Just wanted to say thanks to Pimberlee, marinka, and OnMyHighHorse for your reviewing! I hope yall like this chapter, next one should be up soon. :) Enjoy!
Malfoy lounged back in a dark green, low back sofa in the Slytherin common room, listening as Zabini described in detail how he had terrified a group of second year Hufflepuff boys in the corridor outside of potions class. Ever since their confrontation in the corridor, they had struck up a truce of sorts. Malfoy didn't bother Zabini, and Zabini didn't bother Malfoy. It worked. . . sort of.
A small, involuntary yawn escaped the light haired young man's lips as his silver eyes slowly drifted shut, an action that did not go unnoticed by a certain female Slytherin. Pansy leaned over close to him and stroked his arm softly.
"Drakie-poo, are you sleepy? Here, why don't you let me help you to your room?" she cooed in a tone she probably thought was seductive but ended up sounding like she had a bad cold.
His smoldering grey eyes popped open in horror to find her pug face disturbingly close to his own. With a loud yelp, Malfoy sat straight up and wrenched his arm out of her desperate grasp. Zabini raised a dark eyebrow in his direction, an amused smirk on his face.
Glaring around the room, Malfoy used what dignity he had left to stand up and march out of the room, without Pansy's help mind you. When he reached the door leading to the boy's dorm, he stopped with one hand on the door handle and threw a casual look over his shoulder.
Yep, they were still smirking at him. Well, Zabini was smirking. Goyle was still stuffing his face with left-over supper, and Pansy was whimpering with rejection. A scowl broke out on his face. Pansy was really starting to get on his nerves.
It was disgusting the way she threw herself at him. Whenever he wasn't there, she would then turn her sights on a very receptive Zabini. So much for class, Malfoy thought to himself with a very unMalfoy like snort.
He quickly walked to his room and locked the door just in case Pansy tried to follow him. The darkness of the room soothed his racing thoughts, and provided a small quantity of peace. Nothing like he had felt on the Quidditch pitch with Weaselette of course. Unable to hold it back, a small groan burst forth from his mouth.
Why was he thinking of that retched girl again? Their families hated each other. So, there was no way there could ever be anything between them. Wait. . . . where did that come from? Who said anything about them being together?
If Malfoy didn't know any better, he would say he was going clinically insane. Then again, maybe he was. Except for the small fact that Malfoys didn't go insane. Especially not over girls like the Weaselette. He shivered at the mere thought. Girls were supposed to go crazy over him, not the other way around.
Lighting a candle with his wand, he searched through his expensive trunk for his silk pajama pants and shirt. After reinforcing the locking charm on the door, he quickly changed and got in bed with his hands laced behind his head and his feet crossed at the ankles.
The position of his bed allowed the teenager a perfect view out of the window to the clear black of the night's sky. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, not even caring about how the others would get in with the door locked, he saw a figure fly swiftly by on a broom, as if all of Hell itself was on their heels.
The figure seemed vaguely familiar. The gracefulness and control the person had on their broom tugged at his memory. Where had he seen someone like that before? Wait a minute. The Quidditch pitch earlier! But, what was the little Weaselette doing on her broom this late at night?
This new discovery heightened his senses and he jumped out of bed. At the window in a flash, he peered out, craning his neck to see what she was doing. Muttering a simple vision enhancement charm, he took a closer look at her face and realized with a jolt that she was crying.
Why was she crying? And what was she doing out so late? On her broom no less. Soon, the girl was too far in the distance for him to see even with his enhanced vision. Sighing, he slowly strolled back to bed and laid back down, a small frown marring his perfect features.
Sleep was calling him, but he couldn't get her face out of his mind. Weaselette never cried. Not that he had seen anyway. She had always come off as strong and capable of holding her own against the best of them, himself included of course. Something really bad must have happened to make her feel so bad as to cry.
A few moments later, he was sleeping peacefully, dreaming of a certain girl with fiery red hair and an attitude to match. Strangely, he didn't think of her as the little Weaselette in the dream. No, he thought of her as his own dear Ginny. . . .
So, what do yall think? Hope they were in character pretty well. Next chapter will speed things along somewhat between Draco and Ginny.