The Red Haired Weasel and the Amazing Bouncing Ferret

Draco Malfoy

November 17th 6:15 a.m.

That damn Ginny Weasley. She is far more trouble than she is worth.

After our argument in the Room of Requirement, she’s taking care to avoid me at every turn. Her face pales on the rare occasions that I do see her, and, straightening her shoulders, she passes me by without a look in my direction. As I firmly believe that I have done nothing wrong, I refuse to make any effort if she is not.

So yesterday, frustrated with the idea of losing all that galleons, I approached Pansy to see if my charm could buy my way out of this mess.

If you don’t know how that went, you haven’t been paying attention at all.

It’s really rather odd. For the last 9 days I have been living my life as I will when Valentine’s Day has come and gone, and there is something I’m starting to feel that had never occurred to me before.

A desire to see that infectious smile spreading broadly. A need to feel her fingers woven through my own.

Perhaps I am catching something.

November 18th 5:58 p.m.

My malady (as I am beginning to refer to my weakness for Ginny) is making me go crazy.

And, to my disdain, reducing me to a pathetic excuse for a wizard.

That girl is filling my every thought. I can’t concentrate on anything.-not Charms or Transfiguration, or even Potions. Yesterday I actually caught myself writing her initials on my Astronomy test! (Professor Sinistra found it rather amusing, but didn’t say anything aloud to the class, thank Merlin.) It was horrifying, not to mention humiliating on many different levels.

I’m starting to sound like…

No.

I can’t say it.

Well, fine.

I’m starting to sound like Weasel.

Where’s that fork…?

Okay, I’m not going to stab my eyes out, but ONLY because I know what a hindrance it would be to only have one eye when I forgive Ginny.

And I will. When she apologizes for her behavior.

Which she will.

Right.

8:23 p.m.

I have just witnessed the most hilarious scene of my entire existence. Would you like me to relate?

Okay, I will.

It was dinner time. I was finishing the meal, chewing silently on the last cookie at my table, when Dumbledore got to his feet and requested the attention of the students.

He was smiling broadly as he said, “Good evening everyone.” There was a silence in the room that could only be obtained by our Headmaster. “I have wonderful news, and though I’d love to deliver it myself, I’m sure that two of Hogwarts’ teachers are more appropriate choices.”

Professor Sinistra got to her feet, alone, then turned to frown at Professor Snape.

“Stand up, you arrogant moron,” I-and, undoubtedly, most of the Great Hall-heard her snap.

Glaring all the way, he stood, with his arms crossed. “Auriga,” he managed, through tightly clenched lips, “do you really feel this is necessary?”

Ignoring him, she addressed the students. “The wonderful news that Professor Dumbledore has brought to your attention concerns the Potions Master and myself. You see, he and I are, for reasons we have yet to discover, getting married.” She paused as through expecting applause. Though most of us were so flabbergasted all we could do was stare in shock. “Here at Hogwarts,” she continued.

Feeling a deep sympathy for my favorite teacher, I turned my attention to Snape, who hadn’t moved an inch. His face was arranged into a careful and angry sneer, as though DARING someone to laugh.

No one did. I, for one, was far too terrified to even crack a smile.

Then, to my amazement, Snape began to uncross his arms. Slowly, he reached for the Astronomy teacher’s hand, and grasped it firmly in his own.

She, too, looked rather disconcerted by this act of affection, and stared at him, her eyebrows raised. But he wasn’t looking at her, he was still watching the sea of faces watching.

Sinistra cleared her throat. “And, due its location, Severus and I would be thrilled if you all could make it.”

I, for one, can’t really picture Snape being “thrilled” about anything except for, perhaps…. Uh…. Well…

Never mind.

She went to sit down, but the Headmaster began to clap enthusiastically. The rest of the room followed suit, and it was hard to tune out the teasing calls of, “Get ’em, Snape!” from various students, not excluding Potter. (In case you were wondering, the Groom-To-Be did *not* look amused.)

Sinistra grinned slyly and stole a look at the disgusted man holding her hand.

“Oh, and by the way,” she added suddenly, never discarding that look of mischief, “unless I miss my guess, Professor Snape is still on the market for a best man, so if any of you boys know how to wash hair, I’m sure he’ll accept an application.”

Snape slid a glance at her in return and then smirked. “And if any of the females have the ability to spell star, I’m sure Professor Sinistra will consider *your* application.”

Instead of stalking off right then and there, she grinned at her fiancée (Ugh. I know I was right, but still, this whole “marriage” thing is a bit much.) and muttered, “I love you.”

And to my great astonishment, and the astonishment of all those sitting by me, he pushed her glasses back up on her nose and returned with, “I love you too.”

Dumbledore reached for a glass, and, finding it with his long fingers, raised it in congratulations. “To Auriga and Severus. May they find great happiness in their lifetime together.”

I distinctly heard Snape mutter, “Fat chance,” as he returned to his seat.

And so, I’m sure, did Sinistra-but she didn’t seem to care.

Fifteen minutes later I was on my way down the hall, when I heard the imposing steps of the Potions Master closing in on me. To quicken my stride would have been out of character and besides, I was very interested in what he would say.

So I slowed to a stop and turned my steady gaze on the man.

“I believe I know how to wash hair, sir,” I mocked.

He frowned. “Watch your mouth, Malfoy.”

I obliged by ignoring the impulse to continue with a sting of jokes; instead, I simply waited for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say.

He went straight to the point. “I still want you to spend the holiday with me, Draco,” he said firmly.

“Alright. Does she mind?”

“No, she doesn’t.”

For a moment neither of us said nothing. And finally I found myself saying, “I didn’t get to congratulate you properly.” I reached out my hand, and he shook it. “So congratulations.”

He looked rather out of place as the Groom to Be, but that didn’t change the fact that he was happy, and I could tell.

Which of course causes me to fall back into depression. He has a woman that loves him and that he loves in return. And as for me…

Well, it’s not like I’ll ever have feelings like those anyway.

I am such a pathetic excuse for a wizard, I swear. But I am not a Death Eater. And I would never want to be. Although arrogant and pompous are inarguably adjectives that are accurately used to describe yours truly, evil is not. I did my part. I sent my parents to Azkaban. So how is it that people of the wizarding community would believe that I could ever be like them?

Especially people like the warm hearted, muggle loving, gentle Ginny Weasley?

The world may never know.