A/N: Heyyyyy so I know it's been likeee idk maybe 6 months since i updated? Haha yeahhhhhh really sorry about that but my writers block has been really shitty so I sort of just went balls to the wall for this and tried to finish this chapter. As always, please R&R because it really does mean a lot to me! And I know I said don't sugarcoat your opinions, but I would also appreciate it if you had at least a shred of compassion. (Yes, I'm talking to you, rude ass reviewer.) I would just like to remind you all that i do not claim to be an amazing author of critically acclaimed fiction such as J.K. Rowling! (It even says so in the disclaimer) So without further adeiu, I present to you the latest establishment of my silly little Drinny fic Enjoy :)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters, we all know it. I did not have any hand in the creation of Harry Potter. I leave that to J,K. Rowling and Universal Studios. I own only my ideas.

DRACO:

To say he was apprehensive would be like saying the Eiffel Tower was kind of big. He paced the Slytherin common room, taking care not to draw too much attention to his disheveled manner. He was unsuccessful, and was soon turning heads. His friend Blaise came over to try to dispel his tension. "C'mon mate. You're causing a scene." He said this easily, as to not make Draco even more nervous. "Let's just go back to our dorm, we'll talk about her in there." Blaise's voice was quiet, yet intense. He led them to the dorm, causing a wave of silence as they passed over gossip hungry faces. They would be talking about this, he knew.

As they entered the lavish room, Blaise locked the door behind him and turned to face his idiot comrade. "Wanna tell me what this is all about, or do I have to fucking guess?"

"It's not much of a guess, I suppose."

"You suppose? She's a Gryffindor, you prat! A little whining Lion, and a Weasley besides. If your father were to hear about this—

"My father won't hear about it, because there isn't anything to tell," Draco said harshly. "I'm getting the damned journal back, and that's all. Like you said; she's just a little Weasley, she couldn't out-wit me. Never." He let the last word hang in the air, hoping he was convincing Blaise. Probably not. He couldn't even convince himself, after all.

"If you're sure."

Damn it Blaise. Couldn't he just understand the Draco had to do things his own way? He rolled his eyes and left Zabini to have his own speculations. He could handle a Weasley, couldn't he? He was a Malfoy, for shit's sake! He had one of the purest bloodlines since the Sewell's and Riddle's themselves, and he would never fall for Ginerva anyway. She was too good, and one of the ones everyone wanted. How would it look if the Slytherin poster boy, Seeker, favorite of Snape and the Death Eaters, pet, pet, to the Dark Lord himself, was ratted out by a Weasley?

Fuck.

He hoped she'd at least read the note. He needed to meet her tonight, and it didn't matter if she thought she could keep the diary from him, he would get it back, as he'd assured her after their meeting outside the Great Hall.

Climbing up the stairs towards his Divination class, Draco spied some 4th and 5th year Ravenclaw girls, Romilda Vane among them. She turned and winked at him, throwing her long black hair over her shoulder and waving at him. Rumor had it they were all participating in a contest to see who could date the most 6th and 7th years. God they were idiots, and Romilda disgusted him. Didn't they all know he could have any girl he wanted? He could've had them all, if he so desired. Draco thought about telling them so, but they would just laugh stupidly, so he nodded arrogantly and walked on.

Upon entering Divination, which the Slytherins took with the Hufflepuffs, Draco notice Professor Trelawney looking at him strangely. He grew tired of it and stared at her contemptuously, though she did not look away. He finally snapped his head toward her. "Something wrong, professor?" He asked with no grace. She startled, as if being rudely awakened.

"My boy," she said, "There is something very dark in your future.* I see it clouding your mind, even now. You are in grave danger."

Oh for shit's sake. Draco suppressed a smirk and a casual 'what the fuck ever', and just looked the old bat in the eyes. She had no idea what he was going through, she was what father called 'under class', and she wasn't even a true Seer. Godric knew why she was even employed at Hogwarts. She couldn't touch him, she didn't know him, she was nothing. And he was being groomed for power. He was the Dark Lord's known favorite among the other Second Generations. He only looked at the old woman, with her gaudy shawls and big bug spectacles and said only; "Thank you for your insight." He then got up and promptly left the room, without a backwards glance.

They all looked after him, and Draco let them. What did he care? They would soon bow to him, too.

He saw her that day, running drills on her Cleansweep 7. It wasn't an exquisite broom, but she was an exquisite flyer. She glided through the air as if floating, and she flew so serenely that she could've been born up there. Her bright red locks left a string of flame behind her as she zipped around the field, speeding to catch and throw the Quaffle with maximum speed and agility. Thinking he could stay and watch for a small bit, (if only to seize up his competition), Draco took a seat at the rear of the stands, near a spot frequently visited by Weasel. Her brothers were there too, the twins, who were impossible to tell apart and equally as inseparable. They worked in perfect synchronization, never missing a beat. (And he meant that quite literally).

After a few minutes, the seven players touched the ground and Potter yelled "Alright everybody," and they all formed a little circle. Draco watched the seven of them, three Weasleys and a fat head, as well as Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, and Angelina Johnson. It was a good team, he had to admit it, and Weaselette a good flyer, but not one he couldn't out do.

He was the best, after all. Wasn't he?

After all of his morning classes, Draco made his way out of the West Wing and into the Great Hall, where his friends sat and waited for him eagerly. There was a spot reserved on the bench for him between Blaise and Daphne Greenegrass. She was pretty enough, and her voice dipped sexily whenever she asked a question, but she was too easy for him. He liked a chase. Someone like, well, Ginny. Except he didn't like her, because she was a blood traitor and he was a Malfoy.

He turned to Pansy Parkinson and pretended to listen to her complain about the illustrious oaf Hagrid. (Sarcasm) As she droned on, he turned his thoughts to the Polyjuice potion he and Blaise were brewing. It took a month to make, and it had already been two weeks, yet still the waiting made him anxious. They'd been boiling it in the Room of Requirement, but even so, every minute it was not done was another minute that they risked being caught. Thinking about this was not the best idea, not mention it set Draco's teeth on edge.

"Draco, is something the matter?" Pansy asked quietly. Though she was a pain, and admittedly, Draco didn't like her very much, she could still read someone like a book. Especially him. Her incessant nagging voice was getting to him, and he wasn't in the mood to entertain her.

"Nothing, just thinking about Quidditch."

"Oh don't worry Draco, dear. You're the best seeker this dump has seen in ages…"

He let her go on like that for a bit while he thought about getting one of the Gryffindork's hairs. He could hex one of them into oblivion, but then he'd be landed with detention from a particular filthy Squib, which he didn't want. Draco decided that getting it off someone's robe was a lot safer. He also thought about sneaking out of his dorm later that night to meet with Weasley. Not that he was looking forward to it. He just needed his journal back.

"Mate." It was Blaise, tapping him.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I said how are we going to get the password for the Fat Lady?"

Shit. Draco hadn't thought about it. He went over the options in his mind; Imperius Curse. No. Hexing it out of someone. No. Manipulation. Maybe. Seduction from Blaise. Yes.

It was almost 1:00 in the morning, and Draco was getting antsy, and that was not something that happened to Malfoys. Where was that stupid bint? He was being fashionably late. She was just being ridiculous. His note specifically said to meet him at the astronomy tower at quarter to 1:00 am. Bring the journal. Come alone. Do not get caught. If she was under any outside protection, (such as that pathetic Dumbledore's Order), disarm it. If she did not follow those simple rules exactly, there would be hell to pay. Were they such hard instructions? Draco did not think so.

But even so, she was 10 minutes late, and he was pacing. Had she been found on her way by filth or his annoying cat? She breaks enough rules, how would she be deterred by something as elementary as getting caught? Draco was moderately anxious now, because no matter what happened to Gin—Weasley—he still needed the book. Just imagining what the Dark Lord would do if he found out Ginny had it made his stomach roll. Fuck it. If she didn't come to him, he could sure as hell go to her. He could sneak into her dorm one way or another, drag her out of her bed (with the help of a silencing charm), and make her give the bloody book back.

He headed towards the door, fully ready to do whatever it took to get that little wench to comply. He would get the book. Weasley had no idea what she was in for. But just as Draco reached the door, it swung inward, and there, clad in a tank top and shorts, clutching the note in one hand and the journal in the other, no more than a foot away from him, looking absolutely panicked, was Ginny.