Mask of Innocence

~*~

"The colour of this toffee is rather odd today, don't you think, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked quizzically, eyes a merry blue.

To that question, the Scottish witch had no answer. "Albus, you know that I have no idea on the norms for toffee complexion."

"Severus?"

"I don't particularly care for sweets, Headmaster," came Snape's response. As per usual, his black hair hung in limp strands to curtain his sallow cheeks and give the Potions teacher a brooding countenance.

Eyes twinkling, the elder wizard ran a hand over his long, white beard. "Of course, Severus." Dumbledore looked over Snape's slightly slouched figure at the students milling about the Great Hall, socializing and helping themselves to the evening's fare. His gaze was particularly directed at the dark-haired boy sitting placidly near the head of the Gryffindor table, bemusedly tracing his scar.

The boy himself was not aware of the scrutiny laid upon him, by either the Headmaster or his Quidditch counterpart at the table on the other side of the hall.

Indeed, Draco was glaring at his enemy with a fixed concentration. Or rather, he was trying to, but it was somewhat pointless to do so as his victim was not aware and Draco found it difficult to focus on a task that'll bear no outcome.

"You alright, Harry?" Ron asked his mate, shaking his shoulder slightly in concern. "You've been making moon eyes at your pudding and rubbing your forehead for the last ten minutes."

Green eyes refocused and became unglazed as Harry brought himself back to dinner. "What?"

"I said, do you have a crush on your dessert or a headache?"

"Oh, no. I'm fine, just been thinking about things, that's all." The raven-haired boy smiled at his friend in reassurance. "Really, Ron. I'm fine."

"If you're positive, mate."

"Give him a break, Ron," Hermione said, "Harry has things on his mind, which is more than I can say for you." She smiled challengingly at the boy across the table.

He clasped his hands to his chest, feinting a pained look. "That hurts me right here, Herm. You're so cruel to me!" Ron pretended to collapse on Harry's shoulder and caused his friend to laugh at his antics and pat him on the back.

"There, there, mate. You still have me," Harry teasingly consoled him. By now most of the students have finished with their meals. The ones close enough to hear the Famous Trio's melodrama laughed along with them; others farther away smiled fondly and continued with their various conversations.

"That's right, Harry," supplied Ron, suddenly cheerful again, slinging his arm over Harry's shoulders. "Who needs a girl, anyway? We're manly men!"

Sardonically, the ginger-haired Head Girl answered, "Your grades do," causing more mirth at the Gryffindor table.

"You're right. Oh, Hermione, please take me back! I won't ever go out drinking with the boys again!"

Ginny piped up from next to Neville, shooting her brother down with an exclamation of, "Bollocks, Ron!"

Neville laughed at the youngest Weasley's disbelief, adoration shining in his eyes for the girl.

~*~

Millicent Bulstrode gazed balefully at the Gryffindor table. "They look like they're having fun."

"Oh, shut up, Mil," Pansy snapped. She was not having a good day as she had first received a 'T' on a paper in a morning class (/What was it? Oh, yes. Transfigurations. That hag./) and then was turned down again by Draco when she invited him to her room. Really, she had seen no reason that the illustrious Malfoy heir would have refused her.

Draco raised an aristocratic brow in detached amusement. "What's gotten your bloomers in a bunch, Parkinson? Grew another centimeter on your waistline?"

The brunette's face coloured to a most unbecoming purple-red in her rage. "Of course not, Drakie Dearest," she grated out through clenched teeth and a plastered grin/grimace. It was hard to tell with her face scrunched up like that. At least, Draco thought so. And that was all that counted.

Dinner was almost always a boring affair over on the Slytherin side of town, but it was another example of the awesome power Draco held, and so he dutifully came everyday. Most days. Well, when he did, he sat at the head of the table, as it was the only logical place for his prestige, flanked by his officers Crabbe and Goyle. Farther down sat his court of simpering girls and boot-lickers who would do anything for his Lordship's favor, be it picking on a Hufflepuff or antagonizing certain teachers. And at the other end of the table were the first to third years, those that haven't been through the traditional Slytherin initiation and would be lucky to be graced with even an insult from Malfoy lips. There was one mudblood, but no one really talked to him for fear of tainting their own centuries pure pedigrees.

This particular evening didn't seem to be turning out all that well for young Malfoy. Draco had tried to instigate a staring contest with 'Potty,' but that had flopped in record time. He had been propositioned earlier by that pug Parkinson, and that had killed most of his appetite so that eating was out of the question as well.

/Gah. It's so dull./

What happened to the good old days when they could wreak havoc all they like and enjoy themselves?

"That's it," Draco declared as he stood up. He couldn't stand the fact that Potter looked like he was having fun and he had no way of spoiling it. "Seventh years, I expect you all to meet me in Hogsmeade tonight 2 hours after curfew. It's been far too long since I've had a good night out. Dress to kill."

And with that he marched out of the Great Hall, head held high as if to say, 'Ha, who's going to have more fun now, Potty?'

The rest of the Slytherins shared glances tentatively amongst themselves. Younger years looked rather confused by the mysterious directions of their leader. As if in unison, an unholy gleam appeared in each seventh year student's eyes. Yes! This was why they followed Malfoy. The teen had apparently gotten over what ever had held him back since the beginning of the term and was ready to resume reign as the ultimate partying fiend, third year running.

"Who's ready to get stinkin' pissed?!" Blaise Zabini whispered enthusiastically.

~*~