A/N: Woah, I lost my password and email and stuff for a long time, then later when I found it I like, didn't feel like writing this anymore, but all of a sudden I do! So I did! Will you review it?

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money and nothing you recognize is mine!

Chapter 4: Draco and Discovery

Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey and Millicent Bulstrode (who was still carrying me and the baby unicorn) all stopped dead at the top of the Slytherin stairwell.

Draco Malfoy silently regarded us from the landing.

At first glance, the slim blonde figure below didn't look like someone who would inspire such frozen terror on our part. He stood there calmly, without any hint of anger or malice in his face or posture. If anything, he looked… interested.

And it was this very interest which made the icy fingers of dread curl throughout my midsection. For Draco Malfoy liked to know things, loved to find things out. And he was good at it, too. From what I'd heard in the short time I'd been here at Hogwarts, it was a family trait. The Malfoys practically lived by the old maxim "Knowledge is Power," and certainly Draco got much of his knowledge of events outside Hogwarts from his parents. He was in almost daily communication with them via his large eagle owl, and they sent him letters, newspaper clippings, and care packages that were rumoured to contain more than cookies. House gossip had it that, thanks to his father's connections, he knew more about current events in the Ministry of Magic than most of its own employees did.

So…five Slytherin girls turning up outside the portrait hole at three in the morning, with dirty, disheveled nightclothes, mud-splattered sneakers, and one of them-- me-- in a state of nervous collapse and clutching an infant unicorn?

Pretty much Christmas a month early, for Malfoy.

If all Draco did was collect other people's secrets, however, we wouldn't have been so scared. Half of Slytherin House fancied themselves junior spymasters. What made Draco so dangerous to us was that Draco liked to TELL what he knew. To whom, it didn't matter. If he wasn't supposed to tell a secret, he'd tell it to Crabbe and Goyle.

This weakness-- this pleasure he took in making sure everyone else knew what he knew first— was what made him do so many of the stupid things I mentioned earlier. But it didn't make him any less dangerous to us in this moment; if anything, the danger was worse.

Because Draco like telling what he knew even more… if it would hurt someone.

I do believe Draco sensed our fear. A predatory gleam entered his eye. Slowly, like a cat toying with his prey, he took one step forward. As one unit, the girls backed away exactly one step. Encouraged, Draco began climbing the stairs towards up, smiling as though nothing was wrong.

This fresh crisis had mostly cleared my head. I felt weak and shaky, but I was thinking lucidly and I whispered to Millicent to let me stand up, which she did.

Draco had reached the top of the stairs.

An unmistakable lilt of pleasure ran through Draco's voice, swirling lazily like the eddy of a stream as he addressed himself to his beautiful girlfriend, "Why, Pansy, where on earth have you been? I've been waiting for you half the night." The bastard sounded as though he was discussing the day's lesson. He was toying with us.

For one long moment, Pansy was silent, unable to reply to his inane pleasantry. I thought the farce would end right then, and braced for it.

And then Pansy rallied. She courageously took Her voice became warm and caring, practically a verbal caress, as she crooned back at Draco.

"And I'm so glad you did, Draco. We need your help. Amber is hurt."

But, skilled as she was at hiding it, Pansy was still rattled. Her opening volley had been a mistake, not in tone, but in choice of subject.

Draco slowly turned his gaze up to meet mine. As the impact of those cold, steel-grey beams hit me, I shuddered.

I realized now that standing on my own two feet had been a mistake. I didn't look hurt anymore.

Draco didn't like me. We'd gotten off on the wrong foot. He'd overheard me asking Daphne if he had Veela blood (but, oh, reader, if you'd been there you too would have asked… he was so hot, in that feline, nearly feminine way that nearly always does mean Veela!) and apparently his family was so old and blue-blooded that any hint of "impure" blood was a mortal offense. I had no doubt that if I'd been a guy, we would have fought a duel that very night. As it was, I was certain he'd never forgive me.

All of which didn't make it very likely that he'd hold off "telling" simply because I needed help.