter to her parents to tell them what time the train was pulling in, and that Harry, Ron, and Hermione would spend the remainder of the holiday after New Year with them, when Malfoy came in. She ignored him. It was only the two of them in the room, surrounded by owls, the smell of owl pellets, the quiet rustle of feathers, and soft hoots.
"There," she said to herself as she finished affixing the letter. She patted her brown great horned owl, Inverness, on the head. "Go on, darling." Inverness clucked its beak at her, demanding a treat. Heather searched her pockets and produced a Chocolate Frog. She unwrapped the frog and held it out to Inverness, which clucked its beak more insistently. "Oh, fuck," she exclaimed angrily, as she frantically searched her pockets and came up with only lint. "You bloody, blasted owl, you know dad's going to feed you at home, you rotten glutton!" she muttered under her breath, as she shook the frog at her owl vigorously.
"I see you don't even have the least bit of control over your owl," Malfoy remarked, coming over to her. He pulled out an Owl Treat and handed it to Inverness. The owl snapped its beak at Heather and flew out the window.
"Yeah, I'm disappointed it only answers to the lowest slime," she responded, savagely biting the Chocolate Frog. She offered it to Malfoy as an afterthought. "Want some?"
"No thanks." Malfoy's lips curled.
"Suit yourself," Heather shrugged, and turned to go. Malfoy followed her down the stairs. "Hey, Malfoy," she started. She wanted to remark on his following her, but fearing uncomfortable implications, she settled on his hair instead. "Your hair really looks stupid like that." It was slicked back and sleek, and it made him look faintly gay. Scratch that, very gay.
He looked coldly at her. "Not as stupid as your dull hair." He indicated her long hair hanging down her back. "It makes you look even more boring than you are."
His comment took her by surprise. She resisted slapping him, because she started this, and by god, she was going to have the last laugh. "At least I don't look gay with my hair," she said, without turning to look at him, and so missed Malfoy looking surprised and smoothing his hair with something akin to chagrin.
They were nearing the seventh-floor corridor where the portrait of the Fat Lady was. It didn't occur to Heather to return to the common room to get Malfoy off her back. In fact, it didn't occur to her to tell Malfoy to go away. They were almost at the third floor when Heather couldn't bear the silence anymore.
"So why do are you following me, Malfoy?" she was thinking of asking him. "You like my company, don't you?"
"Don't be bloody daft," said Malfoy coldly, and with horror, she realized she had said her thoughts out loud, and couldn't take it back. Lucky for her, their mutual animosity prevented awkward pauses and romantic implications. She could always count on it. "I'm going back to our common room."
"Yeah, right," she snorted. "You just like being with me so your day would be ruined." She staged a gasp. "You're a sado!"
Malfoy rolled his eyes and smirked. "Parker, when are you going to get your conclusions right?" He made a noise like tchah! and shook his head. "Women. You know everything but the obvious." His breath nearly stopped. Did he just fucking say that out loud? The obvious? He would kick himself later in the common room.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "I invented that sound."
He pulled himself together internally and raised an eyebrow at her. "What sound?" Lucky for him, her mind operated on a different plane than anyone else's, so they were rarely on the same page when it came to underlying meanings.
She made the tchah noise. "That noise. That's mine."
He ran his fingers through his hair. "It already exists, you idiot. It's not yours."
"Ha! But I'm the only one using it," she said defensively.
"Parker, you really must go and meet more people. Being in your pathetic circle has narrowed your already small mind."
She raised an eyebrow. "Small mind? You're the one with no imagination. And unlike some people, at least I have a circle of friends."
"I do have friends," he said coldly, more than a little offended. The friends he had were the friends he could use and order around even when they were all older.
It was her turn to scoff. "They just aren't there when you need them for, say, a trip to Hogsmeade."
Malfoy wanted to kill her, and then kill her again.
Somehow, in their bickering, they had reached the double doors leading outside. "Why are you still here?" she demanded. "I thought you were going back to your common room."
Before he could reply, she swept on. "I won't let you see what my present for Deirdre is!"
He drew himself up and looked at her haughtily. "My parents already took care of our wedding present."
She muttered something that sounded exactly like, "no imagination," and pushed open the door. Before she could close it again, Malfoy had slipped past her.
"Besides," he continued in the same haughty tone, "she's not so important that I have to agonize over her present."
"Whatever," she muttered, and started walking briskly to the direction of Hagrid's hut. He kept pace with her.
"I wonder," she said, and Malfoy sighed. Whenever Parker opened her mouth, nothing good came of it. "You say you don't want people to think that you're gay, but why do you walk around with that kind of hairstyle all the time?"
"I wonder," he mimicked her. "What if you shut up for about five minutes? I bet you can't do that."
"Sure I can," she answered easily. What was five minutes anyway? "So you acknowledge that your hair makes you look gay?"
"I'm not acknowledging anything." He pulled out an hourglass from his pocket. "But you are."
"What are you prepared to bet?" she said, a challenging tone in her voice.
He mulled over his options. The winner – him, no doubt – could have the loser – her, obviously – feed him breakfast at the Slytherin table for two weeks. That would invite more nasty comments from strangers, and he wasn't sure if it was allowed anyway. Professor Snape might not approve. Deirdre Zabini's wedding!
"If I win," he drawled, meeting her in the eye, "you have to sit with me through Deirdre Zabini's wedding, and dance with me to every song at the reception."
She looked appalled. "Dancing? And with you? No fucking way."
"Giving up, are you?" he challenged.
She looked even more appalled. "Of course not! Fine. But no way am I sitting with you through the wedding. I have to keep Mum happy."
"You're chickening out," he smirked.
She smacked him on the arm. "No, you fuck bloody idiot. Mum gets terribly bored and starts to doze off, and she might embarrass us all so I cheer her up by… er, talking to her."
He rolled his eyes. "You insult all the people in the church."
"No!" she cried, then looked down. "Yeah." She looked at him sharply. "How'd you know, then?"
"Lucky guess," he said in a voice dripping with contempt.
"I don't insult them, I make comments," she shot back, sounding insulted herself.
"Whatever you say, Parker," he said in a singsong voice, shrugging.
"Oh, shut up," she smacked him again on the arm. It didn't bother him at all. People never attempted to do that to him, not with Crabbe and Goyle around, but they weren't here, and Malfoy didn't mind at all anyway.
"What are you betting, then?" he asked, returning to the conversation with an effort at focus.
She smirked. "If I win, you have to feed me breakfast at the Gryffindor table for two weeks."
What! It was uncanny – perhaps her mind didn't operate on such a different plane after all. "No fucking way. I am not sitting with you idiots."
"Ha!" her voice was triumphant. "Now who's chickening out?"
"Well, how can I be sure that you're going to fulfill the bet when I win?"
"When you win? The nerve!" she exclaimed hotly. Then, "ow!" she said angrily, as she stubbed her toe on a rock hidden by the snow. When she looked up, they were already in front of Hagrid's hut. Judging by the plume of smoke rising from the chimney, he was home. "Oh good, he's home," she said, marching to his door. All mention of the bet was forgotten. She knocked vigorously.
"You expect me to go in?" he said contemptuously.
"You're not invited," she answered smugly as Hagrid, seven feet tall, opened the door.
"Heather! Good ter see yeh!" Hagrid exclaimed happily and let her in. She went inside without looking back.