My loves, I am magnificently sorry for the wait. I've been on an unfortunate trip to the Southwest with the fam for the past two weeks, so you can just imagine how much time I have to continue writing about a certain Cho and Draco. So I'm writing this on a train on a laptop that is setting my legs on fire.

This chapter is from Draco's POV. Just this one, because it's always nice to know what the other characters are up to in their minds. Enjoy!

Ch. 13: Turn a Square

He sat on a Thursday evening, his DADA paper spread before him. There was an annoyed look scrawled across his face, and his hair so commonly groomed and oiled, stuck out questionably and fell at his brow.

Every few minutes, he would cease in his scribbling, dip his quill into the inkwell and look hesitant about placing the tip back onto the parchment.

He is an example of a boy in question.

"Oy, Zabini,"

"Mm-hm?"

"How's your paper going?"

"Alright, why do you ask?"

"Any chance I could copy it?"

Blaise Zabini was a tall striking boy. Usually that adjective is not used to describe those of male orientation, but that was what he was. He was striking.

"You know I can't let you do that, mate." It was a practiced statement.

"Well, then tell me what the fuck grindylows are good for," the other muttered/spat, dropping his quill and rubbing his face disdainfully.

"Page two-seventy. Second and third paragraphs,"

The sound of ruffling pages and mild cursing was heard. Blaise looked at the other curiously. The two had been sharing a dorm for the previous two years, both Prefects, but he had never seen his roommate looking so, for lack of a better word, peaky. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't such a drastic change—his disheveled hair could be construed merely as a new look, his trademark sneer was intact as ever, and his obnoxious swagger had only lost a fraction of its oomph. But nonetheless, the boy was not himself.

Blaise couldn't see what could so dishearten the high-strung son-of-a-bitch. He was Head Boy. A bloody wanker, but his wit was a pure reflection of Slytherin himself. Quick as a whip. The boy could get away with murder. And the girls adored him. He was quite thin and lanky, even a tad effeminate, but he had unabashedly charmed the knickers off of half the girls at Hogwarts. He was mad wealthy, a deity to any First-Year, and fortunately, quite well-hung. How Blaise knew this detail, I shall not share.

But the poor bloke sat hunched against the rain-splattered window, jabbing at his parchment and blinking his eyes which were heavy with dark.

I wonder when the last time he's slept was. Blaise thought. He looked awfully deprived. Glancing up from his essay, he caught Blaise regarding him

"What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Blaise replied, trying to sound bored, and turning his attention back to his own paper.

I suppose even the best eat shit, he thought.

In short, the truth. Even with all that arrogance, all that talent, and intelligence, and money, Draco Malfoy ate shit.

Harry fucking Potter. Malfoy's tired eyes narrowed as he watched his sworn enemy walk over to the Ravenclaw table and snake his dirty, measly arm around Cho Chang.

He had been quite a wreck the past month or two. The result, undoubtedly, of the far-too-frequent all-nighters he was forced to pull due to his Head Boy duties, then the drop in his grades, his poor Quidditch performance, the owls received from his worried mother. Oh, and his father just so happened to have been convicted of being a Death Eater and was presently in Azkaban. Which brings us back to Harry fucking Potter.

The flaming cretin smiled playfully, pecked Cho on the cheek. Apparently they had been together since the public display of affection that was exhibited for Malfoy to witness mistakenly not two nights ago. Really, Cho Chang was lovely, but he had never in his life intended to observe Potter snogging. Anyone. Ever.

And the worst of it was that he was jealous of him. He didn't dare show it, but Draco Malfoy had always envied Harry Potter.

The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. Potter and his stupid glorified name. And his stupid courage and stupid Quidditch skills, and his goddamn 'love'. Who the hell cares if the damn guy could love? Big deal.

He did nothing, and everyone idolized the prat. Like he was a fucking saint or something. Malfoy scowled. He scowled a lot. Harry Potter was not a saint. Sure, he walked the walk, talked the talk but man, was he an asshole. But you should have seen the green in Malfoy that morning, bright and thick, as he watched Potter and Chang. Chang and Potter.

What a horrible match.

Malfoy sat in Charms, completely whipped from the previous night. The essay on Grindylows, which had demanded a minimum of fifteen feet of parchment, had kept him up the entirety of yet another night.

Why did they make me Head Boy? he wondered. At this rate he really thought he was on his deathbed.

It was a double period with the Gryffindors, and with the noise they were generating, Malfoy couldn't get a moment of peace to lay his head on the desk.

An unpleasantly familiar voice bellowed in his ear.

"Hey, Ferret Face!"

Malfoy lazily turned around, a practiced look of boredom vivid in his features.

"Keep your chin up, Ferret Face. You don't want to fall asleep!"

Ronald Weasley belted this as if it were the most hysterical thing of all time. Malfoy instantly wondered why he was yelling if he was sitting no more than three feet away from his own desk. Harry fucking Potter sat next to Ron, laughing his ass off into oblivion.

"Weasley," he asked idly, "Why are you yelling?"

"Why are you yelling?" Ron said yet louder. Malfoy flinched at the ungainly noise and turned away, rubbed his eyes. He was too exhausted to handle this. Snickering and jeering erupted consequently. Malfoy had quite lost his taste for picking fights with Potter. He never had the energy these days and besides, it was all so juvenile.

He just hated him so much.

And another thing that nearly drove him over the edge (although he highly suspected that the edge was already far behind him), was Cho Chang. Not that he was in love with her or anything—that was very far from the truth—but the fact that someone like Potter had nabbed her…well, that was just insane.

Cho Chang. Pretty. Bitter. And incidentally, quite hostile. Malfoy had thought it would have been somewhat of a challenge, so he had put on his best hey-look-at-me-I'm-a-sensitive-asshole routine and flaunted it cunningly. In his entire career at Hogwarts as a bit of a Don Juan, (he liked to think it so) the act had worked for every girl he tried it on. His reputation was sterling.

And he had just begun to think he was invincible when he got this snarky little head-case to give him some kissage, but was instantly shot down when she left hastily on the account of Prefect duties. She could have very well ignored the responsibility (after all, how could the authorities know?) but right before they could do anything more, and Malfoy could further solidify his mental wall of trophies, Cho Chang decided to leave him half-dressed and dumbfounded. Prefect duties. Oh, how he hated them.

It wasn't Cho that had him in this stitch, he had convinced himself. It was merely the fact that she would not accept him, that he for once did not get his way. Most girls would fall head-over-heels for him, and they would be the ones left degraded when he rejected them. They would be all cute and seductive when he flattered them with the honor of his attention, and he would lead one after another to the RoR or whatever.

Cho Chang was not the case apparently. It seemed that every time they met, she wanted to be anywhere else but in his company. She was incredibly embittered, and actually a bit goofy, but Malfoy found her very pretty, so he placed her as that month's shag.

But you know how it panned out, and now Malfoy found himself doubting himself tremendously. Now he was jealous, insecure, and in grand need of a shag.

"Hey, mate. D'you want to head out to the courtyard?"

Blaise caught Malfoy as he strolled out of Greenhouse Four, the last class of the day finished.

"Whatever for?" Malfoy asked, trying to sound snide, but only achieving a very forlorn whine.

"It's bloody beautiful out, that's why,"

Malfoy looked at Blaise skeptically.

"Sounds tempting, Zabini," he scratched his ear, "But I promised to meet Crabbe and Goyle,"

"Since when did you start hanging out with those idiots again?"

"I didn't,"

"Well, then do me a favor, will you? I think you need some down-time anyway. You're dead-beat, I can tell,"

"Well alright, mother,"

Blaise smiled. In the two years that they had roomed together, he had concluded two things about Draco Malfoy: One, he was on every level a prick, and two, he was a bloody genius. Blaise Zabini was a hard-working over-achiever, and when he found out he was to room with Draco Malfoy, the most flamboyant asshole in the whole of Hogwarts, he thought it would be the end of him. Or at least he would have to request a different roommate. However, he ended up taking a liking to the bastard. After all, they were both from families of strictly pure-bloods and as it turns out, both shared the aspiration of becoming the next captain of the Holyhead Harpies. Both of them attracted flocks of girls, and none of this Death Eater bollocks really interested either of them. But other than that, they didn't share much else in common.

So they were really very different, but over the years had developed quite a friendship. Malfoy had shed his notorious group of cronies, and had begun to spend more time with Blaise and his friends. I guess you could say he was maturing.

Not all at one time though, because he was still a disreputable ass.

But they say opposites attract, for Blaise and Malfoy were right mates.

"This a good place?" Malfoy threw his books in the grass and took a seat under the shade of a large willow.

"Capital," Blaise drew out his quill and pulled out a fresh roll of parchment.

"Zabini, you're such a goody-goody,"

"What? There was never harm in doing homework, now?"

"A lame excuse for a Slytherin, mate,"

Blaise ignored him and began his Herbology write-up. Meanwhile, Malfoy stretched himself out in the grass and surveyed his surroundings. The grass was warm from the midday sun, and there were few people out at this hour. He almost felt at peace. Five minutes passed, and he began to feel twitchy.

"Zabini," he asked nonchalantly. The last thing he wanted to come off as was needy.

"Yeah,"

"You want to stop writing and throw a Snitch or two for me?"

Blaise didn't stop moving his quill.

"Oh, right. That match against Gryffindor is Saturday, innit?"

"Yeah, and the last thing I want to see is Potter shaking his fat arse in my face because he's caught the goddamn Snitch before me,"

Blaise looked up.

"If I'm not mistaken, I do sense a droplet of jealousy,"

Malfoy raised his eyebrow. He did that whenever a response surprised him.

"Potter got your whitie-tighties in a twist again, eh?" Blaise jested and flashed a playful smile.

"Hardly," he said, running a long-fingered hand through his unkempt hair, "He's such a wanker."

"I think we've already established that," Blaise said tiredly, crossing a 't'. "Hey, isn't he shagging that Ravenclaw babe…what's her name…Cho Chang?" He added this as an afterthought.

Peering up, he could have sworn he caught Malfoy casting him a dirty look, but blinked once and he was still maintaining his unruffled composure.

Malfoy scoffed.

""Potter. Shagging? I'd rather not stray on the subject," He took to absorbing himself in what seemed to be a particularly interesting insect.

Blaise remembered overhearing something about Potter and Chang during breakfast in the Great Hall. He didn't care, but boredom is not a wonderful thing.

"Yeah. Well, they're going out or whatever, anyway." He lifted his head and blinked at the sun, "I would say that Potter's found his match at last,"

"Oh?"

Blaise was startled to get a reply. He didn't think Malfoy had been listening.

"Well yeah, I think anyone would have to agree that they're quite well together. I mean, both are practically saints." From what he had heard and observed, Cho Chang was a pretty straight-laced goody two-shoes. She was Head Girl. She had the history; she had gone out with Cedric Diggory, after all. And besides, she was Asian.

Now Malfoy seemed to have drifted off, his attention on something completely different. He had been doing that often lately—the dark under his eyes a clear giveaway. Blaise shrugged, went back to his parchment.

Malfoy ran his hand through his hair again.

"Funny", he said, sounding less bored, and surprising Blaise a second time with his voice, "I never got that impression".

((A/N: So the point of all this was just to show a little more insight into what people other than that dastardly Cho Chang are thinking. And as for Draco, it is made clear that he has only been exposed to that lovely 'real' side of Cho—the one that's hostile (deep down, all us Asians are, eh? At least I am.) And then you can just imagine how this'll pan out, right? You see, Cho hates being seen as a goody-goody, and Malfoy conveniently doesn't see her as one (be clear on the fact they they don't like each other as of now). Let's see what happens! God, I'm writing a soap opera.))

Mmm, review like mad. The summer bores me ever so much. Remember, constructive criticism. Or if you have nothing nice to say, express your outrage as much as you want. I don't care. Just review it. Oh, and I extend my utmost love and appreciation to Barred in Green and sinfulxscars. You mean loads.

Keep posted on the next update (I hope you will) and review, for godsake. Hugs and kisses.

liannimation