Allstar

Hermione sat curled up in the common room, nominally reading Goblin Rebellions, but keeping an eye on the portrait hole. Actually more than an eye. For the first time in her life, Hermione found she couldn’t concentrate on a book. It was all Ginny’s fault. What did she think she was doing, going out alone with Draco Malfoy? The sun had set and curfew would be in effect at any moment. The bushy-haired girl was therefore justly annoyed when her friend finally wandered in, a scant two minutes before eleven o’clock.

“Ginny, where have you been?” Hermione hissed. “I’ve been waiting here all night, not knowing if you were snogging in some stairwell or being thrown down one. What do you think you’re doing?”

Ginny received the tirade with a serene smile. When the prefect finally paused for breath, she answered simply, “Dating Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. She searched for words but found none. Ginny, meanwhile, was giggling.

“Isn’t that great?” she enthused. “I’m making him owl Percy for permission. Can’t you just imagine? Ron’ll flip, of course, but once he gets a chance to pound Draco’s face in, he’ll be fine. Are you all right?”

This last, Hermione realised, was due to the fact that her mouth was still open. She closed it. “Are you mad?” she asked, finally finding her voice. “This is the boy that left fingerprints on your shoulder and you’re dating him? What did he say out there?”

Ginny stopped giggling to think for a moment, proving Hermione’s theory yet again that the two could not be performed simultaneously. “Well. . .” she said finally, “It wasn’t so much what he said as how he acted. He was. . . nice.”

The older girl snorted. “Forgive me if I’m skeptical, Ginny, but nice? Draco Malfoy?” At her friend’s indignant look, she added, “And even if was was - and no, I’m not doubting you - do you really think he’ll act that way when you’re around other people? What about when you’re not there? What do you suppose he’s telling the other Slytherins right now?”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “According to you, that he’s just leading me on to get to Harry, or somesuch nonsense. Well, I know what the real problem is, Hermione. And if Draco doesn’t think I’m good enough for the rest of the Slytherins, I’ll prove that I am.” The redhead tossed her hair defiantly. “So are you with me?”

She didn’t need to finish the demand. Hermione sighed. “Yes.”

Ginny squealed and Hermione rolled her eyes again. It wouldn’t do for the younger girl to see her smiling.

* * *

Harry glanced up as the grandfather clock in the common room chimed ten o’clock. Ron was pacing in front of the fireplace and muttering. Harry caught the words “sneaky”, “cheaters”, “fouls” and “biased ref” before he cut into his friend’s monologue.

“Say, Ron,” he asked, poking the lanky redhead with his foot, “D’you suppose Trelawny would get suspicious if I predicted someone’s death other than my own? I’m getting a bit tired of being killed twice a month.”

Ron considered this. “Nah,” he decided after a moment. You’ve predicted mine before, haven’t you? Why don’t you do Hermione? Make it obviously obscure, you know, fluffy-haired Capricorns in positions of power over their peers should beware of sighting the Grim next Tuesday. She’ll love it.”

“Thanks, Ron.” Harry scribbled down the suggestion. “Don’t let Hermione hear you call her hair fluffy, though. You know how she gets about that.”

Ron glanced to the other side of the room, where their friend was absorbed in some huge volume or other. “I don’t think she’ll be noticing anything we say,” he commented dryly. Harry had to agree. “Speaking of which,” Ron went on, “we haven’t found you a Transition Girl yet.”

The dark-haired boy winced at the audible capitals. “What does that have to do with Hermione?”

“Well, do you want her to be in on this?” Ron pointed out. “I could call her over, if you like. Hey, He-mphh!” Harry tackled his friend with a cushion.

“That’s really okay,” he said through gritted teeth. “No Hermione needed. In fact, we don’t need to have this conversation at all.” He stood and brushed off his robes.

“Yes we do!” Ron insisted. “You don’t have a girlfriend yet, do you?” He paused. “Do you?”

Harry sighed. “No, Ron, I don’t. And I thought the point of this transition thing was to not have a girlfriend?”

“Well, not right away,” the taller boy hedged. “Unless you feel ready, that is.”

“No,” Harry sighed again. “I can’t say I do.”

Ron shot his friend a look. “Harry, you aren’t still thinking about my sister, are you? I mean, you can’t have been all that serious to begin with, and she dumped you ages ago.”

“Don’t remind me,” Harry groaned.

“Good Lord, Harry, you are, aren’t you? This is more serious than I thought. Look, I can fix you up with that nice Ravenclaw girl, what’s her name, Lisa, for next Saturday.”

Harry looked at his friend over the rim of his glasses. “To do what, exactly? Hogwarts doesn’t exactly have the hottest night life in the wizarding world, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, what did you do with Ginny all those times? Don’t answer that! It was a rheforical question.”

“Rhetorical.”

“What?”

“Never mind. . . And anyways, I couldn’t do that with Lisa, I hardly know her!”

“I told you not to answer that! Well honestly, Harry, what did you expect to do for a date?”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “I dunno, go to Hogsmeade or something, I guess.”

“And have what, four dates a year?” Ron snorted. “You really need to get out more. Here, I know. Take Lisa for a ride on your Firebolt - I didn’t mean it like that, you sicko - around the Quidditch pitch just as the sun sets. She’ll love it.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” Ron said arrogantly.

Harry grinned. “Right, from your brothers.” He ducked a thwack from his friend and stood, stretching. “Come on, let’s go up to bed. I don’t think we’ll be getting much more work done tonight.”

* * *

Once Ginny disappeared inside, Draco shook himself free of his reveries and started back to his dormitory. He had a lot to think about : what to say to his housemates, what to write to Percy, and most importantly, how to juggle dating Ginny with preserving his reputation. Ginny. . . She was still an enigma to Draco, but he found that he quite enjoyed watching the pieces of her personality unfold. Unfortunately, he didn’t think his fellow Slytherins would see things the same way. Well, he’d have to convince them, that was all. And in the meantime, he’d stall.

Draco reached the entrance to the dungeons and gave the password. The door slid open as silently as the Slytherin’s footsteps as he stepped into to the common room. The green and silver fires were burning low, but several students were still awake. Among them, Draco spotted Crabbe, Goyle and, oddly enough, Blaise Zabini . Although Blaise shared a dormitory with Draco and his friends, he had always remained slightly apart. Still, he was well respected by the other Slytherins. If Draco could convince him that his actions concerning Ginny - Weasley, he reminded himself, the Weasley girl - then the other Slytherins might well follow Zabini’s example. Nodding to himself, Draco stepped forward to greet his friends.

“Crabbe, Goyle,” he said absently as he moved into view. He nodded more respectfully to the third boy. “Zabini.” Draco’s henchmen grunted replies, but Blaise only stared coolly back. Well, Draco Malfoy wasn’t going to put off-guard by a simple trick like that. He leaned back against a pillar, smiled slightly and held his silence.

“So,” Blaise gave in eventually, “what brings you back to the dorms so late tonight?”

Draco’s smile widened. “Oh, the usual. Sex, drugs, revenge.” This was standard Slyth-talk for ‘None of your damned business.’

Blaise smiled back, showing his eyeteeth. “Ah, but isn’t it so.”

“Hmm?” Draco arched a single eyebrow as the other boy’s grin grew positively feral. Something was up, obviously.

“No need to play innocent, Malfoy. We saw you go off with the little Gryff. Pretty enough, but since when do you stoop to shagging Weasleys?” Ah. That explained a lot.

“Who says I was shagging her?”

“What else would you want with her? The pleasure of her company?” Blaise snorted. “Come on, man, you can’t expect me to believe that.”

Draco looked disapprovingly down at the dark boy. “Can’t I? You’re losing your edge, Zabini. Keep it up and they’ll transfer you to Hufflepuff.”

Blaise’s black eyes flashed angrily. “Is that so? Seems to me you’re the one who’ll be transferred, hanging around Gryffindors like that. Switching loyalties, are you?”

“Oh honestly, are you really that dense? I thought you at least had more brains than those two,” Draco spat, nodding to Crabbe and Goyle. Absorbed in their game of Exploding Snap, they didn’t seem to notice the insult. Blaise, however, did.

“Tell me then, oh wisest of Slytherins,” he sneered. “What value does your pet Weasley have?”

“Two words, Zabini.” Draco paused dramatically. “Harry Potter.” The light of understanding dawned in the other boy’s eyes. Draco smirked. “Exactly.”

“Her brothers will kill you.”

“And you know from experience?” Draco felt secure in his command of the situation now. “Listen, I know it’s too much for you to understand, but I’ve got that all under control.”

“Right.” Blaise stood smoothly. “Lovely as it is to chat with you, Draco, I have a first-year to torture and two hexes to perfect before bed. You go off,” he made a shooing motion, “and work on your oh-so-complicated revenge plan. Maybe you’ll get lucky and actually pull this one off. Bon soir.”

“Ya sicher, Zabini.” The blond boy rolled his eyes. Let Zabini quote the language of love; Draco was more interested in the country that had produced the most vicious and determined wizards in history. Grindelwald himself had been German.₁

Satisfied that the other Slytherin accepted his reasons for courting Ginny, Draco headed to his dorm and the privacy of his canopied bed. He most emphatically did not want his housemates around while he composed his letter to Percy Weasley.

* * *

Dear Percy,

I hope you are well. I am very well, better in fact than I’ve ever been before. The reason for this is your sister, Ginny. . .

Dear Sir,

I am writing in regards to your sister, Virginia. She’s a lovely girl, don’t you think? I do. . .

Dear Percival,

Your sister. . .

Half and hour later, Draco was tired, frustrated, and no closer to having even a rough draft than when he started. The act of sounding sincere without going overboard was harder than he’d expected. Everything he wrote sounded contrived, and it was only getting worse. Based on this theory, his first try ought to be salvageable, though. Draco dug though the piles of crumpled up parchment until he found it.

Dear Percy,

I hope you don’t mind my owl. I wish to discuss a matter of some importance, at least to me, and hopefully your sister, with you. It’s about Virginia, you see. She’s a lovely girl, don’t you think? I do. . .

Draco balled it up again and threw it away in disgust. How was he going to convince Percy he was good enough for Ginny if he couldn’t even compose a decent letter? And despite his assurances to Blaise, there was more resting on this note than revenge on Potter. As nice as that would be, winning Ginny’s affections just seemed more important, somehow. Not so important that he’d throw away his hard-won reputation, but still.

Draco felt a sudden almost-thought niggle at the back of his mind. He relaxed and emptied his mind and sure enough, it floated into the foreground. Hadn’t he had lessons on letter-writing as a child? His mother had insisted that he be brought up ‘properly,’ a phrase that evidently meant hours of boring lessons and no playing in the mud. The style of his classes had been absurdly formal, of course, but if he could just get something down that didn’t sound ridiculous, he could go over it again and loosen it up a bit.

Newly invigorated, Draco set himself to write again.

* * *

Percival Weasley
Department forInternational Cooperation
The Ministry of Magic
London, England

the15th day of November, the year 1996

Dear Sir,

Allow me to introduce myself. My surname is Malfoy, my given name Draco. I attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardly, where I am in my sixth year of study. Over the past several months, I have become acquainted with your sister, and it is on this subject that I write to you now.

I am interested in furthering my relationship with Virginia. In order to do this, she asks that I seek your approval. Please owl me back with any questions you may have regarding my education, character or intentions. You may also feel free to contact Headmaster Dumbledore or Professor Snape. I ask that you do not contact my family or Professor McGonagall, as I suspect their opinions may be biased. Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

Draco looked over his finished product and smiled. It was awful, horribly pretentious and old-fashioned. Wasn’t that just how Percy always acted? Maybe he should just send it as it stood. He had a feeling his masterpiece would find an appreciative audience.

Draco cleared all the parchment and quills of his bed and snuggled under the covers before banishing his lumos spell. He’d send the owl first thing tomorrow morning.