A Magical Nightmare Before Christmas

A Magical Nightmare Before Christmas

star of light

Part II

She was stark, raving mad, the woman was. Ginny Weasley lay awake in her bed, watching the sun rise. There had been no sleep for her, she had been too mad at Professor McGonagall for cajoling her into working with Draco Malfoy. He was a lunatic, a Death Eater´s son, for crying out loud. What if he merely wanted to hurt her, to kidnap her, or worse, to kill her? She sighed, and realized that it was probably part of McGonagall´s job to "see the best in everyone." The best in Draco Malfoy was probably that he would only tease her older brother with words, as opposed to fists, seeing how skinny he was.

Groaning, she rolled over to look at the clock: it was almost seven o`clock... the Professor had told her at dinner time to prepare to work with Malfoy at eight o´clock in the Third Floor West Corridor, in one of the empty rooms. They wouldn´t be disturbed, except for the house-elves bringing them food. Ginny sat up, muttered a curse under her breath and threw the covers aside. She really should have gotten her things together the night before, but preparing to work with Draco Malfoy had not been at the top of her not so busy list.

She went to the wardrobe, pulled out some simple Muggle clothes - she figured that if she was to be spending a day with Malfoy, she might as well make herself as comfortable as possible, as he obviously would not. Then realizing that if she were not prepared, he would mock her, she let out a small stream of unmentionable phrases, cursing the bloody Slytherin to hell and such. After changing her shirt and pulling on simple black work boots, Ginny rushed to her chest and threw it open, and began searching madly through the books within. She had her whole library in there; from Lockhart´s anthology to the small collection of Muggle romance novels she had spirited from her father´s garage. She finally found what she was looking for: Shakespeare´s Completed Works and Tim Burton´s The Nightmare Before Christmas Scriptbook.

Ginny dumped her schoolbooks out of her bag and threw the other two in; then grabbed a quill, a bottle of ink, and her pitch pipe. This was preparation. She knew most of Shakespeare´s famous monologues by heart, knew all Danny Elfman´s songs, and knew the small dance number. However, she had to look like she knew what she was talking about, it was going to turn into Get Mocked By Draco Malfoy Day. Grabbing the bag and a sweatshirt off of her bed, Ginny stalked out of the dormitory, out of Gryffindor Tower, and straight to McGonagall´s office, next to her classroom. She knocked loudly on the door, waited for a reply. When none came she raised her fist to the door again, only for it to swing open, snowing McGonagall.

"Ms. Weasley, what is wrong?" McGonagall asked grimly. "Did you change your mind?" Ginny shook her head, nearly cursing herself aloud.

"No. I just came to ask what room to go to," Ginny told her.

"Oh, alright. Room 304 would be a good choice, I believe. Lockhart´s old room. It still has that bloody stage and balcony in the front, do you remember?" McGonagall asked her.

"Yeah, that would be a good setting to work in," Ginny agreed. "I´ll go up there now and prepare, I suppose." Ginny turned around to leave, but stopped upon hearing McGonagall´s voice.

"Ginny?" she called. The student looked over her shoulder to the teacher. "Thank you."

Ginny gave her a grin and replied, "You´re welcome, Professor. Just imagine if I were one of my brothers."

***

She had been there for an hour preparing, and the bloody jerk had the nerve to be a half-hour late. Ginny slid down a bit further in Lockhart´s leather desk chair. She grinned to herself, thinking of what her mum and Hermione would say if the knew where she currently sat. The chair still smelled like Lockhart, even: an overly sweet, more feminine than masculine flowery scent. It takes a very confident man to wear that type of cologne, and stay straight, she thought. Sighing with impatience, Ginny looked up at the clock over the doorway. 8:32. Only two minutes since the last time she had looked. She began tapping her foot. Then jiggling her whole leg. Finally, she jumped out of the chair and began pacing back and forth in front of the large desk. Draco Malfoy was infuriating.

Ginny told herself, "Do not yell at him. It won´t make this situation any easier." So immersed in telling herself what to do, Ginny didn´t hear the door open. "Malfoy won´t be worth the effort," she scoffed, "So what the hell was McGonagall thinking!?"

"McGonagall was thinking that maybe if I did this, I´d start to respect her and the whole of your Gryffindor house. If anything, Weasel, I will be more than inclined to annoy the lot of you even more. So don´t get any fanciful let´s-turn-the-Slytherin-good ideas. Instead, let´s just get this day done with as soon as possible," Malfoy´s voice came from behind her. Ginny turned around to see him leaning in the doorway, legs and arms crossed. He looked her up and down, appraising her ancient, worn-in jeans, plain blue t-shirt and messy braids with raised eyebrows. She dealt him the same cards, taking in his black trousers, tight black shirt, dark boots and light, mussed hair.

"Malfoy, the only ideas in my head involve you falling off Lockhart´s lovely balcony to your death," Ginny told him sharply. She went to the desk and picked up a book. "Let´s start with the monologue."

"Let´s not," Malfoy argued. Ginny looked over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow and watched him walk to Lockhart´s desk. "I want food, Weasley." he sat down in the desk chair.

"I´m not a house-elf, Malfoy. Call for it yourself. And while we wait, you can pick a damn monologue," she retorted angrily, throwing the book on the desk and glaring at him.

"Weasley, I don´t know how to recognize a monologue." He snapped his fingers, and a house-elf came scurrying into the food. "Food," he barked at the creature, watching it leave the room. Turning to Ginny, he suggested, "Why don´t you pick the monologue for me?"

"Malfoy, I couldn´t find one despicably evil enough if I tried." Her voice was dryly sarcastic and cold as ice. As they glared at one another, the house-elf returned with three others, all of them bearing large trays loaded with pastries, eggs, toast, all types of breakfast food.

"Why, ickle weasel, I´m hurt," Malfoy mocked, easily feigning hurt and a sad look in his eyes of chilled steel. He took a pastry and began to eat it.

"Do not call me that," Ginny ordered slowly. "And anyway, why are you drawing this out? You and I both want it to last as short as possible."

"But Weasley, you just don´t realize how much fun I have watching you squirm about, being called names you don´t like. It´s truly my favorite hobby, I do believe," he told her, picking up the book. "The Complete Works of Shakespeare? The only thing complete about this book is that it´s completely rubbish."

"You don´t know what you´re talking about," she said, as Malfoy picked up the book and opened it to a random page.

He squinted at the tiny type, and laughed as he recited, "`And in some perfumes is there more delight/ Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.´ Why, your Shakespeare makes fun of his frumpy mistress. Do you realize that?" He flipped to another page, and began to recite another line.

"`Sometimes she driveth o´er a soldier´s neck,/ And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,/ Of breaches, ambuscades, Spanish blades,/ Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon/ Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes;/ And -" He was cut off by Ginny, her voice annoyed.

"Do shut up, Malfoy. We need to work," she told him.

"But dear Ms. Weasley, you have not eaten," he said, sounding insincerely shocked. "Wouldn´t want you to faint in the middle of your teachings, now would we?" Ginny didn´t answer, just grabbed the Shakespeare book from him, and flipped through it until she found what she wanted.

"Read that," she ordered, pointing to a line from Romeo & Juliet. It was a speech by Romeo.

"I can´t read it," Malfoy told her. "The print is too small." He smirked, thinking that she would read it to him. He pushed the book across the desk to where she stood in front of it.

"Suffer," Ginny snapped. She pushed the book back across the table, looking at his face. For a second, she had thought she saw surprise... but it had slid back underneath his smooth façade.

"I cannot suffer, I´m a Malfoy," Draco told her, with an air of superiority.

"Malfoy, just do it, alright?" she actually sounded like she was going to strangle him. Malfoy picked up the book and stood up, beginning to read.

"`But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!-

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou her maid art far more fair than she:

Be not her maid, since she is envious;

Her vestal livery is but sick and green...´" he trailed off and gave Ginny a weird look. "What the hell is the guy talking about, anyway?" She groaned and put a hand to her forehead.

"Malfoy, just read it."

He sighed and continued, "`And none but fools do wear it; cast it off-

It is my lady; O, it is my love!

O, that she knew she were!-

She speaks, yet she says nothing: what of

Her eye discour-" Ginny cut him off.

"Malfoy, first of all, we need to work on your acting," Ginny told him exasperatedly. "I think that you know you´re doing a horrible job, and that you´re doing it on purpose."

He grinned slyly at her and said, "Figured me out, did you?"

"Yes, I have. Now, do you want to make yourself look like a fool?" She paused a moment for effect. Seeing realization on Malfoy´s face that, yes, there was a possibility that if he didn´t work he would look like a fool, she continued, "So make a decision, Malfoy. Work and look like you know what you´re doing, or poke fun at me all day and look like a complete fool?"

"Alright, Mistress Weasel," he said with a huge sigh. "Inform me of what to do."

"Malfoy, never call me that again."

***

The hours came and went. With each minute, Malfoy got miraculously better at the acting thing...and more and more cocky about it all. By noon and lunchtime, Ginny had already told him she wanted to kill him. By one o´clock, she was making such tight fists to keep her hands from twining around his neck that she was digging into the flesh of her palms with her nails. At two, she promptly hit him on the back of the head for telling her that Ron was a prat.

"Malfoy, I don´t care if you make fun of me, be please refrain from commenting on my brothers," she told him.

"Why, can´t come to their defense because you agree with me?" he asked her, a smirk playing across his face.

"No, because they aren´t here to beat you up, and I´m not strong enough," she retorted.

"You know, I think I´m ready," he replied, changing the subject. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God, she thought.

"Thank God."

"What, weasel? Don´t like spending time with me?" Malfoy questioned lightly.

"I loathe it, Malfoy, and you know it," Ginny snapped.

"I do know that, and it amuses me," he sneered.

"Get out of my sight!" she shouted.

"I´d be delighted to!" Malfoy yelled back. He stood up from his chair, and stalked out of the room.

Ginny couldn´t remember a time when she was more relieved.