The Red Haired Weasel and the Amazing Bouncing Ferret

Draco Malfoy

September 30th 12:26 p.m.

Okay, so that didn’t go exactly as planned. I still don’t understand why not, though. My father has always told me, “Women are incomprehensible, Draco, but if I’ve learned one thing about them it’s this: Roses and Shakespeare cure anything.”

Hmm….

But then, he did end up marrying the Queen of the Underworld, so maybe his remedy only works on a certain type of girl. And Merlin knows Narcissa Malfoy and Virginia Weasley do not have a lot in common.

Too bad. I spent a lot of time choosing an appropriate sonnet.

…

You know, you’d think she’d be even the slightest bit appreciative. Especially considering all the *very* witty jokes I have been subjected to.

“Hey, Malfoy, read any good poetry lately?”

“I had no idea Draco Malfoy was so in touch with his emotions.”

“How touching. Malfoy’s chasing a Weasley!”

Thank Merlin someone clued the Slytherins in about this or I would have just handed over the money.

And as if that’s not enough, I had to spend the morning dodging Weasley’s older brother.

This day is not off to a very good start.

7:10 p.m.

I think the girl may have gone into hiding. She hasn’t been present at any of the meals since breakfast and I heard that Creevey kid-the one *with the camera* tell the other Creevey that Virginia (have thought about the name Ginny and have decided that there is simply no way any girl of mine -especially one I have no desire to actually be around- is going be called such a ridiculous name. Let‘s be realistic, shall we?) hasn’t been to any of her classes.

I’m starting to think it may be beneficial to go see her. After all, there’s simply no way she’s going to declare her undying love to me in public if I can’t convince her that I care about her too.

8:36 p.m.

Not *too* terrible, if I do say so myself.

I crossed through the Gryffindor Common Room, inwardly relieved that I didn’t see Virginia’s older brother, Scarhead, or Mudblood. The Gryffindors who *were* present raised their eyebrows but said nothing.

I impatiently approached a first year and snapped, “Virginia Weasley’s room?”

Trembling (as if anyone could blame him), he gestured to a set of stairs and mumbled, “Second flight of stairs, there’s only one door.”

I didn’t bother to knock. Muttering the charm that opened all the student’s doors, I stepped inside.

Another sixth year sat beside the girl I had been seeking and, with a simple glare provided by yours truly, she scampered away.

I turned my attention to Virginia, then promptly had to duck as a large Herbology book was flung towards-or, rather, at-me. She stood but three meters away, looking absolutely furious.

Though I hadn’t a clue as to why. She was the one throwing inanimate objects, not me.

She picked up a vase threateningly.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said quickly as it entered my brain that it would take more than my presences to solve this. “Why don’t we just sit down and discuss-”

I was cut off as she approached. “Discuss,” she gaped, her face now merely centimeters from my own (And let me tell you, this was not at all a pleasant sensation. Not in the tiniest bit.). “What’s to discuss? You humiliated me in front of the entire school! None of my teachers will ever take me seriously again.” Her voice rose with her temper. “What on earth were you *THINKING*?! Were you under the impression that it was funny?”

She halted to wait for my answer.

“No?” I ventured.

She sighed, and suddenly her face fell. It looked as if she had lost all interest in conversation and simply wanted to sleep. (And to my delight, she returned to vase to it’s original spot.

“Just get out, Malfoy,” she whispered, turning away.

I still don’t understand the abrupt mood change. But even I know better than to leave someone with *that* tone. So I took it upon myself to lower (Malfoys neither ‘drop’ nor ‘fall’ into anything. Ever) into a nearby chair.

“So it appears my gesture was not received in the manner in which it was intended. Pity.”

“Was that an apology,” she questioned.

Not even a little bit.

“No,” I replied. “Just an acknowledgement of an unfortunate truth.”

She rolled her eyes. “And in what ‘manner’ was it intended?”

“One of friendship of course.”

She didn’t believe me, but, really, I hadn’t exactly expected her to.

“Sod off.”

“Eloquently worded,” I returned.

“Sorry if it wasn’t Shakespeare, but I do have better things to do than to sit around, memorizing sonnets.”

She was mocking me!

Me!

Draco Malfoy.

I hate her.

“Listen, Malfoy-”

“Draco,” I interjected.

She blinked, clearly unnerved. Then, “No.”

“No what?”

“I’m not calling you that.”

“It’s my name.”

“So is Malfoy.”

“Yes, but that indicates animosity.”

“How convenient, because I hate you.”

Finally! Something in common.

“Perhaps we should do something to remedy that.”

I stepped closer, so that our lips were but a breath apart. Inwardly, I was preparing for the kiss. I didn’t care much for quality. The sooner we started kissing, the sooner she realized that I truly am all that I know myself to be, the sooner she said those three little words, the sooner I got my money.

Then, to my surprise and utter disgust, she burst into a fit of laughter.

I frowned as she grasped her sides in hysterics.

“What is so funny?”

“You,” she managed to gasp, doubled over. “You sound like someone from a bad romance novel.”

I stiffened. Draco Malfoy? Bad romance novel? Surely there was no comparison between the two. I sighed inwardly. Clearly, as hard as I was trying to make this quick and relatively painless, I would have to take drastic measures. AKA: Go slowly.

And probably befriend her first.

*shutter*

“Fine,” I snapped, in what I thought-and still think-was a fair impression of impatience. “You want to know the truth?”

Still recovering, she grinned.

“Please.”

Quick, Malfoy, think. My mind reeled at the possible lies that sprang up. There were so many to choose from. I had long since mastered how to tell a good one; so I’ve no idea why I blurted, “I need your help with Potions.”

She stared. “You are aware that you’re Head Boy, right? Somehow I doubt you are having such trouble with a class that you would search out a 6th year.”

Damn her. She had a point. A couple, actually.

“It’s true, I’ve been acing potions,” I conceded, slowing seeing a plan form in my mind, “but there’s a reason for that. Snape’s been giving me the grades because he knew what my dad would do if I brought home less than the top scores.”

Ahh… The look on her face betrayed her belief in my words. Not hard to understand why. Anything negative about Professor Snape and all the Gryffindors leap to trust it.

“Two years later he pulls the run out from under you?”

“It’s actually been closer to a year and a half. And besides, I was recuperating.”

“Being lazy, you mean.”

“However you choose to word it is fine by me. In any case, the fact is, I need you Virginia. I heard Snape tell McGonagall that you’re his top student.” That part was true, at least.

She winced at the mention of her name. “Could you not find a Slytherin in your own year to help?”

“I would rather not damage my reputation, if I can avoid it. That’s why all 7th years are out of the question, along with all Slytherins.” All things considered, especially considering that I came up with this on the spot, it was a pretty convincing lie. “I would have to be able to trust you to be able to handle this with the utmost discretion.”

She was still uncertain.

“I’ll pay you,” I added.

“No.” She raised her eyes to meet mine. “Consider it a favor.”

A Malfoy in debt to a Weasley? Wonderful. But if that was what it would take to get the show on the road, then so be it.

“Alright, then. Care to meet at the Astronomy Tower at, say, 8 tomorrow night? Then, perhaps, every other day following?”

She blushed deeply, but managed to sound controlled as she answered, “Fine by me. And by the way…”

I raised an eyebrow.

“It’s Ginny. Not Virginia, not Weasel, not Weasley. Ginny.”

“Virginia.”

“Ginny.”

“Virginia.”

“Ginny, or I tell the entire house of Gryffindor about your predicament.” She was enjoying this, the little halfwit.

“Fine,” I finally agreed. “But I’m not going to like it.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

So that’s that. I now have a legitimate excuse to see Wea -sigh- Ginny every other evening at the Astronomy Tower.

Of course, it means I’ll have to feign ignorance, something I’ve never excelled at, but it shouldn’t take too many of these idiotic meetings to make her realize her undying love for me. I am, as I have said, quite confident in my ability to win over the opposite sex. And I am expected to believe that this girl, Ginny, is going to be any more difficult than any of the others?

Okay, so she didn’t respond to the sonnet and flowers as I’d expected. Too bad, but hardly hazardous. I shall simply tuck this information away and attempt another avenue when an appropriate time presents itself.

I’m going to guess that by Halloween, she’ll be putty in my hands.