Sucker Love

Chapter 16 • Draco






Chapter
16 • Draco

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I paced about the room, the light shining
through the window, acting as though it was very much welcome in my presence.
It wasn’t. I eventually shut the curtains and it pretended it was a dark,
stormy night to help me think better. All this horrible weather, and suddenly
sunshine pierced through blankets of blissful clouds. Happiness is a bitch. But
I resumed my pacing.

 

I was aware of Pansy’s eyes following me
amusedly, but thought nothing of i had had bigger problems. Granted, that’s why
Pansy was following my every move; she was on my ass for information. Had
Hogwarts had an official gossip mill, Pansy would be the editor, founder, and
chief of all that went through. And although I knew I couldn’t tell her
everything, because I couldn’t do that to someone as wounded as Hermione, I
couldn’t help but let little things slip up amidst all my worrying and
frustration. And to think it was all that neurotic chick’s fault. Damn, people
had issues.

 

“Well?” Pansy pried. She was wearing a
perfected visage of boredom, complete with a careless look of admiring her
fingernails while questioning me, but I knew she was desperate to hear her
share. Which, evidently, was the whole thing.

 

Ever since this morning, when Granger’s
eventful visit to Dumbledore’s office was played out, ending with a suitable
fuck-off expression from her when asked what happened, Pansy had been
interrogating me like the Ministry on a Death Eater. Or something. Since
Hermione herself had refused to give any information from which rumors could
spring off of, the student body had effectively come up with their own
versions, comfortably suiting their level of entertainment as they impressed
their friends with the news. Obviously, Pansy wasn’t idiotic enough to believe
that Hermione had collaborated with Voldemort to avenge Millicent for her long
past betrayal to Dar Dark Side, nor that Hermione was possessed right before
her appearance at Care of Magical Creatures by Millicent’s former y why whom
had been a well-known animagus in his time. Why someone of logic hadn’t
stepped in and at least set off a believable rumor regarding the issue
to occupy the student body, I’d never know, but for now, Pansy Parkinson was at
my site like a fucking mosquito, unsatisfied with the ‘truths’ she’d heard and
milking the news straight from the source’s boyfriend.

 

I ran an agitated hand through my hair. I
noticed that I’d been doing that a lot lately; my fabulous looking locks of
blonde were beginning to separate into five precise rows through which my
fingers always plowed when I was frustrated. And that was often.

 

“Well what, Pansy?” I asked finally,
narrowing my eyes at her for a full second before continuing my pacing.

 

She stopped examining her nails and glared
at me.

&n

“Fuck you,” was her calm response as she
smoothed her skirt. “I can’t stand being lied to, especially when I know
you’re aware of what I’m talking about.” Her eyes pursued mine as I surrendered
a glance in her direction, but nothing more and continued to squint at the
soft, carpeted floor of my room as though it would help me solve my ponderings.
I didn’t say another word until I heard Pansy sigh, saw her roll her eyes, and
focus her glance back on me. I pocketed a small victory. “I know you went to
see her yesterday after her freak-out. You were there for over an hour; you
came back at, like, one in the morning. What’s the deal, Romeo?” Her eyes
danced with curiosity. “What’s the reasoning behind our psychotic Gryffindor?”

 

I stopped pacing abruptly. Psychotic
Gryffindor. It suited her behavior completely but it just didn’t sit well with
me that Pansy, out of all people, had the audacity to call Hermione psychotic
after all the damage she’d done to her ex-boyfriends and former enemies
indirectly as well as face-to-face. She didn’t even know the half of it.
And this simply re-enforced my decision not to tell Pansy anything about
the cutting.

 

What Pansy may have thought to be an
amusing, semi-worthy joke, might have been a traumatic recount for Hermione. Or
something. Those deep, crusty gashes still flickered in my mind as I tried to
figure out a plausible reason that would cause Hermione to resort to such a
thing. She was strong. The strongest of the Gryffindor chicks as I remembered.
How long had she been doing this? I knew from common sense that someone didn’t
just know where to slash themselves with a blade so that a substantial
amount of blood leaked through without hurting themselves. Especially around
the wrists. The question was, how long had this been going on?

 

“Fuck if I know,” I answered truthfully. I
looked Pansy in the eye and accepted her annoyed response to my answer. “She
wouldn’t talk to me. I found her, silent and spacing, but she wouldn’t talk.
Guess it meant something to her—what Millicent said.”

 

Pansy shrugged and smirked at me mischievously,
momentarily forgetting that I skirted her question.

 

“I guess Mil’s big mouth paid off in the
long run,” she mused, her eyes gleaming wickedly as she picked at a button on
her blouse. “Someone—be it even Granger—finally kicked her ass with a long-term
effect.” Pansy’s brows suddenly upturned into a mock-worried expression. “You
think I should go thank her? You know, show my gratitude for the public
service?”

 

I shrugged, smirking back.

 

“Mil was a lot less of a needy bitch
when she was fat,” I commented, reminiscing about the good, old days when the
only thing on Millicent’s mind had been the first course at the next meal.

 

Pansy shook her head, tsking. “A few
weight-lifting charms from her father’s Unmentionables and voila—another whore
on the loose with a plastic face and a store-bought attitude.”

 

I couldn’t help it—I chanced a look at
Pansy.

 

“Really? You don’t say.”

 

She immediately strode up to me and hit in
the arm. Okay, so she was still worried about her manicure but she wasn’t a
lightweight; she could do some serious damage to me if she wanted to put her
mind to it. My arm hurt just the smallest bit. Right. I never admitted that.

 

“So, you’re not going to tell me,” Pansy
finally muttered, her index finger brushing her bottom lip ever so slightly as
she stood, looking at the curtain-veiled window in my room.

 

I raised an eyebrow. She would need a few
subjects in her sentences for me to properly understand what the fuck she was
talking about. Millt?
t?

 

“About Granger, I mean,” she finally
elaborated, still safely in her quiet trance, her smoky eyes focused on the
green curtains.

 

“I already told you that I don’t
know why—”

 

“Fine,” she cut me off, paused as she took
a breath, wrinkled her brows, then broke her long, timely stare at my hidden
windows and looked at me. “Okay.” I raised an eyebrow at her.

 

What was she playing out? The Pansy I
knew—Pansy Parkinson, daughter of Stephan and Lyra, heir to their whole fortune
plus a share in Switzerland from her grandparents—would never back down before
she bled me to death and four seconds before I died convinced me to surrender
the truth of my sins to her. She didn’t...let things be. That would be
too...humane. And we both knew that it had been a long time since either of us
even categorized ourselves in that group.

 

Pansy turned and walked to me, pursing her
lips and removing a white envelope from her pocket on the way. She quickly
diverted her path a few inches to the left of me so that she walked right past
me, still allowing room for her hand to pat the white envelope against my chest
as my hands intercepted it. I could hear her feet shift in theck cck carpet
behind me, when she stopped and turned her head slightly over her shoulder.

 

“I’ve finished my part of the deal,” she
said slowly and formally. “You have yet to prove to me that you’ve accomplished
yours. I trust you, Draco, to do the right thing and not forget your goals,
first and foremost.” Then, she licked her lips and walked out of my room.

 

I suppose the logical thing to have done
would be to follow her out the door and demand what the hell she’d been talking
about, but my damned curiosity had gotten the better of me and I pressed my
fingers together, easily feeling the texture of the white envelope and taking a
small guess at what was inside. Firm; smooth; fairly thick.

 

I removed a card from the envelope, one
that had been obviously purchased with care and thoughtfulness because it had
Pansy’s favorite flower on it—a black rose, and opened to look at the contents.
It had all these frilly borderd smd smooth swishes of contrasting color. I
would have liked it had I not known it was addressed to Pansy from one of her
lover boys. And why did she want me to read this crap?

 

I looked at the well-scripted words.

 

No one understands; you and I both know
that. But we both have something far too special to be stopped by what others
think. Those blasted morons have never had one good, pure, special thing in
their lives like we do: admiration. Lovope.ope. Please... I know you said that
you weren’t sure. I’m not sure either. I have friends; hopes; dreams. But I’m
willing to take the risk. I sincerely hope you are too, love.

 

Meet me in Trelawney’s class half past
midnight.

 

Follow the black rose.

 

I looked up.

 

Okay, this bloke took this black rose thing
to an entirely different level than originally intended. He was acting very
mysterious, but what sort of mystery man left a trail of fucking black roses in
Hogwarts? Leading to a classroom? At twelve-thirty at night?

 

I shook my head and put the card down.

 

I had a feeling I knew where this was
going, but my only confirmation in life came with patience—and no matter what
kind of friend to me that was not, I had to pay its fee once in a while.

 

I looked at the card once more before
placing it back in the envelope carefully, folding down the flap and tucking
into my robe’s inner breast pocket.

 

Turning around and scanning the room
briefly with my eyes, I ventured back towards the common room, muttering a soft
spell under my breath to turn off the lights in my room.

 

There was only one answer to Pansy’s
mystery; something I almost knew without having to confirm it. But simply out
of amusement, I wanted confirmation. And of course, with that came the
unbearable, and un-Malfoy-like wait.

 

 

 

___

 

 

 

I walked into a mess I knew a certain
black-haired professor would thrive on cleaning up by sing ing Houses of their
well-earned points like forgotten sawdust of a potential table in a wooden log.
Clearly, only I was prone to that realization, but I had no issue with it.
Except for the noise. All that incessant talking with no reason behind it. That
annoyed me some.

 

But it was quite usual.

 

I dropped my books at my usual aisle seat,
closer to the back and to the door; there was my strategy. Looking around, I spotted
Vincent, Greg, and their surprisingly interested counterparts sitting in a
small huddle in the corner of the class, laughing and making moon eyes at each
other. Basically pretending they didn’t know what would eventually happen
tonight and the night afterward and so on, so forth. Personally, I hated those
games—the pretending period in a relationship where the couple skirts around
each other, almost afraid that the counterpart has a contagious skin disease,
prone to only talking, smiling, and batting eyelashes across the room.
Ridiculous. But Vince and Greg deserve to have some chicks. So I let my eyes
flutter to another direction, leaving them be for the time being and letting
them continue to live their recently discovered lives apart from the brilliant
and fascinating moi.

 

Not as to say that I wasn’t the best thing
that’s ever happened to them.

 

I saw Bulstrode. The now infamous Millicent
‘Survived Granger and Got in a Few Good Words’ Bulstrode. It was quite pathetic
in my opinion, thriving on the attention of those who were thick enough to
overlook the blatant balding she received during the verbal assault
she’d issued, but she seemed to have taken pride in it. Cow. A slightly
thinner, less food-oriented cow but still unbelievably immune to any socially
civil tactics. Cow.

 

I turned away. Looking at her giggling with
her friends and glaring across the room, yet not movio evo even get up from her
chair made me want to laugh, but I restrained myself. After all, I was a
gentleman to some extent.

 

I blinked. Cow.

 

And last but not in any way least, the
focus of Bulstrode, Miss Hermione ‘Kick Some Bitch Ass’ Granger. No, I didn’t
hear that anywhere. It was of my creation. And it suited her.

 

I suppose I could have wondered what other
names I could think up for the brunette tough exterior or what others have
thought of her, but that wasn’t as interesting as what the popular bully was
doing now. Absolutely nothing. Not freaking out. Not looking around,
threatening all those morons stupid enough to whisper about her as they stared
right next to her. Personally, I don’t know why there were no threats issued;
but that wasn’t the point. She was reading. Some novel or something; pretty
thick. She didn’t bat an eyelash at all the whispers and talk around her. Granted,
the entire class—let alone the entire school—wasn’t so pathetic as to only
talk about her all the time, so I suppose a lot of that talk wasn’t directed at
Hermione; however, a lot of it was.

 

And she wasn’t doing a damn thing. She
freaked out; cut herself; and now... She was reading a goddamn book.

 

I rolled my eyes and plopped down in my
seat next to the heavenly-looking door. The chick will kill me...or
worse. Pull me into insanity with her.

 

“All who wish to keep their measly House
points assigned to their House may shut their traps...now,” Snape
welcomed as he strode out of the back room and to the front of the class. He
focused his eyes on a few choice Gryffindor, but I didn’t need to look to see
who they were. I don’t think they did either. “Ah, silence.s bus but a dream of
an instructor with a class full of delinquents unmotivated to learn such as
this. Scowl at my words all you wish, Ms. Brown, but perhaps my harsh
evaluation of your class will urge you and your peers to strengthen their class
work quality and performance. Perhaps it will motivate you all to excel
at your current potion, seeing as many of you have yet to progress to its first
stage correctly. Very few have gotten it right. Take example from those.”

 

Scanning the room to see whom had actually
been absorbing his scorn, Snape finally raised his chin and waved his wand,
making instructions to further the potion appear on the board in front of us.
Just as he was about to dismiss everyone to join their assigned groups, he
ventured over to Hermione’s seat and plucked the book out of her hands.
Apparently, she’d been dumb—or smart, depending on how one looks at it—enough
to read through Snape’s entire motivational sermon.

 

“Five points, Ms. Granger,” he muttered,
however sure that she could her. Then he shook his head at her lack of
response, more longing expressed towards the book than the House points. “How
this school has done you well, I see.” He cleared his throat and glared
at the class. “Get to work! You haven’t all the time in the world.”

 

I observed Hermione’s slow, but steady,
departure from her seat towards mine. I simply sat and watched her lazy
movements, none of which illustrates any resentment while heading towards me.
But she didn’t really meet my eyes. I noted that; she hadn’t talked to me since
last night. And I wasn’t surprised. After all, we didn’t exactly have all
communication open at any hour of the day. But this was different. There was
definitely an air of avoidance about her.

 

But she eventually came.

 

“Hey,” she muttered, setting her books on
the edge of the table. It was strange that she was suddenly nervous around me,
but I suppose I understood it. However, I failed to see how I was more
intimidating to her in her mind than a crowd of hormonal, over-dramatic teenagers
gossiping about her right underneath her nose. Then again, maybe I wasn’t
giving myself enough credit. Never thought I’d think something quite as
preposterous.

 

I nodded at her but noticed that she was
looking down at her books, evading my glance. Carefully, I stretched my arm out
and put a palm on her books, effectively brushing her hand. Her face slowly
tilted my way and I caught her eye, if only for a brief moment.

 

“You don’t have to worry about it, you
know,” I finally said after an unusually lengthy pause. I rubbed the back of my
neck in attempt to make the moment less uncomfortable and melodramatic than it
already was, but made sure she reacted to my comment. After all, I wasn’t going
to work through double Potions with a nearly catatonic aintaintance type just
because of some nervous breakdown. She couldn’t escape this; I knew that she
wouldn’t just leave it. If anything, I wouldn’t let her leave it. I’d
been involved, I’d want to help her through it, know what it was all about—the
details. But it didn’t have to be here and now.

 

She had to know that.

 

Her glittering eyes seemed to waiver with
every glance of hers that I returned, but I could tell that she was trying hard
to make them stop doing that. She was trying to be tough. And it worked. She
tough. To all, she was the one who rid that bitch Millicent of her
God-forsaken, adored and despised perfect hair. And she didn’t care and she
wasn’t expelled. She obviously had some hold over Dumbledore...or something.
And she didn’t even cave under pressure of her peers.

 

But she couldn’t be tough for me. Or put up
the visage of strength, as I preferred to put it. It made me feel like we’d
gotten somewhere, so much so that she wouldn’t let herself lie to me. Or
perhaps I was fooling myself. But I doubted it.

 

“Worry about what?” Again her eyes did a
shaky, look-this-way-look-that-way thing. She smiled, but it was a vain attempt
which quickly left her face and again I had the failed visage of a tough
exterior staring back at me as she leveled her eyes at my neck.

 

I pulled my arm back from its place on her
books, but caught her hand with it and laced my fingers oddly through hers
before catching her attention again.

 

“You know what I mean,” I replied, not
allowing an expression of any sort but perhaps worry flee onto my face. No
smirk. No smile. No victory. No power. I dropped her hand. But she caught the
meaning and took a breath. “About last night...”

 

“You make it sound dirty,” she observed
with a small smile as I searched for words to mask the blunt questions I really
wanted to ask her. What I wanted to say wasn’t meant to be uttered in a crowded
classroom with idiots of substantial levels milling about, open to all gossip
available. Especially about the latest limelight girl.

 

I smirked. I allowed myself a smirk.

 

“That’s all your mind, baby,” I offered,
jokingly glancing at Hermione. Her eyes seemed to light up for a brief moment
with humor. I loved her this way a lot more. More than tervoervousness or the
directionless sulking. The pity. It wasn’t necessary. All that drama. It wasn’t
necessary.

 

“You only wish,” she retorted softly and
managed another smile. This time it lasted a full ten seconds before it
dropped, and not so abruptly that it appeared fake. It wasn’t; and I was mighty
thankful for that small break. I really hadn’t the slightest clue how to handle
an unstable Hermione Granger. A bit of normal activity was welcome. “Let’s get
to work then.”

 

“Right,” I nodded and stood up from my
seat, grabbing her hand lightly before she left to collect today’s ingredients.
“I meant what I said...about last night—”

 

“I know,” she replied quietly, but offered
me a smile. Her eyes dropped momentarily and she bit her lip as her pensive
face took over. “I know.”

 

 

___

 

 

 

Dropping my quill, I blew on the parchment
twice more for good measure, and shut my Advanced Arithmancy textbook. I rolled
up my essay as soon as I was content that it was dry, and topped the ink before
casting a small cleaning spell on the tip of my quill. Before I knew it, I was
sitting back in my chair at my desk, ever so tempted to just put my feet up on
it and take a much-needed nap.

 

I had too much going on. Despite the games
and wagers with Pansy and perhaps another dozen of people here and there, I had
grades tep uep up. If I was going to make something of myself, I’d have to
excel in anything and everything and that would mean learning about old asses
whom had screwed entire towns on behalf of their greed and
determination. Not that those weren’t such respectable qualities. On the contrary,
their ambitions would’ve worked out in the end wonderfully if they’d had some
sort of brain to speak which would indicate their blatant mistakes at every
step of their supposed conquering. If only I had been there in those times.
Even being here in these times, I felt like I was trapped.

 

Like I was meant for bigger things. Maybe
not better things; but bigger. Beyond my world now.

 

I didn’t know if it was a corner I’d worked
myself into or if it was a corner I’d been born into, but I felt like I had a total
of, maybe, three tracks my life could take. And that was preposterous.
Being raised and admitted as a Malfoy, with wealth, class, and opportunity, I
should have nothing but that; opportunity. Of course, the
opportunity I was thinking of wasn’t predetermined, pre-ordered,
pre-packaged—set for usage. It was for me to choose. That was
opportunity. What I had was what my family would have liked for me to achieve;
because of the family name and all that rot. Family name. They should be so
lucky that I was a fucking guy to carry on the family for them in the event of
my, most likely arranged, marriage.

 

Of course, I mused that I could always
refuse to marry. Or marry and take my wife’s name. It was certainly not
impossible and would have been a huge laugh. Of course, I wouldn’t be
able to step into my house after that move. If not because of my parents, then
because of the portraits of dead relatives. I wondered if an angry portrait of
my grandfather can actually harm me by picking up, say, a pitchfork or
particularly heavy candle holder. Merlin, I hoped not.

 

But it would be something. I’d be
the rebel child, black sheep, I knew. But I wouldn’t even have to be the sheep
wherever I went. If I separated myself from my family, from the name, from all
of it that was expected from me, I could formulate a sense of self. I could be
Draco. Not Malfoy. Not even Draco Malfoy. I could be whatever Draco I wanted.

 

“Draco,” I heard a voice call out after a
particularly hurried knock on my doorframe. Okay, Greg’s, Vincent’s and
my doorframe. Speaking of whom, I recognized that voice.

 

Exhaling softly, I propped my feet up on my
desk finally and ran a tired hand through my hair. After I saw no response and
heard no movement except the sporadic breathing of my visitor, probably due to
an unscheduled, small sprint down here, I beckoned for him to approach me.

 

“What is it, Greg?” I asked, eyeing him
carefully. Yeah, he definitely ran a few meters. Perhaps encountered a
staircase along the way somewhere. He had red blotches on his face and he was
probably sweating. I didn’t want that confirmed, so I kept a rigid stance and
hoped he wouldn’t lean in or the such.

 

“Oh, right,” he responded, as if
remembering that he almost forgot what he came to tell me. Wiping his upper
lip, he cupped his mouth with a beefy hand and whispered in a hushed tone,
“Pansy told me to remind you about...the thing...you know...” His eyebrows
nearly fell off his forehead as he tried to hint about the thing.
I raised an eyebrow of my own, but instantly remembered what he meant and
realized that I set him off unnecessarily. Damn it. “You know...Trelawney’s
class...she didn’t tee mue much. She said you’d know. You do know.
Because...she said you would. She hurried me and said to remind you because you
were a pompous arse incapable of remembering itineraries other than your own
and...” He crumpled his eyebrows. “There...there was more, actually...Hold on a
second...Pompous arse...itinerary...incapable...”

 

I laughed. It was like a bloody comedy.
Greg was always the unofficial comedian. Something I never really voiced
that I appreciated, but did nonetheless. It wasn’t as if he was so stupid that
he actually meant half of what he said. But that didn’t matter to the school,
because they’d branded him and Vince a moron. And that didn’t matter to them
because they didn’t really like the entire school. Plus, having them think that
the two couldn’t tell black from white only worked for the duo in shifty
scandals where blame was thrown around. And it didn’t matter to me because I
wasn’t here to redeem anyone’s public image. I knew who they were, and that’s
as far as my concern went.

 

I put a pause to the paraphrasing of
Pansy’s wonderful opinions of me.

 

“Thank you, that’s quite all right,” I
assured him, shaking my head, a smirk on my face. “I’ll...just ask about the
remainder of it when I see her.” Looking back up, I nodded at Greg who
dutifully nodded back and wiped a hand across his hair, which stood back up
like fur set in its own way. He leaned against the desk. “Right...” I didn’t
like awkward silences. And I liked my alone time. My one-on-one Draco time.
Greg knew that.

 

“Oh, keep your knickers on, Draco,” Greg
retorted, not even looking at me but at his watch as he pushed off the desk.
“I’m late for a date with Rhonda anyway. Vince is there with Gem, keeping her
company while I’m up here to deliver Pansy’s urgent message.” He rolled his
eyes. “The things I do for you people.”

 

“Oh, yeah, you’re one hard worker, Greg,” I
nodded, not letting one drop of my patronizing tone be veiled in any way. He
just shook his head and walked towards the door, while I continued to stare
ahead of me, not even turning in my chair as he was walking out.

 

“Arse,” I heard him mutter.

 

Automatically, I stuck my hand in the air
without even looking back and flipped him the bird as I passed out the
complimentary, “Fuck you,” with the gesture.

 

I heard his deep chuckle somewhere outside
the room and his faint retort that I knew was said with an exaggerated
eye roll of his.

&nb
“
“I’m taken, mate. Get a girl!”

 

Shaking my head, I dropped my feet from
their position on the desk and stood up, stretching my arms above my head
slowly and languidly. Then, I glanced at my watch and realized that yes, as
luck may have it, I probably would’ve forgotten about Pansy’ttlettle...itinerary
but now have no excuse to. Walking out, Greg’s playful retort kept playing in
my head. Get a girl!

 

Pausing in the doorway, I tapped the frame
twice and looked nowhere in particular, a small smile on my face.

 

“Precisely what I intend to do.”

 

 

___

 

 

 

My shoes were echoing on the floor of the
hallway. Damn it. That was notd. Ad. As fabulous and important as it
looked in detective films, no real detective or even criminal walked down halls
with their shoes clicking away in the deafening silence at midnight. It was a
dead giveaway. And that wasn’t something I needed. I didn’t need to be given
away.

 

I didn’t want a little get-together with
Filch tonight. He was just not my type. And at midnight? Merlin.

 

No, I was here to spy. Merlin knew I didn’t
want to, but Pansy acted all coy and mysterious. Wouldn’t have worked, but I
knew she would’ve later done something to fuck up my plans with Hermione or
perhaps my schoolwork in return for not coming through for her. I really wasn’t
even needed. She knew that; she just wanted to illustrate how far she’d
gotten in ‘her end of the deal.’ Clearly, it was so fabulous that she
couldn’t just tell me about it.

 

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as if
anyone was there to see me do it. Now, as I slinked quietly to Trelawney’s
classroom, well aware and in the sudden appearance of a trail of black rose
petals, I had to wonder why I needed to see this fool who actually made
a fucking trail of black rose petals for Pansy. And what this had to do
with anything. But I suppose I was preoccupied. She probably expected me to
know exactly what this was about. I wasn’t about to go and proclaim my
ignorance in the matter, so I found myself here, again, skulking quietly to a
dark corner in Trelawney’s classroom and cursing at my damned near-tap-soundly
shoes.

 

Slipping through the door, I briskly jogged up to a shadowy corner and
leaned farther back against the wall, earning a perfect view without the
inconvenience of being seen and yelled at and so forth. The shadows engulfed me
but I saw everyone and everything in the classroom; and so far no one was in
it. I presumed lover boy was collecting little Miss Pansy.

 

Shuffling around and getting a bit more
comfortable I noticed that my shoe was...slippery. Picking my foot up and
looking at the bottom, I recognized the sliding culprit as a certain rose
petal—a black rose petal. I shook my head again. Leaving a trail of petals was
a literal pointer to one’s midnight rendezvous. Honestly. I knew if
Filch didn’t bust this little get-together tonight based on the
difficult-to-acquire, veiled evidence, I knew I’d lose all respect for him and
I’d be forced to remove him from my mind as the Most Bothersome and Sharp Old
Pain in the Arse. He couldn’t lose that title.

 

Two voices murmuring and nearing the
premise of the classroom broke me of my terribly important thoughts, causing me
to instinctively back farther against the wall until the shadows fully
enveloped my being.

 

In came prancing Pansy with her new boy
toy, his arms enveloping her waist. It looked like she was trying to playfully
fend him off...with no success. I rolled my eyes. At this point I didn’t give a
damn that there was actually no one to see me roll my eyes. This was
ridiculous. I didn’t need to see them flirt like desperate Second Years after
learning of what the upper years sometimes...engage in.

 

Now that poor fool was kissing Pansy’s neck
with no avail, purposefully ignoring her meek cries to stop it, stop it. She
was smiling. I didn’t doubt she was enjoying this.

 

Finally, I saw her eyes scan the room
quickly; nano seconds, that’s all it took. She almost passed my corner, my then
her glance fluttered back to the shadows covering me. That’s all it took;
instinct. She knew I was there. Lurking just beneath visibility.

 

“Mm...come on...stop it...baby, stop it,”
Pansy finally declared, somewhat softly but succeeded in pushing away lover
boy. He down at her before wiping his mouth with the bad of his hand and
running the other through his hair. She looked at him, almost studying him,
then quickly pressed her lips softly to his before walking backwards until she
reached a desk. Jumping up on it, she crossed her legs and beckoned for him to
follow. He gladly followed.

 

His back was to me but she was facing me
just as the desk was. What was she playing at? And I still hadn’t figured ouho tho this kid was. The classroom wasn’t lit in the middle of the night and with
all the tonsil hockey the two were engaging in, I hardly thought he’d stop and
do a profile and full-on pose for me so I could figure him out. And then I
heard his voice and noticed something that should’ve been blatantly obvious to
me.

 

“Did you think about what I said?” he
asked, his tone breathless from another round as he approached the panting girl
in front of him, whom had now opened her legs, so he could stand between her
knees. Loosely she wrapped her arms around his neck and pouted as she stared up
at his with glassy eyes of a doll.

 

“Look, you...you know this isn’t easy for
me,” she finally muttered and looked down. Immediately, he lifted her chin with
two of his fingers bringing her gaze to his. Quickly pressing his lips to hers
he shook his head slightly.

 

“I know, I know,” he agreed softly. “No
pressure. I just...I just wanted you to know.”

 

“I do,” Pansy assured him in a soft voice.
“I know.”

 

His voice; the unmistakable possession that
was surely his. My mind was spinning. Why didn’t I figure this out before? I
wasn’t so much...horrified at this turn of events, so much as stupefied
that I’d gone through this whole process in a state of ignorance. Why hadn’t I
figured it out? Why didn’t I figure Pansy’s boy toy until just now? Still, I
couldn’t see what the point was of having me here. I realized what she was
trying to illustrate. She got him. She reeled him in. My turn. I understood.
But what was this all about?

 

His unmistakable voice dominated the
atmosphere of the room once more. He looked down deeply into Pansy’s eyes and
ran his hands down her body to rest at her hips. Languidly, he massaged them.

 

“I love you,” he uttered so slowly, I
thought I might have puked. It was so drawn out. And really quite a shock to
me.

 

As luck may have it, Pansy knew that. Knew
what my reaction would have been. On the brink of responding, Pansy’s eyes
fluttered shut for a moment as she pressed a kiss to his neck, his lips, then
brought his hand to her face, fingers interlaced and kissed his fingers.

 

Just as she was about to answer, eyes foggy
with appreciation, I supposed, her eyes strayed to my shadow. My corner.
He leaned down to kiss her and she stared the entire time as they kissed and
even as they broke apart. She stared at me though she didn’t see me. Her eyes
locked on my shadowy corner, and she uttered the clinching suspicion and truth
I’ve known all night.

 

“Oh, Harry.”