Intensity

Intensity

"You two constantly fight all the time, don't you feel the tension between you? That intensity that makes the rest of us stand back in awe," Pansy remarked, the comment slightly muffled by the hand propping her chin.

Draco made no sign that he heard her but he continued thumbing through a first year's private diary he'd confiscated just that morning at breakfast.

Drawing her lithe body in a straight arrow, Pansy moved from her perch behind Draco's ear to the seat vacant next to him on the plush leather couch. She tucked her robe smoothly beneath her knees and plopped down, much to the annoyance of her fellow classmate.

"What do you want, Parkinson? Besides your general babble, I was enjoying my afternoon off," Draco drawled tonelessly.

He scooted closer to his end, avoiding the potent look on his friend's face.

"I know what I'm talking about, Drakkie, that's why you haven't fought with him lately-you've realized it," she purred, reveling over the drop of color in Draco's face.

"Maybe I don't want to waste my time," he mumbled.

Draco cleared his throat and pointedly began to ignore Pansy.

So what if it was true? Maybe he shied away from Potter but it wasn't because of some bloody intensity. He was a prefect now; prefects should set examples for the younger students. Take this diary for example; he'd found the words Harry Potter is a hunk scribbled in the margins and passages about fancied glances across the hall during meals. Unacceptable material for a first year, especially a Slytherin.

Draco shuffled in his pocket for a quill and when he found one, proceeded to edit the journal for unwanted content.

Pansy heaved a rather large, obnoxious sigh in the blonde's direction. When that still did not draw his attention, she gave up, annoyed. Turning to Blaise, who sat at a nearby oak desk they often used for homework, the two exchanged a conspiring look.

"You know, Draco, that intensity that Pansy suggests isn't farfetched, even Goyle and Crabbe have noticed." Blaise twisted around in his chair until he sat sidesaddle, one arm draped over the chair's back.

Draco continued to drift through the pages of the diary, marking comments as he went along.

"E tu, Blaise?" he asked mournfully.

"I really think you ought to rethink this whole 'I hate Potty' mess, since its obvious to everyone that-" Pansy pestered, before Draco's hand over her mouth quickly silenced her.

"Don't say it, don't even think it, Pansy, or I swear that everyone from here to Hogsmeade will get a peek at your knickers with the words Weasley is MY King penciled on them!"

Draco snapped sullenly before swiftly pushing himself to his feet, leaving the journal abandoned on the floor. A dark look of anger and resentment crossed the girl's face before she swiped her lips with her hand. Blaise blinked several times as he watched Draco marched from the room, his back straight and proud.

"Way to be subtle, Pans," he said sarcastically. Pansy sniffed.

She twined her fingers together, peering down at her long manicured fingernails.

"There's got to be a way to make him see he's obsessed with the boy," she said, comtemplating.

"Use the best cliche ever," Blaise remarked, his eyes glittering madly.

Pansy glared at the shorter boy.

"You don't mean-" she began before Blaise cut in.

"Yes. Have a costume party to promote house unity, the only excuse we can get past old man Dumbledore. That way no one will know who the other is because of the costumes."

Pansy's eyes lit up. She smiled slyly.

"That's perfect."

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That night at dinner, as Pansy, Blaise and a few of the older Slytherins hovered togethered at the far end of their table, Draco stormed into the Great Hall, a crumbled piece of paper clenched in his left hand.

"What is this,Pansy, dear?" he demanded sweetly, thrusting the wad under her nose.

The others slowly drifted away, trying not to draw Draco's attention. Blaise tryed to as well, until Pansy dug her claws into his arm.

"This was your idea," she hissed.

"You started it!" Blaise snapped.

Draco crossed his arms.

"Just when were you going to tell me about the little costume get-together in our common room this weekend? Before or after Scarhead showed up with his group of goody-Griffindorks?" he said, sweeping his slate grey eyes over the two, who squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze.

Pansy and Blaise wisely remained silent, although it might have been more out of fear for Professor Dumbledore, who now stood behind Draco, then it was for the Slytherin prefect.

"What, have you two gone completely nutters?"

Professor Dumbledore placed a firm hand on th eboy's shoulder, who jumped slightly at the unexpected appearance of the headmaster.

"I believe the term nutters only applies to headmasters, Mr. Malfoy. I think that your friends should be commended, rather then scolded, in their attempt to unite the houses."

Dumbledore twinkled his eyes at the Slytherins before making his way to his seat at the front of the hall. Draco stood in his spot, dumbfounded.

Finally finding his voice, Blaise pryed his arm from Pansy and spoke.

"I can't believe the geezer practically gave us permission. I thought he reserved all his treats for his Gryffindors."

"But why a costume party?" Draco sighed, defeated.

Pansy pulled him close so that she could whisper to him.

"So that you can get golden boy away from his friends and work your magic more easily."

She smirked as Draco's ears flushed, the only sign that he was in anyway embarassed by her words.

Tapping the duo on the shoulders, Blaise nodded his head towards the Gryffindor table. The three watched as a rumpled ebony haired boy slumped down into a chair next to his housemates. He lifted his head and stared right at them. His emerald gaze burned in the air and Draco felt lost by it. Pansy lightly shook him.

"That's the real reason why, Draco. Because we know you want that intensity."

Draco smiled wolfishly.