A/N: Woops, forgot one of these last time. Oh well. Not much to say, though. Just the happy disclaimer below.
Disclaimer: (see, I told you it would be here) I do not (and frankly don't want to) own Harry Potter. I'm not saying I don't like the series, I'm just happy to be me and not J.K. Rowling. And to own this I would have to be her. I like me. Anyway, on with the story :P
The next week or two was a blur of finding classes, memorizing escape routes (yes, I look for those. I like being prepared for anything), figuring out the House points system, picking a favorite Quidditch team (because EVERYONE has to have a favorite Quidditch team), and generally getting lost. And found. Almost every single time I got lost a gorgeous, obnoxious, rude blonde was there to "help." I almost hated him for it. "Almost," because there was a better reason to hate him: he didn't help. He was always there with a snide comment. Like yesterday, when I lost my way using an "escape route."
"Wow, aren't we a little first-year?" I jumped as his disdainful voice burst through my trying-to-remember-if-I-turn-here-or-at-the-next-corner daze. "You know, that perplexed look would be endearing if you were actually attractive."
"Wow Draco, I never imagined you were a chivalrous one. No wonder the girls hang all over you." I retorted sarcastically. His face hardened, looking at me with sheer hatred in his eyes. "Um... so if you're not going to help me I shall get going now… I'm sure even Snape would be mad if I was late."
"You really are confused, little girl. We don't have Defense Against the Dark Arts now."
"I'm not in your class, smart one," I hoped he wouldn't continue this train of thought; I didn't like flaunting the fact that I was more advanced than my peers.
"So you're stupid as well as confused," He stared at me, practically begging me to punch him. Thankfully, I was smarter than that.
"Don't tell the seventh-years that! I'm sure they'd take offense to it, seems that I'm in their class…"
"Whatever," He looked at me calculatingly. "I'll walk you there."
I stared at him incredulously, and he laughed humorlessly. He dared me to follow him with his eyes as he started down the hallway backwards, and I had no choice but to follow him.
He bowed mockingly when we got there, every feature patronizing me. "Your class, little girl." I giggled, causing him to straighten up and stare at me, his face a mixture of revulsion and annoyance and confusion. I smiled at him sweetly and waltzed into the classroom.
Thankfully I wasn't too late, and Snape barely looked at me. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, and sat down next to some friends I'd made in the seventh-years.
Late that night I lay in bed, thinking about tomorrow (Hogsmeade), and debating whether to go or not. It was all everyone was talking about, but I didn't really see it as the best thing that could happen to me. I just wanted a day to be alone and do some muggle things, like I had done in Maine, without Dra—anyone bothering me about it. All of the thinking was making it hard to sleep, not to mention worrying about the Potions essay I had due on Monday. I wasn't in the "Slug Club," mainly because I came from the States and he didn't think I'd ever have connections that could be helpful to him, and therefore he didn't really like me. I did well in his class, I just worked extra hard to do well.
Pansy came upstairs—none too quietly, I might add—and literally fell into bed, asleep and snoring when her head hit the pillow. After that I gave up on sleep, grabbed a book, and headed down to the relative peace of the common room.
As I lay down in front of the fire on my back with my feet propped up on the nearby couch, I wished (not for the first time) for a window. The only problem that I could see with living in the dungeons was the lack of sunlight/moonlight. I missed seeing the sky, and stars, and even clouds, on nights when there was nothing better to do but read and work on ANOTHER potions essay.
I didn't even hear his footsteps as he walked down the stairs, but I saw his profile as he started sneaking towards me. One good reason to read on your back holding your book above your head, I guess.
"Grace?" he asked, uncertainty tainting his otherwise entirely pretentious tone of voice.
"I'm impressed Draco. I didn't know you even knew my name." I stumbled over my words a little, proving how tired I really was.
"What's with the snippiness? Late night?" He asked, amused at my slight incoherency.
"I'm just more interested in my book than I am in trading insults with you. I'm tired Draco, can't you ruin someone else's self-esteem for the night?" I asked, rubbing my eyes and putting my book on my stomach, folding my hands over it and looking up at his gorgeous face.
"Another muggle book? What are you, a Weasley?"
"Draco. I'm not in the mood. Please, can't you wake up Crabbe and insult him instead?"
He stopped and looked at me, surprised by my begging but unwilling to show it. "Did you just say please? I didn't think that was in your vocabulary. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just tired." I waved my hand weakly, hoping he'd just go away so I could try to read. He sat cross-legged next to me instead. Jerk.
"Biggest lie in the book," he accused, looking at me pointedly.
"Right after 'that was my last piece of gum,'" I added, giggling a little until I registered the confusion and annoyance on his face. "Oh right, I forgot Mr-high-and-mighty doesn't like to hear about muggle things. I'm surprised you're putting yourself on the same level as a 'Weasley' like me."
He went to stand up, but I involuntarily put my hand on his knee, suddenly wanting company in my insomnia. Slowly he relaxed again, and as soon as he had I removed my hand.
"Enjoy being insulted, do you? I bet it turns you on." he finally said as haughtily as he could.
"Don't flatter yourself. If you're down here long enough Pansy's Draco-sense might tingle and I'll have a snore-free bedroom again," I replied with as much venom as I could muster: none. He laughed, and after a second I joined in. We sat in silence for a moment, and to keep myself awake I studied him.
"You wear altogether too much black. It makes your skin and hair look whiter than they are. Maybe a light blue…."
"I don't need your help picking out my clothing. I'll wear what I want, little girl."
I sat up and tried to wake up, but my head stayed foggy from the exhaustion I'd been holding at bay. I shook it to clear said fog, and ended up making it worse instead. Enough was enough; I needed my sleep.
"Good thing, cause there's no way I'm waking up early to plan your outfit." I walked out of the room, not chancing a look back. It wasn't until I climbed into bed that I remembered my book—it had fallen off my stomach as I stood up. Too tired to go back downstairs, I had just enough time to hope that Draco hadn't thrown it into the fire before I fell asleep.