Sucker Love

Chapter 12 • Draco






Chapter
12 • Draco

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I tapped my quill rhythmically on the side of the table,
careful not to get any ink on myself or somebody beside me. Considerate of me,
I knew, but my mind was elsewhere these days. It truly confused me how this
mess got any...messier; and how I lost control. The thought caused me to tap my
quill even harder on the table, making the tip break with feathers flying about
the place like it was some goddamn owlery. I closed my eyes. Frustration.

 

"Now that you've destroyed the evil quill, do you
mind helping with the potion, Malfoy?"

 

I reopened my eyes. Now that voice I wouldn't mind getting
some serious poisonous fucking ink on.

 

"I am helping," I replied monotonously, not even
looking at the moron redhead, "I'm keeping track of all the dumb ass
mistakes you're making, so that I can fix them later."

 

Finally glancing at the Weasley, I observed his seething
expression and glaring eyes as his look projected the, 'Oh, I really hate you'
campaign. Oh, it hurt. I was feeling the pain. I looked straight ahead and
yawned.

 

The class had resorted to that. I was in Potions and it
was more of a hell than it'd ever been. It wasn't that I was experiencing any
sort of...inconvenience; no. I was just annoyed. I was basically being shunned
by both of my group partners, one unusually doing so while the other just
keeping up his daily record of glares per minute. So I became the data-recorder
boy.

 

I looked down at the parchment in front of me, for lack of
anything better to look at.

 

Four grams of Mince Wheat. Three grams of Tarsle Tin.
Seven grams of who the hell cares. Nineteen grams of fuck, this is boring.
Twenty-two grams of it wasn't my fault. Five grams of fuck this bet.

 

Clearly, I needed to inhabit the hospital wing and catch
up with Madame Pomfrey much more than hang around Snape's class, do absolutely
nothing while continuing to spiral down my insanity-due-to-boredom trail.
Clearly, the hospital wing was the better - and wiser - choice.

 

And then I got pissed. Just all of a sudden - it was like
a fucking revelation. Here I was, busting my ass about being outnumbered by the
Goody-Two-Shoes Clan and having them ignore me, when it wasn't even my fucking
fault; it was Mya's - Granger's. She was the one that ranted to me - at me. She
was the one that kissed me. She was the one that threw herself at me and
now she was the one ignoring me? I snorted. Of course; shame and
righteousness pierced her holy atmosphere and now she must've been considering
her sins.

 

I looked up and observed her holier-than-thou ways;
sweeping the Mince Wheat into the potion, stirring the mixture with a wooden
rod, bending over to help Weasley with...something on his paper - I couldn't
tell. The bending over caused her robes and blouse underneath to open up a
little so I didn't really... No, wasn't going to go there. Go to blouse-opening
land and that leaves a lot less space in the mind to go mad about some bitch
that couldn't make up her mind and threw herself at anybody and was probably
severely damaged in the head.

 

Yes, definitely up to campaigning for a mental institution
as an alternative. As we were, then.

 

I couldn't believe it - she hadn't so much as looked at me
all day. Yesterday she kissed me, then ignored me in Arithmancy, though it was
easier for her to do there; she sits across the bloody room. Then, ignored me
today - that bitch. Luckily for her - or mer me - Snape canceled detention
yesterday; something about 'inner soul dancing'. I didn't want to know.

 

Someone - I looked up - Longbottom dropped a beaker or spoon
or something, making a hell of a racket. The class swarmed. And who the hell
did she think she was, taking me off guard like that? Not that I was... No - I
shook my head - no, I wasn't off track. She kissed me, so
once she learned to get past her denial, it would be smooth sailing from then.
It worked for me - it did.

 

I was never one to consider myself stupid enough to try to
trick my mind with that same mind of something that wasn't true in order to
make myself think it was true...but damn, I was sure as hell trying to do it
now. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I was confused and I didn't know
fucking why. She kissed me - not like I haven't been fucking kissed in a
hallway before. Oh, bloody romantic. But I supposedI waI wasn't so full of my
own bullshit, I could've found the real reason lurking deep inside my - fucking
scary, by the way - 'emotional track'.

 

Luckily, my bullshit meter hadn't dropped below
satisfactory since I was old enough to talk, so I pushed my honest thoughts
aside and perked an eyebrow as I noticed a familiar face emerge from the large
class huddle around Longbottom.

 

Said familiar smirked in my direction then quirked an
eyebrow at Snape's fiftieth, "Bloody hell," and, "I don't get
paid enough for this," as he examined the class screw-up's latest mistake.
I heard something about property damage and lasting effects of Gonzie syrup. It
hardly suprised me and I chose not to even rise and witness the disaster
clean-up brigade in action. Amusedly, I noted that Weasley and Granger had
hurried their asses to help poor, devastated Longbottom long ago. Strange
breed.

 

"Ms. Parkinson..." Snape's weary voice finally
surfaced from his soft curses and grumbles, "would you mind fetching
Madame Pomfrey for Mr. Longbottom." He said the student's name like it was
poison on his tongue and needed to be cleansed immediately after it was spoken.
I nodded in approval; carry on. "Would be such a shame if he picked up an
infection or suffered a swelling to his skin from the Gonzie after his accidental
involvement in such a mess."

 

I smiled. Snape couldn't advertise the 'Sarcasm is a man's
best friend' campaign any more efficiently. Good man, that one. Strange - but
comprehendible.

 

"Yes, Professor," Pansy answered dutifully, then
turning on her heel to exit the class rolled her eyes when she thought no one
was watching. I bit back a smirk.

 

"Professor, if you may, I could join Ms. Parkinson in
fetching Madame Pomfrey," I voiced, suddenly, noticmy omy opportunity to not
sit around and pretend like I care an ounce of what happens to whom. Pansy
stopped at the sound of my request but didn't turn around.

 

Snape looked at me from the middle of the crowd, quirking
an eyebrow irritably while the thoughts reeled rustily in his mind. One tall
blonde kid - boy, one tall blonde kid - girl, want to go off together while no
one else is looking. I could tell that he was getting at the conclusion that we
didn't need safety in numbers to convince Madame Pomfrey that someone is hurt.
I gave him credit for those realizations evident upon his face; he was a
professor for something.

 

"Very well," he finally answered, after giving
it a good long think-through. He turned his head back towards the huddle which
still enraptured the injured and pitiful Mr. Longbottom while receiving a whine
from some Gryffindor girl that the potion spilled over her hand, too.

 

 

.

 

 

 

"So sly, Mr. Malfoy," Pansy observed as she
stopped dead in her tracks to smirk and wait patiently while I caught up with
her. I was in no hurry.

 

"So observant, Ms. Parkinson," I deadpanned.

 

"Yet what do I owe this private get-together?"
She ignored my common sarcasm and her eyes twinkled merrily at mine as if she'd
just seen all the vaults at Gringotts opened at the same time. "To collect
your winnings or let me collect my own?" I could see her imagining
my family crest around her luscious neck already.

 

"Tsk, tsk," I felt obliged to put in, "not
so fast, baby." Picking up where she stopped, I led the way towards what I
supposed was the hospital wing, but didn't overly care. What was the point? If
Pansy and I wandered around for a good two hours and still no Madame Pomfrey -
then we clearly didn't go the right way; so we'd change directions. It wasn't
that complicated. People just fussed with directions way too much.

 

Besides...Pansy and I had some business to attend to. We
haven't spoken in days - she being busy with all that Head Girl shit and I -
myself - playing all sides of the female world by chasing after two big guns at
the same time: the all-too-willing Patil and the all-too-moody Granger.
Clearly, talking time was out of the question.

 

"Not so fast?" Pansy repeated playfully,
coquettishly bringing her index finger to her bottom before looking at me
innocently. "You mean our little Ms. Pure and Untouched is a done
deal?"

 

I chuckled. "Hardly." I rubbed the back of my
neck in order to avoid her eyes expertly. "She's...not the easiest
needle to charm out of a haystack."

 

"Mm," Pansy muttered, almost compassionately. I
must've heard her wrong. Strangely, she only glanced at me with resolution
planted firmly over her features. "Well, there's only one thing to do,
then," she announced pursing her lips and looking at me confidently.

 

I perked an eyebrow. Uh huh; this would be good.

 

"Yeah?" I prodded.

 

"You have two weeks," she revealed with a
relish, grinning devilishly at me then patting me well-naturedly on the
shoulder. "Good luck...and," she stepped closer to me, pouting her
full lips to the greatest extent as she fixed my collar, "take good care
of my family crest, would you?"

 

The chick then stepped back promptly, as if a burgundy
flame ignited in the distance between us, and turned to walk towards the
direction we just came from. She walked normally, confidently, set in her
mind...

 

And what the fuck just happened?

 

"Pans," I called, a bit of an angry edge to my
voice. She turned and raised her eyebrows, inquiring why I bothered to call her
as she walked backwards slowly. "What's with the fucking two weeks?"

 

Her questioning look melted into a comfortable smirk.

 

"You're taking just a tad too long, babe," she
explained airly, waving her hand in the air carelessly for emphasis, "and
simply portrayed: I want my family crest."

 

I snorted. As if that wasn't completely and utterly
obvious. I opened my mouth to argue my well-charted point, when she cut me off,
raising and index slowly to shush me.

 

"With the way you're taking your sweet time, you
don't have a bet, you've got a growing relationship," Pansy continued,
shaking her head at me in sympathy. I inhaled though my nose angrilye
be
better have had a point. "And when am I to collect my prize? When are you
to collect yours?" At this, she stopped inching backwards with every step
and looked at me in the eyes. "The fish isn't biting, Draco,"
Pansy explained crisply, "and I haven't all the tim the the world."

 

Commencing her backwards walk once more, she pointed with
her left hand to the wrist watch on her right arm, then pointed back at me.
"Two we&quo" she declared, raising a pointed eyebrow in my direction,
then spinning on her tall heel and walking away.

 

When I couldn't see the back of her short, plaid skirt
anymore, I hastily ran a hand through my unruly, ungelled blonde locks and
glared at the ceiling in frustration while stuffing my hands into my pockets.

 

She'd given me an ultimatum - she'd called the shots. She
made the rules.

 

I sighed.

 

And I have to follow them.

 

On some level, I supposed she was right. Despite my pride,
I was man enough to admit that I wasn't getting very far with Granger. A stolen
kiss and a migraine over it wasn't anything to advertise and I knew it. The
woman had a point. Although Pansy and I had never set a date for the bet's
deadline, neither of us had expected it to be so taxing and time-consuming as
it has turned. Well, at least I hadn't expected it.

 

Granger was hard to figure out. She didn't have the
thought process of other girls...or if she did, it was certainly hidden very
safely from me. I didn't know what to expect of her, and was always caught off
guard by her every move. Well... always caught off guard was definitely a bit
strong. Often caught up in the unpredictable is more accurate. She wasn't bet
material; she was different. She definitely didn't seem like a good different
ais vis very moment, but I couldn't trust my judgment right then. I felt out of
control, bored and unsuccessful. Three feelings that aren't recommended in the
same meal.

 

Sighing, I kicked the stone wall near me - the halls being
the recipients of my anger lately - before slowly sauntering back to class.

 

If I was going to win this bet, I would need to work in
the direction of a miracle.

 

Realizing something, I laughed bitterly at the irony. Work
in the direction of a miracle.

 

If Pansy went where I presumed she went, then I'd led us
in the opposite direction of our intended destination earlier; hosphospital
wing was in the opposite direction.

 

Oh, yeah. Work in the direction of a miracle.

 

I chuckled.

 

Get me a compass and call me Columbus.