Chapter 7

Bam. Bam. Bam. The banging seemed to go on forever without any hint of letting up. Draco tossed and turned in his bed, wishing the accursed banging would cease to exist. Of course, there wasn't any real banging. The noise and pounding was in his head. He had a massive headache and he wanted to whack himself on the head with a mallet. This is what I get for drinking excessively, he thought angrily to himself. He was quite awake. He had no idea what time it was and he didn't care. The pounding in his head was first priority for him at the moment. Damn alcohol, he complained, refusing to open his eyes. Its temporary effects were marvelous. The consequences the morning after were hell.

What the hell happened last night? He didn't remember anything. The last thing he remembered was listening to Azalea flirt with that random bloke at the bar. After that, he guessed that he drunk himself to oblivion. So how exactly did he end up tucked in and cozy in his bed? Blaise wouldn't take him home and tuck him in safe and sound. That's just disgusting, Draco thought, picturing Blaise peeling off his leather blazer and helping him to bed. He shuddered at the image. Damn my imagination, he complained further. So how on earth did he wake up in his own bed and not in some dark alley stark naked?

"Draco?" a voice from somewhere in his room called. "Draco!"

Draco groaned and turned over. The person sighed and he heard footsteps walk around the foot of his bed. Whoever you are, go away, he thought. He already had a headache. He didn't need another nuisance.

Azalea watched him as she rounded the corner of his bed and made her way to the exceedingly large window. Lazy bum, she thought to herself. It was already one in the afternoon. How much longer must this dimwit sleep? Of course, she really wouldn't care to start with. It's just that Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy told her to wait until Draco wakes for lunch. If he didn't get up by himself, they told her to disturb his pleasant sleep. It was getting late and she was getting hungry. The git would have to be woken up.

Azalea walked up to the curtained windows and threw the curtains aside, letting in the bright sunshine. Light flooded the room.

"Shit!" Draco cursed, throwing his covers over his head.

"Rise and shine, sleeping ugly!" Azalea said, ripping his covers off him. "Seriously, get up."

"Bugger off, Azalea," Draco groaned, groping for his blankets, his eyes still closed. "Can't you see I don't feel well?"

"It's not my fault you decided to get all aled up last night," Azalea said, rolling her eyes. "Your parents told me to wake you up so bloody wake up already."

"Why would my parents tell you to wake me up?" Draco asked, finally cracking open an eye.

"Well, they would have done it themselves but they're not here at the moment," Azalea said, folding her arms over her chest and looking down at him.
"What do you mean they're not here?" he asked, rising to a sitting position.

"I mean that they left two hours ago for lunch at a family friends' house," Azalea explained. "You were supposed to go with them but since you're hung over at the moment, they thought it best if you stayed at home."

"Oh," Draco muttered, and rand his fingers through his hair.

"Yes, now get your lazy arse out of bed," she ordered. "It's past lunch time and I'm hungry."

"Azalea, just how drunk was I last night?" Draco asked, peeking up at her.

She gave him a look. "Do you remember anything?" she asked.

"No."

"Then that alone should answer your question, shouldn't it?" she said sarcastically.

"Well, did I say something last night?" he asked, irritated by her blunt sarcasm.

"Oh, you said a medley of things," she chuckled.

"I did?!" Draco exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock and fear. "Well, out with it! What the hell did I say?"

Azalea stared at him for a while with a mocking face as she thought of what to tell him. Should she tell him that he was pathetic and spouted romantic nonsense about his beloved Astoria? Should she tell him that he was absolutely mental and told her that she was really terrific? Merlin, he would be mortified and she would enjoy having a laugh about it.

"Nothing important," Azalea said, turning away from him. "Just random stuff."

"Like what?" he egged.

"Like stuff about Quidditch and brooms and something about guitars," she said, waving her hand nonchalantly in the air. "I don't quite remember the rest. You were rambling."

"Was there anything else?" Draco asked.

"I don't think so," Azalea shook her head. "I really wasn't listening. You were sloshed. Nothing made sense."

"Are absolutely certain?"

"Yes, I'm certain," she snapped. "What do you want me to say? That you got down on one knee, confessed your love to me, and asked for my hand in marriage? Sorry, nothing like that happened."

"That would never happen, Azalea," Draco retorted with a snort, "no matter how drunk I get."

"Fantastic. Now get up! I'm hungry and you're keeping me from getting food," she nagged.

"I'm going," he answered. "You don't have to harass me about it."

"Here, catch," Azalea said, tossing a pill to him as she headed for the door.

"What is it?" Draco asked, scrutinizing the small white pill.

"It's medicine," she said over her shoulder, "for the headache. Now hurry up!"

Draco felt the water cascade down his body yet he didn't move. He listened to the water running yet he didn't budge. A shower usually calmed him down. But it failed to do so this time. When he asked Azalea if he had said something important the night before, he noticed the slightest bit of hesitation before she answered. He wondered if that meant that he did say something of significance last night and she just didn't want to tell him. Why should she keep that sort of information from him? Azalea would gain nothing from keeping the fact that he embarrassed himself away from him. So that should mean that what she was saying was true, right? But the hesitation on her face nagged at him. Then again, why should it matter to him? It was just Azalea. What was she going to do?

The thought calmed him down a bit.

Draco thought of Astoria and the bloke she was with last night. He was suddenly filled with rage that faded away to disdain. He was too tired to be enraged. Again, the question remained: What did she see in that random bloke that she didn't see in Draco? He thought of Azalea and the random guy she was with last night. Draco still couldn't believe that even though she was dressed extremely conservatively last night, she could still get a man for herself. That's charm for you, he thought with a sigh. Why couldn't he do the same? The thought irritated him. Seeing Azalea with that man felt odd to Draco. He couldn't quite out his finger on what emotion it was. It certainly wasn't jealousy. He hadn't the slightest interest in Azalea. But somehow, seeing her with someone else bothered him. The thought also irritated him.

He heard Azalea yelling at him from outside his bedroom. He sighed and switched off the water.

Draco and Azalea's late lunch started off in silence. Azalea munched on her lasagna, content on ignoring Draco. She was still thinking of the guy she met at the Smoky Lounge the previous night, Alex. He was so much like Anton when he and Azalea met. He was charming and witty and oh so handsome. Azalea grinned at the thought of it. Of course, Alex had his own charm. The way Alex's eyes twinkled when he smiled is just far too irresistible.

"What are you grinning about?"

Draco's voice cut across her daydreaming sending her crashing back to reality. Annoyed, Azalea frowned at him.

"None of your business," she replied swiftly.

"Fine, don't tell me," he shrugged, stabbing at his lasagna. "I probably wouldn't find it interesting anyway."

"Well, then, you should stop asking, shouldn't you?" Azalea retorted.

Draco shrugged again. It only irritated Azalea more. Why is it that everything he does is so bloody irritating? She sat there scowling at him at he peered over his lasagna thoughtfully, stabbing it to oblivion. Why can't he just eat the blasted thing? Why must he mutilate his food like that? What's it ever done to him?

Draco suddenly looked up, his face suddenly alive with amusement.

"Hey, you remember that girl in the black leather dress last night?" he suddenly asked.

"What about her?"

Draco whistled and then chuckled. "She was a bit of stuff, wasn't she?" he grinned mischievously. "Really hot."

"You're a pig," Azalea said, looking at him with an utterly disgusted expression.

"You're such a righteous bugger, you know that, Azalea?" Draco said to her, making her roll her eyes. "You act as men don't talk like this all the time."

"Not all men are as perverse as you are," Azalea snapped.

"Oh, sure, whatever," Draco said sarcastically.

"I'm serious," Azalea said, scowling at his laughing face. "I met one last night. He was smart, witty, charming, and gentlemanly. In short, everything you're not."

"You mean that bloke you were cuddled with at the bar?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Yes, the very same."

"You'll never see him again," Draco said matter-of-factly.

Azalea gaped at him. Git. "Oh, really?" she asked and watched him nod. "And just how are you so sure?"

"Did you see what you wore last night?" Draco asked tauntingly. "You looked like you were going to tea or somewhere equally boring."

"While I do hate to burst your bubble, Draco," Azalea told him, her eyes narrowed in resentment, "I must inform you that you are sadly mistaken."

"Am I?" Draco chuckled and watcher nod. "How so?"

"That bloke you saw me with happened to invite me to a party he was having tomorrow," she answered, the look of triumph lighting up her face.

"It doesn't mean a thing," Draco rolled his eyes.

"I beg your pardon."

"He talked to you all night and it would seem rude not to do anything afterward," Draco said, relishing the look of absolute vehemence on her face. "I don't think he really wants someone who dresses like his grandmother to show up on his doorstep."

"You're vile," she said to him, incredibly frustrated by his daft assertions.

He shrugged and went on. "Now, if it was someone like Astoria, he wouldn't wait until tomorrow to see her," Draco said, thinking of how unbelievable Astoria looked in her emerald short dress last night. "You want to know why? It's because Astoria's so gorgeous and-ˮ

"You don't have a chance with Astoria," Azalea said, enjoying the angry glare he sent her.

"Nobody asked you!" he snapped at her as Azalea shrugged at him.

"Fine, don't believe me," she said nonchalantly, taking a drink from her goblet.

He shouldn't believe her. What does she know about it? She doesn't know Astoria. How can Azalea make any sort of assumptions at his chances with Astoria? Still, Azalea looked so confident in her predictions. What were her reasons? Could they be the reason Draco's looking for? Could it be the reason as to why Astoria won't give him the time of day?

"Well, do you have any reason to believe so?" Draco asked, annoyed.

"What exactly have you done to get her attention?" Azalea asked.

"I… erm…"

"Exactly," she said triumphantly. "What do you expect? She would come crawling to you? You really are thick, aren't you?"

"Just how do you know how girls think?" Draco asked obtusely, thrown off guard.

"Look at me, you idiot," Azalea demanded. "I am a girl. Of course, I'd know how girls think."

"What?" Draco exclaimed. "Just because you happen to be a girl, you're an expert on how all girls think? I think you're the one who's thick."

"Well, I'll be a whole lot better at knowing what they want than you will ever be," Azalea pointed out.

Draco stared at her as she forked her lasagna triumphantly. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. Azalea had inside information on the vast and dangerous world of women. Information that he might never get in his lifetime. More importantly, the information that Azalea had about all females could help him finally make Astoria his. He scrutinized the way she cut at her lasagna, thinking rapidly. Azalea knew what women wanted. She knew how women thought. She knew what women responded to. As much as Draco hated it, he realized he needed help. He needed Azalea Vale's help. Damn, he thought. He'd rather kiss a cow.

Draco stood up and walked around the table. He stood next to Azalea and bent down to look up at her face. Azalea stared at him suspiciously.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked, leaning away from him.

"As much as I will loathe myself for admitting this," Draco told her, "I need your help."

Azalea's eyebrows shot upward. "I can't solve psychological issues, Draco," she stated.

"Not that, you git," he rolled his eyes. "I need your help to make Astoria mine."

Azalea looked at him incredibly. "You really are demented, aren't you?" she asked him, giving him a dubious look.

"I'm serious," Draco rolled his eyes. "You and your vast knowledge of how women operate might just do the trick."

"Whilst I think your entire scheme is deluded," Azalea said, turning to him, "I will humor you. If I so choose to help you, what's in it for me?"

"For you?"

"You can't honestly think I would help you out of the goodness of my heart," she rolled her eyes at him.

What's in it for her? Draco hadn't thought about that. To tell the truth, in the thirty seconds that he planned this, he didn't realize that Azalea would ask for some sort of compensation. What the hell could he give her? What? What?! Then he had an idea.

"I could help your love life, as well!" he exclaimed.

"What?!" Azalea shouted. "What are you talking about?"

"I could help you get that bloke from the bar," Draco suggested.

"I don't need your help!"

"Did you see what you wore to the Smoky Lounge?" Draco asked. "You need all the help you can get."

"Stop pointing that out!" she screeched, pushing up from her chair and started to head out of the dining room.

"Well, do we have an agreement or what?"

Azalea stopped, turned, and stared at him. Was he serious? Did Draco Malfoy just ask her to help him get a girl in return for helping her get a guy? Not that she particularly needed help. Well, maybe she could use a bit of help. After Anton, her love life hasn't exactly been very good. And it's not like getting Astoria to fall for Draco would be hard work. She's the shallow brainless type. She'll fall for anything that's male.

Merlin, was she really considering this? Was she really considering helping Draco Malfoy?

"Think of it, Azalea," Draco said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he closed the distance between them. "I know you trust him more than you trust me. He thinks you're pretty. I saw that in his eyes last night."

Draco's fingertips skimmed down her cheek in one fluid caress, his thumb brushing against the corner of her lips as he tilted her chin up to look into her eyes. His eyes had gone so intense; Azalea didn't know whether this was the same Draco she was just talking to a minute ago. There was a sudden complexity in his face, a sudden force in his eyes. She didn't like the way her heart rate sky rocketed. She didn't like the clean male scent of him filling her head. She didn't like him suddenly looming large over her.

"I could tell you you're pretty. It's no lie." he said quietly. "Would you trust me then? Just think of it, Azalea. For once, just consider it. I could help you, you know. I've got everything you need. If only you'd just let me. He could fall in love with you."

Draco's hand grazed her collar bone as his hand dropped away. He stepped back and turned away from her. He grabbed an apple from the table and bit into it as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. Azalea exhaled the breath she didn't realize she had been holding. She schooled her heart rate to normal, hoping that Draco wouldn't notice that she got so flustered. She stared at his back, wondering vaguely if what Draco said had anything to do with Alex at all.