I think I'm drowning, asphyxiated,
I want to break the spell, you've created
You're something beautiful, a contradiction, I wanna play the game;
I want the friction.
You will be the death of me.
- Time is Running Out, Muse
Damn, who knew that Granger actually owned something other than knee length skirts and ugly hooded sweaters? I suppose she thinks that green dress isn't too revealing, or else, she didn't want me to think she was embarrassed by my slipup, seeing her almost nude. But it hugs her (surprisingly evident) curves, and only serves as a tease to me. It's just enough skin on her chest and legs for me to want to discover more.
And this setting is rather intimate too; a little loveseat in her bedroom? I can feel the heat radiating from her body, and sense the tenseness in the manner in which she's placed; I gather she does not love our seating arrangement.
I, however, am rather enjoying it. She has a really nice record player, and the music never sounded better. We're almost done Tchaikovsky now, and Paganini is last up; it was ingenious of me to bring that Paganini record now that I think about it. I didn't really want to. But since Granger was so surprised at it (his specialty is after all the violin), I think that perhaps she'll sway towards my favour a bit more for being 'considerate'. I of course, do not want to do an entire project on him, but I feel like the letdown will be sweeter when I refuse any of her selections. Anything that isn't from the 18th – 19th centuries is horrific.
The final stanza of the music comes to a close, and I relax into the sofa. Nothing beats a good symphony.
Granger doesn't move, just plays with her now-tamed hair and averts her gaze away from me.
What's her problem? I don't bite….well…I don't bite hard.
"Are you going to switch it to the next one, or shall I do the honours?" I ask snarkily.
"Oh – sorry. I'll do it," she says, and shakes her head like she's just woken up from a dream. Well, who can blame her? Draco Malfoy & Hermione Granger are sitting in a bedroom together, listening to Muggle classical music in a Muggle setting and I'm not freaking out. It's almost laughable really. Last year I wouldn't have ever in my wildest nightmares have imagined this happening in my lifetime.
She stands up and turns towards the turntable, giving a nice view of her ass, and in turn making my face grow hot because I'm staring. I can see her panty line and the placid, soft curve that separates her cheeks.
Fuck, I really must stop thinking in detail about the features of her anatomy. It will only prove disastrous.
Don't deny it Drakes, she's a hot little number. You like staring.
Since when did the voice in my head sound like Nott?
And that is not true! I'd think about any female like this had they been this close and in this situation.
Sure, sure. Whatever you say.
Okay, yeah, she's all dressed up nice, but I don't need a bulge in my pants; seriously, it's bad enough my hormones are raging. I can't tempt myself when I know I'm not having sex tonight. And definitely never with her.
Sigh.
"So, why Sonata No. 6?" she asks me, placing the needle on the vinyl and letting the incredibly sad tune pour out of its depths. I pop back into my regular consciousness and stop staring at her lovely buttocks.
"Because it has a piano harmony in it, obviously," I reply sarcastically, probably a bit too Malfoy-esque. It sounds almost forced.
I'm frustrated here alright. I haven't fucked or kissed or had my dick sucked in almost a year and a half. The only physical contact I've gotten are trite hugs and punishment curses.
"I'm just curious, you don't have to be so derisive all the time." She replies, glaring at me as she returns to her spot. I raise an eyebrow.
The truth about my music choice is that I listened to it about 500 hundred times on Friday in the sorrow I wept in from the news of my parents' separation. I'm not one of those who attempt to seek optimism in dark situations when there isn't any. Besides, this is the only sad piece I own and it isn't so heart-wrenchingly horrible that it makes me want to sob right in this room. It's only 2 and a half minutes anyways, I think I'll survive without crying any tears. Don't need Granger's sympathy.
"It's just so….. so sad." she says. "Music is so emotional-filled, is it not? Drives and steers you into the direction of what you're supposed to feel hearing to it. Doesn't it make you utterly depressed just listening to this?"
"Well that's the point, isn't it? You feel sad so you wallow in your misery until you're over it and then you move on with your pathetic life."
She scrunches her nose. "I usually listen to the happiest songs I can find and think the most pleasant thoughts I can think of when I'm down." She shrugs testily.
"That's the difference between us then, Granger. Eternal optimist vs. the pessimistic black soul. Though I don't think if I tried your methods they'd work; trying to remember cheerful things when you're failing to figure out a proper way to kill a man, and your life not to mention your family's life depends on assassinating that man, "The Most Happiest Wizard In the World" seems most ironically miserable to the ears."
Oh, fuck.
I can't believe I just said that. It was witty in my head, but look who I'm talking to. Merlin, she probably loathes me. Talking asininely about her hero's death.
I open my mouth slightly in an effort to redeem my words, something I never do, but nothing comes out; Granger's eyes are bulging from their sockets.
"That was an appalling choice of words."
"A bit." She swallows harshly. I look at her slightly apologetic, and she just glances at me, still at a loss.
"I- I like the piece, that's all. Those records are the only ones I own, so I brought it over," I mutter, attempting to sail smoothly over that conversation bump. "I can appreciate works that have skills outside the keys," I say smirking (half-heartedly).
"Oh, you can, can you? It's not just a nearly clever tactic to make me ease into your choice for the project is it?" she stabs, and a hint of a smile is apparent in her tone if I'm not mistaken.
"Teasing, Granger?" I cock up the brow. "Didn't think you capable of it towards 'scum' such as I. And here I was beginning to think you hated me."
She blushes slightly. "I don't hate you," she grumbles. Really?
"You don't?" I ask. "I do deserve it you know." I say, deciding it's better that way. Can't have her emote any affection towards me.
"Well…yes, you do. I'll admit in the past I've loathed you more than anybody. I don't hate you though….at least not this year." I smirk. "You just….get on my nerves. Far more than I'd care to admit," she murmurs.
"Oh, the feeling's mutual, sweetheart," I say; she flushes pink when I call her that.
"What, that I annoy you more than you'd care to admit, or that you don't hate me this year?"
My turn to flush. We really play silly games with each other don't we? "Do you honestly think if I hated you I'd be here?"
No answer.
"You do annoy me Granger. But that's now because you're a Know-It-All, not a Mud-, not because of your blood. The pureblood mania left me as soon as I found out what being a Death Eater really feels like and what it requires. I'm not like that anymore."
I look at her and she's staring at my face intently, as if I'm a particularly nasty exam question she's trying to come up with an answer to.
"At least…I don't try to be," I practically whisper.
All the nastiness is running through my head before it's too late to push it out. Everything I've ever done; trying to kill Dumbledore, cursing Katie Bell, practically killing Weasley with mead, casting that spell on Granger so her teeth were like walrus's, refusing to acknowledge her and lower her pride by calling her petty names every chance I got, insulting stupid Weasleyabout something as menial as wealth (and Quidditch ability), boasting to the Slytherins about knowing the Minister and others personally, tattling to Father so that wretched beast could be killed in third year, being an ass to Potter (though it's his fault cause he started it), etc. God, I'm a prat.
I can't believe I enjoyed all those things.
I can't believe people wanted to be close to me to bask in my pureblood power.
I can't -
I feel a hand close over mine, one that is on my lap, and I wince instinctively but only slightly.
I turn my head slowly; she's looking at me, sad. Her expressive eyes pierce into my soul it seems. She looks a me like she cares. Like I actually matter.
This is the first time we've ever touched properly, I realize. It feels quite nice to be honest. I don't think I've had my hand held since I was 4 years old.
But no, this isn't good. She needs to let go, she needs to keep her distance.
She has to.
The music ends.
The silence is overwhelming.
After about an eternity Granger finally understands what she's doing. Her grip loosens and she places her hand back into her personal space.
Nobody says a thing for a few minutes.
"S-sorry." I finally hear her whisper.
"Don't be." I reply, too quickly. "I mean - just…don't be."
She's attempting to be compassionate towards me. And she asks for forgiveness.
"Don't apologize unless you really mean it."
More silence.
I at last hear her shift in her seat, and she stands up.
"Care for me to show my music selections?" She asks timidly, wanting this very tense and awkward period to pass along. I nod.
Maybe if I hate her music I can hate her again. This would be much easier if I hated her. I don't want her to make me feel good. But she does.
Something in the way she affects me makes me want to…makes me want to try and get her to like me. And I don't know why. I've never had to do that before; people either drew to me like flies, and others just steered clear; it's always been black and white. And now she's the shade of grey that I don't quite understand.
She's trumped over to her bedside table and pulled something pink, flat and rectangular from inside the cabinet of it. She's on her bed now, feet barely touching the ground, across from me. Guess the couch is a no-no.
She somehow lifts up a section of the pink flat-thing and the next thing I hear are clocking and tapping sounds. A bluish light reflects on her face; very curious.
"What are you doing? What is that?"
She averts her gaze from her device to me and looks at me as if I'm an alien - her eyebrows knitted together. Then her mouth forms a little 'o', remembering I'm pureblood, and says, "It's called a laptop. A laptop computer."
Computer? "So…you track your credit cards and money on there?" I ask puzzled, thinking of what I was told at Gringotts earlier today.
Her mouth twists into a churlish grin for a millisecond (though unmissed by me), but then she shakes it away and puts on that know-it-all look. "Well, you can do that yes, but that is not the primary use for a computer. Computers have millions of functions," she says. Then adds as an afterthought, "How do you know about credit cards?"
I blush deep pink, feeling like an idiot, and wishing I just kept my mouth shut. However, I will not let her condescend me. Just because I didn't take Muggle Studies she thinks that I - she assumes - she doesn't have to rub my ignorance in!
I rifle around my wet pocket, and scout out the shiny card. I flick it at her onto the bed, and she flinches slightly as it lands next to her thigh. "Went to Gringotts this morning," I tell her slightly strained, as she grabs and examines it. "The old goblin told me to use that to pay for everything here, and he explained to me that credit card payments are tracked using computers -"
"Gringotts can give out credit cards! ?" she asks bewildered.
"Apparently?" I shrug. "Perhaps they have a demand to keep up with the times? I don't know how frequent ministry officials come out here and maybe halfbloods visit their families. I suppose it's a lot easier a concept to understand than trying to comprehend an exchange rate."
She scans the front and back, then raises her eyebrows and hands it back to me. "Were you planning on buying something in Muggle London?"
"I reasoned last night that we were going to go out. I mean, I don't want to, but we will have to, won't we? It would be ridiculous to think we could just look up what we need to out of thin air; it isn't as if Wizard books will help. So I needed a means to pay, I wouldn't expect you to cover it."
She watches me silently for a moment. "That's very…. helpful of you," she chooses.
"I'll take it as a compliment," I reply, smirking. "So….what do you use your lap top for then, if not for money?" I ask, trying to hide my curiosity by replacing it with exasperation.
"All my music is on here," she responds. Huh? "And it can be useful for our research. In fact, if you really do want to know what computers can do, I can show you," is her timid offer.
Do I care?
Well, you want to know how her music can play on something so small, don't you?
I don't want to express interest.
But, your nosiness will kill you if you don't know.
Damn.
"Alright, Granger. Enlighten me."
I'm surprised when Malfoy accepts my computer 101 teaching proposal. Although, if he's willing to own a representation of Muggle 'technology' like a credit card, and he's willing to be sitting in my room in London, I suppose he really is not as much the same boy he was 2 years ago.
But god, I'm just so stupid. I held his hand. His hand.
I hate having an empathetic personality sometimes.
It's just, I remembered how downtrodden he and his entire family seemed last year, not elated about being followers anymore. How desperate his mother must've been to lie on Voldemort's orders. He must have some sort of heart buried somewhere if his mother loves him so much. And he looked so sad.
I stand up and beckon my head at him, prompting him to come to the desk where I sit down on my chair and set my netbook on the surface. He rises up slowly and steps over to me.
"So I'm standing up am I?" He notes. I ignore it. I've already been too friendly to him.
"Look at the screen," I say, pointing at it. He rolls his eyes and shuffles closer to me, bending his back and putting a hand to the desk for support.
"Nice picture." I can hear the smirk. It's a picture of Crookshanks wearing a silly blue hat I knitted him, and curled up on my bed. I blush slightly, but shake it away. I love that background; I'm not changing it for him.
"What does it do, then? Besides display your affections for a feline," he snickers.
Besides his irritating mocking, he's hovering over me; this is not good. I can hear and feel his breath close to my ear, and his face is mere inches to the left of mine. My stomach flips.
"This tiny arrow," I begin shrilly, ignoring his proximity, and deciding to get my teacher on, "is called the cursor. You control it with the mouse; this here." His face creases as he watches in fascination as I move the small circular object, which in turn moves along the cursor. "The cursor is essential; all these little pictures and images you see (I circle the mouse around different shortcuts) are buttons. When you want to pick one, you click this button on the mouse. All buttons lead to certain programs which all do different things. There are hundreds upon thousands of programs; you buy them or download them. To get them to work, all the information contained needs to load into the computer for minutes or even hours depending on how large or extensive it is."
"Sounds very complicated and unnecessary."
I turn to look at him, and he's scoffing. But he's also confused; they're empty words to cover his incomprehension.
"Just wait. Here, I'll open up a blank document." I hear him mutter under his breath but I ignore it and click on the blue `W`: it pops open and I can see his face retract in surprise for a moment.
"See this page? It's what Muggles use as an alternative to parchment, or paper."
"Why?"
"It's neater and easier to read; all the letters are uniform. See these numbers and letters? The buttons?"
"Yes."
"They're called keys; when you use them to make sentences or just words, it's called typing. Here, want to try?"
"Not particularly." Of course he doesn't want to try.
But just to 'demonstrate', I type 2 sentences.
Hello, my name is Hermione Granger. My school partner, Draco Malfoy, is presently standing behind me, acting as if he's uninterested in what I have to say about computers but in reality just doesn't grasp how they operate.
"Hey!"
My turn to smirk; I know how he works. Now he's going to want to prove me wrong, and try typing.
"That's very rude. I never said I was uninterested. It's quite magical if you ask me that a little letter can make another letter pop up on a screen. And it is easy to read."
"No, but you're acting like I'm beneath you still. Which makes all the difference." I reply bitchily. Okay, maybe he is captivated, but he doesn't have to put on a façade al the time that anything I have to say or do is irrelevant.
"Fine, move over then and I'll try typing." He shoves his torso over me, his elbow snaking over my chest and his hair almost touching my nose. I can smell something pleasant on his skin. And he's really warm; that's what surprises me most. He's so cold normally, I expect his physical being to be too, which is silly really but….his whole body looks like cool porcelain. Perfect, smooth….
Stop. You're just riling yourself up.
I look down at the keyboard instead.
I suppress a laugh as he uses his index fingers only to form a sentence.
"How do I separate the words…..and where is the period?" he murmurs.
"The long rectangular bar at the bottom is the space bar, and the period button is on the bottom left." I say smiling. It's kind of….cute, if I'm completely honest. Like educating a 3 year old. Though he certainly doesn't look like one.
After about 2 minutes he moves away, and stands up straight waiting for an assessment.
"Well, I tried." He says evenly, but an undertone of worry and embarrassment is etched in there.
What miss granger fails to compreehend is that i draco malfoy am not always disinterested in what she has to say.i jst frankly fail to see what use computers have in ourr research.
"Not bad." I evaluate. "No capitals or commas, and some spelling mistakes, but for your first try, it's fine. I'll give you an Acceptable." I say laughing.
"Oh, shut up," he says crossing his arms.
"Oh, come on, I'm just joking," I tell him, pushing him lightly on the arm like I would Harry. I touched him again. Why did I touch him again?
Thankfully, he's smirking now, more amused than pissed off.
"Doesn't answer my question though, and also, how do you expect me to capitalize and correct mistakes when you didn't show me how? Tsk tsk, professor." He grins; actually grins. Oh god.
My heart is aflutter.
It's so…nice. His teeth are straight and pearly white. He could get anybody to do anything with that smile. And it's so uncharacteristically Malfoy to look happy; that can only be a good sign since his normal self is less than amiable.
I find myself red in the face again and I look back to the screen to distract myself.
"T-this is what I meant by it being useful." I click on the Firefox logo on my taskbar and my homepage pops up, Google.
"Goo-gle?"
"This window, what you call all these programs I'm opening, is the Internet. The internet connects you to places called websites. Anyone can create a website, it just costs money to run, so mostly people join websites for free or for a monthly fee. Websites can have anything and everything on them, the key is finding one you like and can use. Some have games, some have a forum of people on it so you can talk to them, some have information, and a lot are useless. This one, Google, is a huge corporation kind of like Gringotts I suppose if I were to compare it to something Wizard. You use their facilities, they make money; it's a lot like how everything functions in the Muggle world. In Wizard England, people run small shops and own them themselves, yes? Well here that stopped decades ago; now one person owns many stores and many restaurants of the same name, or with several different branches, and place them all around the globe. Same idea happens on the internet. Do you understand?"
"I think I get the general idea." He replies. I look at him and he's leaning; arms still crossed, but nodding.
"Anyways, Google allows you to search for specific websites about absolutely anything you can think of; your search matches up with text from a page and you can click on the search results, called a link, and you can see if it's a good match or not."
"Okay?"
"Here, look, I type in….Chopin, for example," I state, and am pleased to feel him come closer again. Because he's learning, not because his chest is nearly against my back…
I click 'search', and the page loads instantly, the first result being Wikipedia. Pictures are underneath from GoogleImages in a row.
"Whoa. That's… very odd. How does it do that?"
"Not entirely sure, that's why Google is so brilliant…and rich." I add. I pick Wikipedia and push my chair aside so he can see. "Have a look. Use the rolling black button on the mouse to scroll down to read more."
"Well, this is….this is…..amazing," he says breathless as he moves the page up and down, the glare of the page illuminating his face. "I didn't know he grew up in…Ah, what did I do!"
Romantic Music appears at the top of the page. "You've clicked on a link; the blue highlighted words are clickable."
"Oh. Okay. So I can look for anything? I mean….I guess it all has to be Muggle, but anything I want?"
"Yes."
"Crazy." The pure amazement on his face makes me so delighted. Nobody gets that look anymore. "Can you look up music then? And listen to it?" he asks almost excited.
"Yes, though classical is more difficult to find I'm afraid. I can show you later if you'd like, but…I think maybe we should choose who we're studying first."
"Oh, right." His expression deflates slightly. "Okay, well show me your choices then I suppose."
He shifts to my bed and sprawls on it, legs and arms spread, head rested on my pillow. I gulp.
"You don't mind me lying here, do you?" he asks, almost challengingly.
"No, no I d-don't. Except, I need to be closer in order for you to hear the song." I stand up again and move in front of the four-poster, hoping he'll move over. Or sit up.
Thankfully, he sighs and returns upright, as I tentatively sit cross-legged on the very edge.
"So what are your selections, Granger?" He's moved right next to me, and I don't know if I like it.
He's like a smoking habit; it's dangerous and potentially cancerous when he's with me, (because who knows what could happen from this relationship), but somehow I like it when he's here. Just talking to me, even if it's bickering. It's very different from the conversations I have with Ron, Harry, or even Ginny.
He makes me nervous; he makes me want to prove to him I'm not an idiot, even though I know I'm not.
God, he's just so irritating. Why is he just being difficult rather than a complete arse? I think I'd prefer him being a bigot, then we could just decide on what we're to work on and he can leave and stop manipulating my emotions.
But….since he's gazing at the laptop again, I suppose it's all innocent. I just get the feeling he enjoys making me squirm.
"If I'm totally honest with you, Malfoy," I start, "there's only one band; yes, not composer, but band I'd like to look at. I do enjoy a lot of music, but they're my favourite. They're called Muse." He raises an eyebrow and frowns slightly. "Outside of playing, admittedly I don't listen to classical music regularly."
"And just when I finally thought you had developed some taste," he jabs, smirking.
That hurts more than it should.
"Come now, I'm teasing Granger, no need to look so crestfallen. I'm just incredibly set in my ways, as you probably already are aware. Little impresses me."
"Well maybe if you opened your mind up a little…" I grunt, and he laughs.
"I'm sitting on a bed next to you, in your place of residency, agreeing to listen to your music, and learning how to use a computer; I daresay that's a far cry from calling you a Mudblood."
Humph. Stupid, obnoxious….ignoramus. "I suppose."
"Just show me the tune Granger, no need to be stroppy with me just because I'm right and you're wrong." Agh.
I roll my eyes (seems like the fifth time in the past hour), and open iTunes.
"So the music will just…sound out of somewhere, will it?" I turn to him; he looks sceptical.
"There are speakers on here, so don't worry." I smile strained. I scroll down the list, trying to decide which song to show him.
"Wait, wait, wait. All of this is your music? You just have this long list and er, you click? on one, and it plays for you! ?"
The look of adulation and incredulity makes this whole endeavour with the computers worth it. "Yes. Technology isn't so terrible is it?"
"No, that's…so much easier and organized." He says almost reluctantly. "Well play it then."
"Don't rush me, I'm picking a song, though I suppose it doesn't matter much because you're going to tell yourself you don't like it even if you do, because you're too 'set in your ways' to admit to agreeing with my musical tastes."
He laughs again. "You know me too well, Granger. But who knows? Maybe if I like it enough, doubtful, but if I do, maybe I'll at least profess my fancy."
"Oh, what a great pleasure that would be," I say without enthusiasm, the eyes rolling back again, his smirk popping up too.
Sod it. I'm just going to play it, my favourite song. It's really, just beautiful; I don't care if a meaning of a song doesn't have to be spelled out for him like in symphonies, if he doesn't like it even a little he's crazy.
I click play.
I can't help but turn to watch his reaction to the beginning; the synthesized drums and the pizzicato violin are probably things he's never heard before, combined or at all. It sounds mysterious and…a little sensual to be honest. I mean, the song has an undertone of complete sexual-ness in it.
He looks intrigued as Matthew Bellamy's voice fills the room.
I know you've suffered,
But I don't want you to hide.
It's cold and loveless,
I won't let you be denied.
The tension builds.
Soothing;
I'll make you feel pure.
Trust me,
You can be sure.
The slap bass joins in, and I take a deep breath; the chorus is almost eerie, like a monotone choir, but the minimalistic yet intricate instruments just create something unreal.
I want to reconcile the violence in your heart.
I want to recognise your beauty's not just a mask.
I want to exorcise the demons from your past.
I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart.
I feel Malfoy stiffen next to me, and I realize I've been silently singing the refrain. I burn red, but hope he hasn't heard me.
You trick your lovers, that you're wicked and divine,
You may be a sinner but your innocence is mine.
Please me; show me how it's done.
Trust me, you are the one.
"I need to use the restroom."
I want to reconcile the violence in your heart.
"Pardon?"
I want to recognise your beauty's not just a mask.
"Excuse me," he says and hops off the bed. He rushes to my door only to be bumped in the head as someone opens the door.
I want to exorcise the demons from your past.
"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Mum has her hand over her mouth at her mistake.
I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart.
"It's fine, excuse me," he says impolitely and pushes past her into the hall.
"What was that all about?" she asks as she makes her way in.
"I don't know, we were just listening to the music I wanted to research for our project and-"
"HERMIONE." Her voice practically knocks me over. "Your hair! It looks lovely! And your face…you're wearing makeup? Oh, you sly little girl, why didn't you tell me the truth about this boy," she grins.
"Mum! I don't like him that way, keep your voice down!" She walks over to the bed with a knowing smile.
"Of course not, love," she winks. Again, my eyes are rolling.
"I just didn't want to look frightful."
"I don't blame you, though. He was a little nervous talking to me, quite posh though, very educated sounding. And polite." Polite? "Not to mention a looker," she adds wiggling her eyebrows.
"Mum!" I repeat in the same mortified voice.
"Oh come now, love, I'm not blind. He's tall, attractive, clean, and is a very suave dresser with elegant tastes, obviously. I can hear the music from in the living room, ve-ry classy! Just your type, Hermione." Except, not! He's rude, obnoxious, and….oh, who am I kidding.
I do like him. He's annoying as hell, but I'm attracted to him, and truth be told, he has most of the qualities I want in a man; A strong opinion, cleanliness, eloquence (in speaking at least), good taste, a sense of humour (I know it's dry and crude, but it' s there),….tall with good looks. I hate it!
"No, he isn't, actually. He's quite irritating and very 'set in his ways'. We don't get along."
"Well then spending time together may change it, then won't it?" Always the optimist is my Mum.
"I suppose. Why did you come up here, anyways?" I ask probably a bit too harshly.
"Just wanted to tell you that Andrea is 5 minutes away, she's just called me from the bus."
"Oh."
"And she said she's excited to see you, and meet your special friend."
I sigh. 'Special friend'.
"So when Draco returns, come downstairs and have some lunch, I've made sandwiches!"
Draco. That word shouldn't be coming out of her mouth.
"Okay, Mum." Mum dances out on a cloud, elated at this 'juicy' piece of news about her daughter 'liking' a boy from school; one she's actually met. I could've just dressed up because my cousin is coming….
I exhale and hoist myself up, deciding I should inform 'Draco' about our visitor. He'll definitely love that.
This is terrible, this whole thing. We haven't even gotten any work done!
Agh!