It's now I've come to realise, laid awake at 7.23am according to my bed side clock, that yes we agreed to start our brewing today but we didn't think to ask the Professor permission. Previous years of 6th and above have often been granted permission to use the smaller potions room beside the potions Professor's office for brews which require odd hours to combine ingredients. A few years ago my cousin Victoire and her now fiancé Teddy chose to brew a potion that required stirring at three, consecutive full moons before it was ready. I am pretty sure they were doing something extra-curricular at that time of night, but it's not really my place to judge. I'd also be a massive hypocrite after what I've mentioned about keeping some nuggets of my life private from my family.
Much to my chagrin at this hour I shuffle out of bed and shower quickly. The dormitory is colder by the day, but thankfully not as cold as the dungeons. This reminds me of Malfoy and my stomach becomes a little tighter as I put on my socks. I do have to scold myself a little. The boy might be good looking and charming but I'm way beyond that. Give me some wit and…oh who am I kidding. I was thinking about the guy when I got to my dormitory last night. Sue me. Actually don't as I'm already indebted to Albus for some family bet.
I'm feeling awfully conflicted. It truly is bizarre that we've been at the same school for over five years and barely held a conversation that wasn't about school work. And last night had been rather a breath of fresh air to me. It wasn't like I went out of my way to avoid him or anything over the past few years. We had just never really run in the same circles. I had a small tight knit group consisting of most Gryffindors and Ravenclaws with a Hufflepuff thrown in, but I'd never had so much as a mild feud with a Slytherin. They just struck me as more private people when it came to their affairs. The old guard's infamous rivalry is well documented, but the pettiness of it is almost humorous in this day and age of the wizarding world. We now even have muggle music on the wireless. Something we have our dearest Teddy Lupin to thank for. Integration is ever present. I'm pretty sure most of the Ravenclaws support Slytherin in their Quidditch endeavours (except when they play each other), which if you know anything about Quidditch you'd think there was some weird pact going on. The truth is that Slytherin beat Ravenclaw so badly the previous year and still invited them to their after party that was colour themed bronze and silver that they'd had to suck it up, admit the Slytherins were a tolerable, and an often generous bunch and understand that combining forces is more often than not; better than standing alone.
With all this in mind the last 48 hours I've been thinking a lot about why I never really integrated with more people, especially Slytherins when Malfoy is quite clearly a decent guy. I let this thought lead me to the bottom of the marble staircase. It's not even 8am yet, so there are only a few students around. Some eager first years and some tired looking seventh years; probably over worked already. After peaking my head into the Great Hall to scan the staff table, I then make a beeline towards the dungeons.
I'm almost at the entrance of the passage when Zabini and Malfoy ascend the stone steps down to the dungeons, chuckling and I almost walk straight into them.
"Sorry! Morning!" I say, straightening my robes. I notice Zabini's grin has been exchanged for one of what I would coin snooty indifference. He takes one glance at me and averts his eyes to the Great Hall; the smell of eggs and bacon becoming ever more apparent. I feel my brow furrowing at him as Malfoy speaks.
"Morning Weasley. Miss me already?" He quirks an eyebrow and smirks slightly.
"You wish Malfoy." I bat my eyelashes obviously at him and the smirk quickly turns to a grin. "Actually," I continue as Zabini returns his eyes to me, "I forgot that we agreed we'd start the potion tonight and we never actually thought or at least mentioned out loud that we'd ask Slughorn about using the NEWT potions room. Just thought I'd pop by and it'd be polite, you know, earlier in the day therefore he'd more likely say yes." I'm aware I've started to ramble. I'm also acutely aware of the way Zabini is looking me up and down as if sizing me up.
"Fair," Malfoy shrugged and nudged Zabini in the ribs. He glared at his friend. "Mate, it's impolite to stare." Malfoy added through gritted teeth. I would have made a retort that would no doubt have been incredibly witty to Zabini about how he could take a picture it'd last longer. Adding just enough smoulder that I wouldn't be considered rude, but not so flirty that Malfoy would get the wrong idea.
"Why are we just stood around the entrance to the dungeons this morning? Three students such as yourselves-," Slughorn has appeared at the entrance to the dungeons, the buttons on his jacket tort around his middle. He's looking from one of us to the other, clearly a little confused by the peculiar group of students before him.
"We were just leaving Professor." Drawled Zabini, tugging Malfoy with him towards the Great Hall. Malfoy flashed me an apologetic look followed by a wicked grin while attempting to jostle out of his friends grasp. My heart clenched slightly as I felt my face heat up as I grinned back. What is wrong with me?
"Miss Weasley. Would you kindly answer my question dear girl?" I turn to look at old Professor Slughorn. His jacket is a little more tatty than usual I noticed. He seemed to care less and less about his appearance the older he got. But he somehow managed to keep the Slytherins in order.
"Sorry about that Professor. I was actually coming to find you!" I say eagerly, knowing full well that Slughorn fancies me as one of his best students. I'm not bragging, honestly, I just work hard and yes I may try for extra credit assignments, but I'm learning magic for goodness sake. There is only so much they teach here and I want to drink up as much as I can before I leave. "I was wondering if we could start our potions project this evening? Malfoy and I wanted to get ahead of the curve and our potion takes three weeks to brew."
Slughorn eyes me suspiciously for a moment before his mouth quirks up on the left side. "You and Mr Malfoy? I thought he was partnered with Miss Greenwood?" I stroked his chin, clearly feigning interest in teenage gossip.
"They had a eh – " I bite my tongue trying to deliver this without getting anyone into trouble, "-disagreement. And Malfoy asked me if I'd fill in, and we came up with a pretty solid plan for the project. And he's a good student, and I honestly think we'll work well together." I finished, knowing I was pink in the face now. It didn't help that as I complimented Malfoy Slughorn's eyebrows rose a few inches. He takes a moment to survey my face as if trying to seek out any mistruths I've just told him and after a minute he seems satisfied.
"Very well Miss Weasley. You will sign in with me in my office to use the NEWT potions room. Please bring a plan of which nights of the following three weeks you'll require to use it. You will be required to finish in the room by 11pm each night, signed out and then back to your dormitories." I nodded.
"Yes sir, thanks."
"Oh and which potion is it that the two of you are to brew?"
"Felix Felicis, sir." Again Slughorn's eyebrows rose, if possible even further this time. He patted his belly so he appeared quite content as he moved past me and walked away stating as he went, "A wise choice for a Gryffindor-Slytherin pairing. I expect great things Miss Weasley." He sidled into the hall without so much as a backwards glance. I stood there for a moment, wondering if he meant anything by that. Then I realised that I was clearly over thinking it. I strode into the hall in the direction of the Slytherin table, making a beeline for Malfoy. He wasn't difficult to pick out with his blonde mop of hair. Zabini was the first to notice me approaching. Again looking like he was sizing me up. I gulped involuntarily which I hope neither he nor Malfoy noticed.
"We're all on for tonight Malfoy. Probably just meet down there at 7? Slughorn said to sign in with him." Malfoy glanced up from his coffee and nodded.
"Sounds good."
"Well I'll see you tonight then!" I said perhaps a little too brightly. Turning I wove my way towards the Gryffindor table. Not before I heard Zabini's closing remark as I left.
"When did Weasley get hot?" I am both horrified and embarrassed by this statement. This leaves me for most of the morning making excuses to Albus as to why I was red in the face. The comment kept repeating itself in my head. I don't believe I'm hot for a start. I've never understood those terms, hot, fit; things like that. It makes me cringe a little. I don't try very hard with my appearance and therefore I can't understand why I might ever fall into that category. Although I'm aware I'm not terrible to look at either. And that's in a family with a handful of part Veelas. Maybe I just need to grow up and learn to take a compliment. Or I could continue to do what I've always done and just thank the person with a punch on the arm.
I'm just glad I couldn't hear if Malfoy provided Zabini with any response.
XXX
Today must be the coldest day of the year so far. Even colder than January last year. I skidded on a puddle which had iced over on the third floor on my way to charms this afternoon and decided it was time to get out my dragon hide boots. I love these things. The soles are thick, rubbery, bouncy but above all have added magical grip. The material is black hide and crinkled which shimmers green in the light. They were a present this Christmas and I only stopped clomping around the castle in them in May because it became far too hot. They have a thin wool lining and can literally be worn with anything. They make me feel like I could actually fight a dragon. Their only downside is that it's quite obvious when I'm approaching down a corridor, killing any element of surprise if I were to want to creep up on someone.
So it's now as I stride down the dungeon corridor, each step echoing off the walls, that Slughorn appears outside his door as I approach his office. My bag swinging at my side, filled with books and notes almost swinging right into his stomach.
"Good evening Miss Weasley. If you'd care to sign in on the parchment on my desk, Mr Malfoy is already in the potions room." I'm surprised Malfoy is punctual for a change, but I don't dwell on it too much and make my way past Slughorn into his office.
"Cheers Professor." The office is much warmer than the corridor, with a small fire burning in the grate on the back wall. A few small boxes of crystallised pineapple litter a table pushed in the corner of the room along with stacks of parchment kept in place by a jar filled with what looks to be an animal organ of some description. If it wasn't for the numerous other jars prominent against the stone walls, the room might almost feel homely. I tear my eyes away from one particular jar that is definitely filled with eyeballs and scratch a simple R. Weasley beneath the intricate cursive reading S. Malfoy. Ducking out of his office with another thank you to Slughorn, I ease open the thick wooden door to the smaller NEWT potions room. This room is rather dark lit by only a pair of torches on each wall. A cauldron is already set up on one of two tables in the back of the room, a fire glowing low beneath it. Glancing around I can't see Malfoy anywhere so I cross the room, dumping my bag beside the table and taking out my potions notes.
"Nice of you to join me Weasley." His voice comes from behind the door I just came in and I quite obviously jump an inch or so off the ground. I hear him chuckle.
"What on earth were you doing hiding behind the door? Are you still mentally a second year?" I scold, embarrassed that he'd caught me by surprise. He just shrugged and manoeuvred across the room coming unnecessarily close to me as he went also perching beside the cauldron.
"I could hear you coming down the corridor. Those boots give you no element of surprise." He gestures at my shoes before prodding the fire with his wand.
"Oh." I say lamely sitting down next to him and shuffling through my notes. "It's not as if I'm late. You're early. That's a surprise in itself." I say still a little flustered.
"I haven't exactly started. I've just added a litre of water to bring to the boil." I absently scratch this off the list of instructions before me.
"Still…it's not like you to be punctual."
"I was bored. Thought I'd come down and make a start." He avoids my gaze. Something feels a little off. I decide not to pry, he divulged some information to me yesterday of his own accord so if there is something up he might just come out with it eventually. We do have about four hours to kill. The first night of the brew is exceptionally simple.
"Ok. You want to help me grab the ingredients from the cupboard?" Breeze past it Weasley, just ignore that charged silence that followed his comment. We collect dried nettles, horn of bicorn and two newt tails from the shelves in silence. Compared to how chatty he was yesterday, I'm convinced something is up. I don't know whether to bring up what Zabini said about me earlier, but decide that's probably the most egotistical thing I could do. Best to be avoided if I want to avoid any embarrassment.
"So I hear the Wasps are having a good season?" He finally looks at me, raising a blond eyebrow. I thought Quidditch was always a safe bet with the conversation direction. He takes out a silver knife and begins chopping a large sprig of nettles.
"Yeah. Maybe this year Harrison won't get hit in the head by a bludger during the final," it sounds like he's trying to hold himself back a little. "I didn't know you liked Quidditch, Weasley?" he enquires nudging my shoulder. I shudder involuntarily a little at his touch and pray he doesn't notice. I keep my eyes fixed on his knife precisely cutting the nettle stems; feeling his eyes on me.
"I'm a Weasley-" I begin again, "-playing, enjoying and an all-round interest in Quidditch is inherited." Grabbing the horn of bicorn I set to work grinding it into a powder.
"How'd you know my team was the Wasps?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious.
"Al told me. Or at least, he mentioned it in passing recently," I corrected. Not really wanting to divulge the conversation that prompted it, involving James bad mouthing him because of his surname.
"Huh. Who's your team then? If you say the Cannons I'm leaving this potions room and may just throw myself in the Black Lake." I laugh, appreciating the return of his good nature.
"No. That's my Dad's team. I'm a Harpies fan through and through."
"All about that girl power eh?"
"Got a problem with that?" I say, glaring at him, a little apprehensive that he's about to make some sort of misogynistic comment that will put me off him completely. Not just as a bloke but as a person. It's now that I realise I should probably put thoughts to the back of my mind about Malfoy being a bloke and instead only think of him as some faceless, genderless, disembodied voice without that gloriously charming smile. I realise I may have been a bit too judgemental as he raises his arms as if in surrender.
"I never said that Weasley." He grins at me, resuming his cutting of the nettles. "They've been a solid team for years. They're a respectable choice to support."
"Thanks. Not that I needed your approval." I add a little scathingly. That's right, be a bit rude. Put the nice looking man off you straight away. Again I have to mentally scold myself. It has literally been two days since him and Patricia broke up. I'm not behaving at all like myself. Malfoy is clearly a very bad, very smiley influence.
"Calm down Weasley. I didn't mean anything by it. What do you think of their new false-play tactic? I heard on the wireless in October during the Druids match that it played out quite well for them." I had to bite the bullet at this one. I'd listened to that match almost tearing my hair out. The play involved basically knackering out the other team, then striking back by scoring an unprecedented amount of goals, meaning no matter which team caught the snitch the Harpies would clench the victory.
This prompted the next two hours conversation in which Malfoy and I discussed point by point, play by play tactics of the top UK Quidditch division teams. We almost forgot to add the chopped nettles each half hour. Somehow in this time, the question I dreaded him asking the most hadn't come up. But it was inevitable.
"So," he began, stirring the potion counter-clockwise, "why don't you play? You're clearly as insanely passionate about the sport as I am." At this point I grabbed the half-ground horn of bicorn that'd been forgotten for the best part of an hour and stood up from the desk to get a better, more aggressive angle to grind from. I didn't say anything for a moment. A burning frustration beginning to swirl in my stomach.
"I never tried out," was about all I could muster without my voice breaking and becoming croaky.
"There must be a reason?" he nudged my arm again. I wish he wouldn't keep doing that, it's rather distracting. I continue to grind, even though the bicorn horn is already a fine powder. He grabs the pestle and mortar and takes it out of my hands, forcing me to look at him. He's wearing a questioning look, which is quickly replaced by an encouraging smile. And I just can't bloody well resist indulging him can I?
"Well, I wanted to in first year, but was obviously too young. Second year came and I got involved in other school stuff. Most of my family made the team by my fourth year, and now it just seems too late. I always play in the summer. My cousin James seems to think that I'd never be able to focus on the pitch long enough without flying off back to the castle to add another line or two to whatever essay I would be writing in the hypothetical situation where I would make the team." I sigh, letting my shoulders sag as if a literal weight has been lifted.
"That's a rather pathetic excuse." I turn to him, shocked. He says nothing more and instead begins sprinkling the powdered horn into the potion. It gradually turns from a pale green from the steeped nettles to a dark crimson. He gestures silently with his wand at the flames and they vanish.
"That was rather harsh." I finally manage.
"Why is it?" he rounds on me meeting my eyes. "You're passionate about it, already play, why didn't you try out?"
I huff in frustration, "probably because I don't want to show myself up when compared to the rest of my family."
"Well, when you put it like that…." He started. "The way you've been talking Weasley, I'd say you could fly loops around 'em." I blush at this quite obvious compliment. He nudges me again, and this time I move away a little. Unsure how else I could possibly react.
"Thanks Malfoy. Maybe next year." I push down that burning sensation, trying to cool it with thoughts of O grades and nights like this spent brewing potions in the dungeons. The truth is I do love Quidditch. And as the years have gone on the regret from not trying out has piled up.
"I could always sub if they lost a player." I blurted suddenly, not really aware for a moment that I'd said that thought out loud.
"Yeah, I'd ask Potter…the younger of the two."
"They're three of them."
"I meant of the blokes."
"Yeah, he'd take me a little more seriously."
"You don't want to leave Hogwarts with that sort of regret do you Weasley? Never even tried out for the house team?" they're rather loaded questions for a Tuesday night. But he's right. And I hate to admit I'm wrong. So I just nod. I toss the newt tails into the cauldron and we put it in one of the cupboards marked "Sixth Year Potions Projects" to stew for three days.
We sign out with Slughorn and walk the short length of the corridor before we part to go to our separate dormitories. I can feel my eyes drooping already, and am dreading having to drag my tired body up to the seventh floor.
"You know, I don't think I've ever met a woman that can talk that much about Quidditch. I hate to admit that I'm impressed Weasley." He admits and again he nudges me. I prod him in his upper arm in retaliation this time.
"You realise I'm never going to let you forget that you said that you found me impressive. Right?" He rolls his eyes in response before looking at me. We stare at each other for a moment. We seem to be getting pretty good at that.
"Did you get a haircut?" he suddenly questions. If I'm not mistaken a light flush covers his cheekbones for a moment. I'm a little thrown off by this change of pace and instinctively reach up tugging on the ends of my hair that now falls loose to my shoulders. Then I realise what he's just asked and chuckle.
"Yeah. In like, the summer." I laugh harder now. Grinning up at him waggling my eyebrows.
"Oh." He doesn't grin back, instead I notice his eyes drop to my lips for a moment before meeting my eyes again. His eyes darken as he takes a step towards me. Alarm bells begin to go off faintly in my head.
"I better go Malfoy. We don't want to be out past curfew. Personally I don't have a lot of time to give up for detentions." I attempt light heartedly after that really peculiar exchange, taking a step back.
"Yeah, you're right. Night, Weasley." He seems to shake himself from whatever he was thinking, sends me a cursory wave and heads towards the Slytherin common room without another word.
When I finally manage to make it up to my dormitory my mind is positively reeling. I'm almost certain if I hadn't moved away, Malfoy would have kissed me. Right there and then in the dungeons. Two days after he's broken up with his girlfriend. Two days. I put my head in my hands as I sit on my bed, cringing inwardly. I'm very aware that they'd only been seeing each other for about five weeks but still. I didn't really know the guy. What on earth is he playing at? He can't possibly like me. He must just be in search of some sort of rebound from Patricia. I attempt to quash those thoughts quickly. We actually get on absurdly well for two people who've never really hung out before, it might have been a reaction to that. Albeit, a bit too soon in my opinion. Whether he either thinks I'm funny or we find each other funny can't be a bad thing though, right? And oh god that bloody toothy gorgeous grin. I hit myself in the side of the head for that last thought, cringing again at berating myself physically. I think I've gone mental. Well done Malfoy.
I dream I'm throwing quaffle after quaffle at Malfoy as Keeper and nothing is getting past him. I can hear Patricia whooping and cheering unusually loud considering the size of the pitch and distance between us and the stands. I'm becoming more and more frustrated as another quaffle flies super close to the middle hoop and Malfoy just about manages to save it with the tips of his fingers. He flies right towards me, grabbing the front of my robes, bringing our faces within inches of each other. His usual grin is replaced by a sneer which looks strikingly out of place on his face as he leans in. I sit bolt upright in bed, awake. My sheets are currently wrapped awkwardly around my legs. I shake my head, trying to erase the image of Malfoy's face so close to mine from the inside of my eyelids. I flop back onto my pillow.
Well done Malfoy. Now I'm dreaming about you.
Well, I apologise that this is more of a filler chapter. I really wanted some more interaction before anything kicked off with the two of them, but there was some hints towards the end there. A few unusual things happening which will also be elaborated upon in the next chapter. Also if it drags a little, it's probably because I just wanted to get this out there as I'm really excited about the contents of the next chapter!
Reviews always welcome. Apologies for any mistakes I didn't manage to pick up on, my tired eyes could only manage the thrice over.
