Nothing belongs to me.
IV: Quills
It was quite infuriating, a bit pathetic too.
The Potions essay in front of Draco was forgotten as his eyes raked over the scene that played out in front of him, merely ten feet away.
The Weasley girl sat there toying with her quill, twirling it in her fingers like a bloody baton, whatever that was.
Just look at her, he thought savagely, with her stupid hair and her stupid face.
But really when Draco thought about it, her hair wasn't that bad. At least it wasn't orange like her brothers', but instead an alluring ruby red. She could be pretty too, but only just...
Now, she was doing it again. You know, that thing she did with her quill?
Draco watched, transfixed, as she brought the quill to her pink lips, sucking on the end.
For a fleeting second, Draco wished he were a quill.
And—good god! Did he just groan, out loud?
Judging by the smirk on Blaise's face, he had.