Draco looked up, startled. He and Granger had been sitting in silence in a corner of the prefects' meeting room for at least five minutes, both staring at the chessboard. Draco found himself quite annoyed that she wasn't concentrating on her next move, as he had presumed.
"She would've been seventy-two," Granger continued, still looking at the board.
Draco sighed and shifted his legs to prevent his ankle from going to sleep. It had been over a month since Granger's grandmother had died, surely she should have got over it by now?
Still, he now knew from experience that when she started obsessing over something the only thing you could do was to play along until she stopped.
Well, either that or say something nasty so she would insult him for a few minutes and then get back to the game because she had forgotten what she'd been talking about.
"How was she killed, again?" he asked, striking a good balance between the two options, he thought. Even if it didn't result in the insults as he intended, at least the answer would be interesting. Draco was interested in death. Well, ways of dying, anyway.
As predicted, Granger looked up incredulously. "You are the most insensitive person I know," she told him.
Draco shrugged.
Granger glared at him before returning her attention to the board. Draco sat up straight. Hopefully she had finally decided to make her move.
But no. To his disappointment she looked up again.
"I think it was a wizard, if you must know. One of your Death Eater friends, no doubt."
Draco had to admit that this piqued his interest a tiny bit. "Really? What makes you say that?"
"The fact that there were no marks on her body and no ascertainable cause of death. And two girls from her block of flats went missing on the same day. I know what kind of things you Death Eaters like to do to pretty Muggle girls."
Draco shook his head. "What makes you think I'm a Death Eater anyway?"
Granger scoffed. "Oh, please. How could you not be?" She finally made her move, making her Queen beat up Draco's remaining Knight in a most brutal fashion. "Check," she said innocently.
Scowling, Draco scanned the board. Things were not looking good for his faithful chess pieces. Maybe if he put the Rook between the Queen and his King... it would be protected by that Pawn...
Too late, he realized that that was exactly what Granger wanted him to do. With the Rook out of the way, she was free to move her Bishop, and...
"Checkmate," she announced smugly.
Draco sighed and began gathering up his pieces. It was meant to be him thrashing her at chess, not the other way around! Granted, she wasn't exactly thrashing him, in fact they had both won a pretty much equal amount of games since that first one, the whole point of which had been to show her how much better he was than her. He still hadn't done that. The thing was, if Draco stopped playing with her now, she would think he was a coward. No, he had to win so many games in a row that she gave up. Unfortunately this now looked far less likely than he had first thought...
"Well Granger, hope you have a terrible Christmas," he told her as he got up.
"You too, Malfoy." She smiled sweetly. "I really mean that."
Draco rolled his eyes before he left the room and began hurrying down the stairs to the common room.
"Draco, where have you been?" Pansy asked as soon as he entered.
"None of your business," he said, quickly picking up the books he had left on the table, then sweeping out of the room again and heading for his room. He still had some packing to do before the Hogwarts Express left early the next morning, and it was already almost midnight.
He pulled his trunk out from under his bed and kicked it open. Turning to the pile of books on his chest of drawers, he removed the ones he would need over the holidays and stacked them carefully in the trunk, followed by his neatly folded clothes and, finally, the Quidditch tickets.
Satisfied, Draco locked the trunk, changed into his black silk pyjamas and got into bed.
Tomorrow would be the start of a very interesting Christmas holiday.
The other Slytherins were obviously all very excited the next morning, especially Millicent, who had never been to Malfoy Manor before. She probably would have badgered Draco with questions about his home and his parents for the whole trip if he hadn't told her to shut up after about five minutes. Even Pansy for once didn't go off to the prefects' carriage, instead sitting next to him with a big grin on her face the whole time.
Personally he thought their behaviour was rather childish.
He was quite relieved when they arrived at Platform 9 3/4 to find one of his father's house-elves waiting for them with a Portkey. In no time at all they were standing in the courtyard outside the Manor, squinting in the twilight to make out Draco's mother coming towards them wearing her best smile.
"Draco," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder for a second.
"Mother." He nodded tersely.
His mother turned to the others. "Welcome to Malfoy Manor," she told them. "Please come inside."
They followed her through the thick oak doors into the large hallway, where she gestured towards the staircase on the right and said: "The house-elf will take your luggage and show you to your rooms. Dinner will be served at eight. If you need something to wear just ask him."
They followed the elf up the stairs, Draco leaving them on the first floor while they continued up to the second, where the guest bedrooms were. He walked along the corridor, past the master bedroom and on to his own room at the end of it. Taking off his cloak and hanging it up in its proper place, he then allowed himself to sink onto his huge four poster bed and just lie there for a minute.
Draco's bedroom was, as were the great majority of the rooms in Malfoy Manor, richly furnished with the most expensive things money - and sometimes other things - could buy. Most of these things were black or made of dark brown wood. The floor was parquet, the walls were bare apart from a mounted sword and a framed photograph of Draco and his parents. At one point Draco had wanted to put up Quidditch posters, but his mother had deemed them "too tacky". He had been allowed to have the sword instead. It was a 17th century English Backsword, and it served its purpose well. That purpose being to look bloody impressive on Draco's wall, of course.
The room had no windows, but a large pair of glass doors made up for that. They had big black curtains to go with them and led onto a small private balcony with a view of the grounds.
But the best thing about Draco's room, at least at a time like this, was definitely the en-suite bathroom.
It was only seven, as Draco saw when he glanced at the clock. More than enough time to have a long, relaxing, and above all solitary bath.
Taking his boots off before he stood up again, Draco walked over to the wardrobe and found his slippers and dressing gown. He went into the bathroom and, after locking the door behind him, put his things on a chair and waited for the bath to be ready. The locking of the door was not because he didn't want people to see him naked, his body was pretty bloody perfect after all, but because he wanted to be alone. Draco liked being alone, away from, well, everything he wanted to be away from. Being alone was the only way he could feel completely relaxed.
The bath didn't take long to be ready, since it had automatically started running itself when Draco had entered the room. Throwing his clothes in the washing basket by the toilet, where they disappeared from a few moments later, Draco got into the bath and leaned back.
It was perfect, as he had known it would be. None of the fancy scents or colours his mother and apparently his fellow prefects liked, and just hot enough for it to hurt the tiniest bit.
He sighed and closed his eyes.
For the first time in weeks he allowed himself to think of nothing. Nothing but the soothing water, and the blissful darkness, and the absolute silence. To just enjoy the sensation of being in a bath. The hot water, the steam rising from it, the comfortable effect of the cushioning charm that allowed him to lie back so complacently...
He lay there for quite some time, just enjoying the little bubble of nothingness he had created. Then slowly, thoughts began to seep back into his mind.
The first was of a chessboard. There were only a few pieces left. Draco watched Granger move a pawn forward to protect her queen. He grinned and took the pawn with his knight, even though it was not strategically wise. He did it purely for the pleasure of seeing the little figure have its head lopped off. Granger looked shocked, horrified even, bravely trying to hide her fear from him put failing miserably.
Draco opened his eyes. He wished he could really see that look on her face. Even the thought of it made him feel... actually he wasn't quite sure how it made him feel. Something intense, certainly. Something exciting, perhaps?
That expression was probably the one Granger would have on her face when she died, Draco thought. He wondered vaguely when that would be. He hoped he would be there, to see if he was right. He could see it now, every detail of her face as it was moulded into that complicated expression...
Abruptly, Draco wondered why he knew Granger's face that well. He didn't know her that well. He wouldn't want to, either. Arrogant Gryffindor Granger, always winning when she should be losing, and just not taking it badly enough when Draco did beat her. He supposed that was why he knew her face so well. He was always watching it for her reactions. Her ever disappointing reactions...
He sighed and sat up. The only things Granger ever even occasionally reacted to, he thought as he stepped out of the bath and began to dry himself off, were his insults, his cheapest form of entertainment. Apart from that time when she had reacted to his manly charms, of course. He grinned, looking out of the window, which was enchanted so that he could see out but no one could see in.
Granger had been a pretty good lay.
Maybe when he had finally thrashed her at chess he should try that again...
But that meant that first he had to thrash her.
He pulled his black satin dressing gown on and went back to his bedroom. A house-elf had brought his trunk up. Draco opened it, took out a quill and a piece of parchment and put them on his desk. He removed his most expensive chess set from his cupboard, carefully placed it next to the parchment, and moved a piece. When he felt satisfied that it was a good opening move, he took his quill and wrote "e4", his move in algebraic notation. Granger would be brainy enough to figure out that it meant he had moved his Pawn to square e4. Then he called his owl, tied the parchment to his leg and sent it to her.
Satisfied that he had just got a step closer to beating her once and for all, and therefore to some good sex, Draco changed into his evening clothes and headed downstairs to dinner.
The others were standing around in the hall looking nervous. They looked up at him as he descended, Pansy obviously admiring his outfit. Sadly he couldn't do the same for hers. She was wearing a disgustingly bright pink dress with far too many frills. His mother obviously thought so too, because the moment she entered the hall and surveyed her guests a slight sneer appeared on her face. Draco grinned, following her and the others into the dining room. Thankfully he had inherited his parents' good taste.
His father was already in the room when they entered, standing at the head of the table with his usual stern expression. He bade them all sit down before sitting down himself, then spent what must have seemed, to them, an excruciatingly long time scrutinizing Draco's fellow Slytherins. Finally he relaxed his posture just a little.
"Welcome," he told them. He clapped his hands and the food appeared on the table. "I trust everything is going well with the spell?" he asked Draco pointedly while picking up his fork.
"Yes sir," Draco answered. He held his father's gaze, determined to show the others that he wasn't afraid, like they were, just respectful. "It's all going according to plan."
"Excellent." Draco's father then returned his gaze to the others. "Lord Voldemort has ordered me to instruct you in the Unforgivable curses," he said. "I expect you all to give me all your energy and attention and not to let yourselves fall prey to emotions like guilt or sympathy. Muggles are to us as apes are to them: simply inferior. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir," they answered nervously. They were obviously terrified of him. Blaise was looking particularly green.
Draco had to admit that he felt pretty bloody proud to have a father who could incite a reaction like that. He couldn't wait to see how the others reacted when they saw his father in action tomorrow.
The rest of the meal passed without much conversation. Draco's classmates were too afraid to say anything and none of the Malfoys felt the need. Each of them was enjoying the discomfort of the others too much.
Draco's mother left almost as soon as she had finished eating, suggesting that he show his friends the drawing room. His father also made his excuses, and soon the Slytherin sixth-years were left alone. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching Crabbe and Goyle pig out on everyone else's leftovers. When they were done they looked up at Draco expectantly.
"Come on then," he sighed. "I'll show you the drawing room."
He got up and led the way into the next room, where he promptly sat down again and looked at the others expectantly.
"It's... very nice, Draco," Millicent said after a while.
"It's boring," Draco answered. "It's all books and sofas and musical instruments. Do you want to see something that's actually interesting now?"
They all nodded excitedly. Draco smiled.
"Come on then."
He stood up and headed back out to the hall, then down the stone steps and through a few long passageways. He stopped in front of what looked like a solid wall and waited for the others to catch up. Then he turned back to it and touched the bricks in a complicated manner. The wall slid back and Draco grinned at his friends.
"Welcome to the dungeons," he told them before sweeping through the newly appeared opening.
He had to look through the grates of several doors before he found a cell that was occupied. He unlocked the door and the others huddled in to the small dark room, talking in excited whispers.
Chained to the wall was a girl, 12 or 13 years old. Her hair was brown and matted, her clothes and skin dirty, and she didn't even look up until Draco pulled out his wand. When she saw that she let out a small whimper. Draco laughed, and the other Slytherins took his cue.
He raised his wand. "Crucio," he said calmly.
The girl screamed in agony. The other Slytherins looked at Draco in awe.
"Wow," said Blaise.
Draco shrugged. "It's not that hard." It was hard, of course, it had taken him ages to get it right, but he wasn't about to tell them that.
The lie paid off; all the others looked suitably impressed.
Draco nodded to himself, then made to leave, as if he had seen and done things like this so many times that it no longer held a thrill for him.
"I'm going to bed," he told them. "Do anything you like with her, just don't kill her. Make sure to close all the doors on your way out."
With that he left, the sounds of Goyle sniggering as Crabbe poked the girl fading into the background. He smiled when he thought of them trying to figure out how to close the hidden door. No doubt they would panic, and then feel extremely stupid when they realized how simple it actually was.
Maybe he should sneak back down to watch... but no, he couldn't be bothered.
As he began to ascend the staircase to the first floor, he heard footsteps. Someone could obviously be bothered to find him.
He turned around and saw that it was Pansy. He shrugged and resumed his leisurely pace up the stairs, leaving her to race after him.
"Draco!" she said when she had finally caught up with him. "You haven't shown me your room yet."
"Pansy, you've seen my room before," he told her, making his way along the corridor and opening his door. He could see where this was headed.
"I know..." she said, following him closely. "But you said you were going to bed, so I thought..."
"Thought what?"
He had a feeling he knew very well what.
"Well..." Pansy put her arms around his neck. "That we could, you know..." She leaned in to kiss him.
He pushed her away. "Pansy, how many times do I have to tell you? No!"
She pouted. "Come on, Drakey, just this once..."
"In my father's house? Are you insane?" Draco did not do things his father had forbidden him to do, especially not right under his nose.
"But-"
"Just go to bed, Pansy," Draco said, exasperated. "A floor up, if you please."
Still pouting, Pansy made her way to the door. "I'll get you one of these days, you know," she promised as she left.
"One day, Pansy, one fine day," he answered, blowing her a kiss with overemphasis.
She grinned and closed the door behind her.
The moment she had gone, Draco sighed and allowed himself to fall back onto his bed. It was hard, oh so hard... and Pansy was just so bloody good-looking. Add to that the fact that he hadn't had a good shag since Granger, well, he was one frustrated young man.
He should probably do something to relieve that frustration, or it might distract him tomorrow.
Quickly having made the decision, Draco grabbed his wand and cloak and went to open the doors to the balcony, where his old Nimbus 2001 was waiting for him.
He was about to mount it and head off to the nearest Muggle town in search of a party and a pretty girl when he heard a screeching sound. A moment later Mars landed on Draco's shoulder, a piece of parchment attached to his leg.
He grinned as he walked over to Mars' cage and untied his letter before giving him food and drink. It was from Granger.
Malfoy,
Bored already, are you?
Good, I could do with some distraction. My parents are being overly nice around me, it's so unnatural it's suffocating. I can't escape to Ron's until next week and I've already finished half of my homework. Let's make it a long, rigorous game which I win, shall we?
e5.
Hermione
Draco put the letter down and strode over to his desk to move the piece. When his white Pawn on f2 saw this, it jumped up and down excitedly.
"Ooh, ooh!" it cried. "King's Gambit!"
"No," said the Bishop behind it. "Spanish Opening!"
"King's Gambit!" cried the Pawn again, turning around to look at the Bishop.
Draco furrowed his brow in thought, mentally blocking out the argument that ensued. Should he take the Pawn's advice and go for the King's Gambit, or should he try something more original, since the Spanish Opening wasn't nearly as aggressive as Draco liked to play.
The King's Gambit was his favourite opening...
Making a quick decision, he moved the Pawn forward to f4, amidst booing from the Bishop and one of the Knights and excited cries from the Pawn. Draco's pieces liked to sacrifice themselves for him, as was required of the Pawn with the King's Gambit. They liked everything Draco told them to like. Sometimes things like that annoyed him.
But not today.
He took a new piece of parchment from a desk drawer, this time a posh one with the Malfoy coat of arms depicted at the top, and wrote his reply.
Granger,
I'm not bored at all, actually. I'd feel sorry for you, cooped up with your Muggle parents all week, but I just can't bring myself to care enough. Never mind, eh?
f4.
Draco Malfoy.
He tied the parchment to Mars' leg, and, despite the owl's obvious annoyance, sent him off again into the night.
Then he changed for bed, imagining Granger receiving the letter, went to sleep thinking about Granger, and dreamed strange dreams about Granger.
He woke up late the next morning.
Cursing when he saw the time, he leapt up, threw his clothes on and, having missed breakfast, had to keep himself from running down the stairs to the dungeons in an undignified manner which would have horrified his mother had she seen him. Instead, he took the time to comb his hair and descended at as normal a pace as he dared.
Draco heard his father's voice echoing down the hallway the moment he stepped through the concealed door. He walked quickly but quietly along it until he reached the biggest room, the one his father's voice was emanating from. Slicking back his hair with his hand, he took a deep breath and entered.
They all turned to look at him when he came in. He stood just inside, waiting for his father to say something.
"Draco," Lucius Malfoy said finally, nodding at his son.
"Father," Draco replied, holding his gaze.
They stared at each other for a few moments before Draco's father spoke again.
"I have just been explaining the mental discipline which is required for the Imperius Curse," he said. "Would you care to demonstrate the effect when this discipline is applied?"
"Certainly, Father." Draco drew his wand and took a few steps closer to the wall. He surveyed his possible victims, one of whom was the girl he had left the others with last night, all young women in their teens or twenties. This was to be expected; one of the many traits Draco shared with his father was his preference for young, female Muggles to "play" with.
Mindful that he shouldn't hesitate for too long, Draco stepped in front of the nearest of these women, a red-haired, blue-eyed girl of maybe 17 or 18, and raised his wand.
"Imperio," he said, loudly and clearly.
The change in her expression of resignation was not great, but still visible to the trained eye.
"Look happy," was the first thing Draco told her to do, and immediately she smiled warmly, displaying a row of white teeth.
Taking another step forward, so the there were mere inches between their faces, he smiled back coldly before telling her: "Kiss me."
She did so without the slightest hesitation.
He broke the kiss after a second or two, shooting a grin at the others, who were watching intently.
"Now," he commanded, looking at the others again, "give me a blowjob."
They watched, transfixed, as the girl got to her knees and reached out her hands in the direction of Draco's waist.
"Stop," he said before she could touch him, and broke the spell. The girl blinked, confused, then a wave of disgust passed over her features before she began to cry.
Draco looked back to his father to see if he had maybe gone to far, but he gauged from his expression that his demonstration had served its purpose, if perhaps not quite in the way his father would have liked.
They spent the rest of the morning practising the curse, and after lunch Draco's father got his mother to come down and show them the Cruciatus curse. The other thing he got her to do was stay with the others while he asked Draco to step outside with him.
Lucius Malfoy closed the door to the cell carefully behind them before fixing his cold gaze on Draco.
"What happened this morning?" he asked calmly.
"I overslept, sir," Draco told him. "I'm sorry."
"And why would you oversleep, Draco? Your mother taught you the Waking Charm when you were a toddler, as I recall."
"Yes, sir. I forgot."
His father looked at him sternly for a moment before raising his wand. "Crucio."
Draco doubled over in pain, gritting his teeth as he tried desperately not to make a sound. Thankfully his father hadn't chosen to make it too intense, Draco would die if the others heard him scream...
His father broke the spell, and Draco couldn't surpress a whimper.
"Forgetfulness," Draco's father hissed, grabbing Draco by the arm and crouching down to his still hunched over son so they were face to face, "Is not a trait I wish to see in my son. Do you understand me, Draco?"
"Yes sir," Draco said, his voice lacking some of its usual confidence.
"Excellent. Now," his father said, opening the door again, "Perhaps you would care to demonstrate the Cruciatus curse to your comrades."
Draco perked up a little at this. "Yes, sir," he said, and re-entered the cell.
The following two weeks were gruelling, to say the least. The Slytherin sixth-years got up early even at the weekend, and spent practically the whole day training the Unforgivable curses, as well as the mental discipline to go with it. Draco could tell that his father wasn't impressed with the progress of some of them, Crabbe and Goyle in particular. This wasn't really that much of a surprise to Draco, though. They were, after all, incredibly stupid.
However, they still had their purposes, which was exactly why he took them to the Quidditch match on the last Saturday of the holidays instead of Pansy and Blaise, even though they had begged him to. At least he could trust Crabbe and Goyle to do exactly what he told them to and not try to boss him around...
The first thing he told them to do was to follow him.
He had spotted Granger a few yards away, along with her eternal companions Potter and Weasley. Grinning, he made his way over, Crabbe and Goyle close behind him.
Weasley was wearing a bright orange Chudley Cannon hat and was waving a big flag about with an idiotic grin on his face. Granger was wearing an orange scarf, as was Potter. They were both wearing sheepish expressions, which, as they they noticed Draco drawing closer, turned into rather embarrassed ones.
"Well well well, what do we have here?" Draco drawled, coming to a stop in front of them. "The Chudley Cannons, eh Granger?" He sniggered. " I suppose you always are on the losing side..."
After Granger had correctly guessed that Draco was going for the King's Gambit, she had tried to turn it around by offering her own Pawn as a counter-gambit. Draco had not fallen for it, and they were now well into the middle of the game, with Draco still in possession of decidedly more of his pieces than she was. He was going to win this one, he knew it.
"What are you on about?" Potter was saying. "Why can't you just leave her alone, Malfoy? Haven't you caused her enough grief?"
"No, Potter, I don't believe I have. Filthy little Mudblood deserves all she gets."
At this both Potter and Weasley launched themselves at Draco, but before they could touch him Crabbe and Goyle stepped in front of him and rolled up their sleeves. With Granger trying to pull them back in addition to this, they seemed to decide that right now wasn't the best time to start a fight.
Besides, the game was about to start.
With one last smirk at the Gryffindors, Draco led Crabbe and Goyle back to their seats. While they began to stuff their faces with the Every Flavoured Beans they had bought on the way in, Draco mused over what had just transpired.
Granger had obviously not told Potter or Weasley about their chess games. This wasn't surprising, since Draco hadn't told any of his friends either and would never dream of doing so. He was half tempted to tell Potter and Weasley just to see their reactions, but then they would tell his friends, and that was even worse than telling them himself.
Oh well. He would just have to settle for watching Granger squirm when he threatened to tell them.
As the game started, he put thoughts of Granger out of his mind.
The Quaffle was released and the game started violently, with one of the three Falmouth Falcon Chasers catching it and the two Beaters hitting both Bludgers at the nearest Cannon Chaser at once, who was knocked off his broom, bleeding.
The Cannons called for a time out ("Half a minute into the game!" Draco groaned), then, looking rather dejected, took off again without their injured player.
Playing aggressively, the Falcons got into a Hawkshead Attacking Formation and put the Quaffle through a hoop a minute later, and then continued to score seventeen more goals in less than thirty minutes, while the Cannons managed a measly two.
"They have to be measly if Weasley supports them," Draco said to Goyle, grinning.
A loud cheer made Draco look back at the pitch. The Cannons' Seeker was doing somersaults on his broom above the pitch, a huge grin on his face, one arm waving about...
"He's got the Snitch!" Draco cried angrily. "The idiot knows he's going to lose, but he has to go and catch the Snitch anyway. It should be ours! The winners'!" He looked down and shook his head. "The bastard."
"Uh, Draco..." said Crabbe, uncertainly, "But we won. Didn't we?"
Draco sighed in exasperation, and watched Baeddan Klosk, the Falcons' Seeker, do the same as he came down to land. "Crabbe, that's not the point!"
Goyle stared at him, confused. "But I thought-"
"I'm going to the pub," Draco said, cutting him off and getting up to leave.
Apparently unable to walk and talk at the same time, Crabbe and Goyle stood up and followed him silently.
There was a wizard pub nearby, Draco knew. It wasn't much to look at (a pile of compost, in fact, if you were a Muggle), nor was it the cleanest of places, but there was always a party there after a big match had been played here, and when it got full enough you could persuade the landlord to sell anyone anything.
It was just beginning to get dark on the remote, muddy marsh, though it was difficult to tell unless you looked hard at the already grey sky. It had been dreary and windy all day, not exactly perfect for Quidditch, but at least there hadn't been any rain to obscure the view.
There was plenty to obscure the view in the pub. Apart from the throng of people who had somehow managed to get there before them, there was the smoke of at least five different illegal substances and possibly even more legal ones. There was not much light inside, not because of lack of windows, but because of lack of even remotely clean ones.
Draco sent Goyle to get him a Firewhiskey (if there was one thing you could trust Goyle to do, it was to remember the names of any and all alcoholic beverages) and sat down with Crabbe at a little table in the corner.
So far today hadn't been all that great. First his father had told him that he had to stay at Hogwarts over Easter because the spell needed to be tended to, and then his favourite Seeker had had the Snitch snatched out from under his nose by a Chudley Cannon player, of all things.
It was bad.
More than bad enough to warrant a Firewhiskey, anyway.
Just the one, mind, or his father would notice.
Draco drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for Goyle to return and looked around.
The pub had been decorated for Christmas, though not very well. There was some tinsel slithering about above people's heads, a couple of fairies were sitting on a shelf next to some decidedly unclean looking glasses, and there was some slightly shrivelled mistletoe that looked like it had been flattened before being unceremoniously stuck to the ceiling.
Very festive, Draco thought dryly.
But then he saw something which cheered him up considerably.
Granger was limping into the pub, supported by Potter and Weasley and with a bloody handkerchief tied around her right ankle. She was obviously trying very hard not to cry.
Draco grinned.
He would have to go over and taunt her later. When Weasley and Potter had left her alone again, which wouldn't be too long if the pretty girl who had just caught Weasley's eye was anything to go by.
In actual fact it took several hours for Potter and Weasley to be drunk enough to leave her side. Draco doubted they would be drunk at all if he hadn't asked the barkeeper to sneak a little something extra into their butterbeers and then had him talk them into trying something stronger. But they were gone now, trying to dance to the so-called "music" coming from an enchanted old piano at the other end of the room.
Granger was looking a lot more sober and quite forlorn, sitting alone at their table with her foot up on a rickety old stool Potter had found for her somewhere. Draco, having grown bored of Crabbe and Goyle's drunken antics at least an hour ago, decided that now was the perfect time for a little Granger-baiting.
Picking up his second Firewhiskey, which he had ordered solely for appearances' sake, he sauntered over to where Granger was sitting and came to a stop right in front of her. She looked up and sighed when she saw him.
"What happened to you, Granger?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows at her injured ankle. "Trip over your scarf?"
Blushing, Granger glanced to her right, where her cloak and bright orange scarf were folded neatly over the back of a chair. "Got bitten by a Dugbog," she muttered.
Draco didn't bother to surpress his laughter as he pulled up the chair and sat down, ignoring the fact that he had caused the scarf to fall under the table. "So, where have Potty and Weasel disappeared to?" he asked idly.
Granger made a face. "I know you put something in their drinks, Malfoy. They'd never act like this under normal circumstances."
"Moi?" Draco asked in mock surprise. "My dearest Mudblood, I was all the way over there!" He gestured at the table he had just come from, which Crabbe was currently being sick underneath.
He turned back to see Granger glaring at him.
"Merlin, don't you have any other expressions?" he said, a little annoyed.
"Not for you, Malfoy."
"Really? 'Cause I seem to remember one of... oh, what would you call it? Ecstasy? Only a few months ago."
Granger blushed and looked down. "Yeah, well, I was mentally unsound."
"Aren't you always?"
"I can remember a few chess games which seem to indicate that I'm not."
"And I can think of one right now which indicates that maybe you are."
"Only maybe? Malfoy, you must be going soft." She seemed to be regaining her confidence. "Anyway, even if I lose, I haven't lost two games in a row yet. We'll just have to have a rematch."
"And what if I refuse?"
She laughed. "Please, like you could. You're far to afraid that I'll think you're afraid."
"I'll have you know that I could stop at any time if I chose to."
She scoffed. "Right."
Draco opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment something fell on his head, slid down his face, and landed on the table in front of him.
It was a mistletoe leaf.
Looking up, and noticing Granger do the same, he saw that they were sat right underneath one of the half-dead mistletoe twigs.
He looked back at Granger, who looked back at him.
Couldn't hurt much to ask, now could it?
He picked up the leaf and played with it for a few seconds before returning his gaze to her.
"Care for a different kind of rematch?" he asked carefully.
She looked at him for a moment, a look that told him she knew exactly what he meant and was actually considering it.
She sighed. "No," she said finally, still looking for all the world as though she was unable to tear her eyes away from him.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"Well," Draco said after a few minutes, "I'm going to go and sit with some non-Mudbloods now, if you don't mind." He stood up. "You know I'm going to beat you this time, right?"
She looked up at him and raised her eyebrows.
"We'll see."
Draco waited a few moments, but nothing more seemed
to be forthcoming. That being the case, he went back to his table and tried
to remember what spell to use to remove sick from someone's hair.