Sinner

Sinner II ~ Envy

envy n a feeling of discontent at the good looks, qualities, fortune, etc, of another. [Fr envie, from L invidia, from invidēre to look askance at, to envy, from in on, and vidēre to look.]

~

The day after my birthday, I woke up with the worst hangover I think I've ever had, and of course found that Blaise had taken the last of the Analgesic Potion from my bedside cabinet. I therefore made the mistake of deciding to miss out on breakfast and make a new batch, which resulted in me having to leave for Hogsmeade ten minutes late with my hair still dripping wet and ungelled. My shirt was half unbuttoned, and I was holding my wand between my teeth and had my robes draped over my arm as I attempted to do it up and still manage to be on time to meet Theodore and Millicent on the way down there.

Of course, luck would have it that Potter was also running late, and he bumped right into my back as I raced out through the Entrance Hall, sending my wand skittering over the hard stone floor into the shadow underneath the staircase.

I glared at Potter accusingly until he accio'd it over for me, and then made him hold it and my robes as I tried to straighten out the creases in my shirt.

He flushed as I undid it and tried to finally get all of the buttons in the right holes, so with a smirk, I drew it out as long as I could, delighting in his discomfort.

'Robe,' I demanded, holding out a hand for it.

'What?'

'Daydreaming again were you? Hand. Me. My. Robe...Now.'

Turning the colour of Weasley's sunburn - not a pretty sight, I assure you - he passed it over and cocked his head to one side. 'Why is your hair wet?'

I rolled my eyes, which sent a brief stab of pain through my still-aching head. 'Because it's raining down in the dungeons, Potter. What do you think?'

'I know why, it's just...couldn't you just use a drying charm on it?'

I gave him a look I usually reserve for Weasleys and the clinically insane. 'If you use a drying charm on hair without the proper application of conditioning potions first, it ends up looking like...' I thought for a moment for an appropriate image. '...your hair does every day,' I finished.

He self-consciously tried to push a few strands behind his ear, but failed miserably. 'How do you dry it, then?'

'With appropriate Sleekeazy products and a hairdryer,' I replied, smoothing my shirt and checking my reflection in the nearest window.

'A hairdryer?' he asked incredulously. 'A Muggle hairdryer?'

I snorted. 'Don't be ridiculous, Potter, everyone knows that you can't use elec--ecle--Muggle-energy powered devices within the school perimeters. It's the same, just powered by magic.'

He frowned, thankfully not commenting on my forgetting that stupid word. 'So you're basically taking a Muggle invention and changing it so it's not Muggle anymore?'

'Don't knock hairdryers, Potter, my father has been voted Witch Weekly's Best Groomed Wizard on six separate occasions. I know these things.'

He followed as I pulled the door open and swept outside. 'But isn't using Muggle things very...non-Slytherin?'

'On the contrary, stealing other people's work is one of a Slytherin's defining attributes,' I replied, chin slightly in the air before a drop of stupid April rain hit me in the eye. 'Damn, I wish I could Apparate from here!'

'What?' he asked, seemingly shocked.

'For Merlin's sake, Potter, have you never read--'

'Hogwarts: A History?' he finished with a slight grin which was soon accompanied by a blush. 'You should probably be talking to Hermione about that rather than me, that bloody book's her favourite.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Potter,' I scoffed, having spotted Blaise standing on the path tapping his watch. 'Granger's not my type.' I shot him a wink before rushing elegantly down the stairs to my friends.

~

Hogsmeade, like so many places, was always nicest in the rain. I think it was because it has a place's equivalent of life-force: the lights in the shops and the cafés are all so inviting, especially when it's so dark outside that it may just as well be past midnight.

That's the one drawback of April - it's the anomalous month, almost a last rebellion of winter before summer takes over, and its weather patterns are as fickle as Professor Snape's loyalties - at least, according to my father's reports.

On that Saturday, it had gone from the occasional raindrop to a full-scale storm in the space of fifteen minutes, and every Hogwarts student was in one shop or another, trying futilely to dry themselves off. I was standing in the corner of Gladrags idly browsing a rack of discount silk robes and thanking Merlin that I hadn't had time to dry my hair that morning when I heard Potter's obnoxious voice floating over from the trouser section. Yes, trousers: although they've been part of the Hogwarts uniform for a good fifty years, it was only recently that they'd been introduced to mainstream wizard-wear. I'm not sure which magical fashion-guru started the fad, but you have to respect the man who realises that maybe the Muggles had the right idea in making clothes that cling in all the right places instead of billowing loosely like our standard robes.

'No. Fucking. Way, Hermione,' he enunciated, and my curiosity got the better of me at the most un-Potter-like use of the word 'fuck'. I edged slowly over, hiding behind a conveniently placed row of mannequins, and saw Granger holding up a rather cheap-looking pair of black leather trousers.

'Why not?' she demanded, brandishing them like a whip.

'Because...they're leather,' he replied feebly.

'And?'

'And...I'm not going to wander round school in leather trousers!'

Granger handed the trousers to the Weasel and put her hands on her hips. 'Harry. How on Earth do you expect us to be your own personal matchmakers if you don't even listen to our advice?'

I repressed a snicker at the idea of Potter having his own matchmakers, figuring that my own dear Blaise and Pansy didn't count because all they really wanted was to snag me for themselves.

' 'Mione, I never actually asked you to do this, y'know...'

'I know, but as your best friends it's our sworn duty to help you get laid.' A pause. 'Without actually...doing it ourselves, of course,' she added, turning slightly pink. 'Right, Ron?'

Weasley stopped his examination of the trousers. 'Yeah, that's right. But I think I agree with Harry about the trousers. They are slightly...whorish.'

Potter laughed and Granger looked outraged. 'Whorish they may be, but which girls do you notice, Ron? The ones dressed in proper uniform or the ones whose skirts are more like belts?'

He bowed his head as if in apology, reminding me of the House Elves when my father used to reprimand them for doing an unsatisfactory job. Of course, that was usually right before he cursed them and locked them in the dungeons for a week to 'teach them a lesson', but the principal was the same.

'Besides,' Granger steamed on, 'we have discussed this. We have to emphasise Harry's good points, one of which is undoubtedly--'

'His arse?' I couldn't help but chime in cheerfully, striding over to them. 'Maybe, but you have to take into consideration that these particular trousers will not only cling tightly to his buttocks, but also to his thighs. Does he have nice thighs, Granger?'

'Wh--what? How should I know?' she asked defensively, and all three of them backed away from me slightly.

'You noticed his backside, Granger, and if you were really going to be a successful fashion advisor, you'd know every part of his body intimately.'

'But he...I...we're not...'

'I know that, give me some credit! But surely you at least know his best and worst features? After all, that is what your entire leather hypothesis revolves around, is it not?'

'I guess...'

I folded my arms. 'Then does he have nice thighs or not, Granger?'

'Y-yes. Yes, he does.'

'Good.' I yanked the trousers away from the Weasel and handed them to Potter. 'Try these on with...' I scanned the racks and picked out a shirt, '...this top.' There was no time for him to complain as I ushered him towards the changing room.

I waited for the curtain to close behind him before turning back to his stunned sycophants. 'So, who exactly is Potter trying to impress, anyway?'

'No one,' replied Granger stubbornly, glaring coldly at me.

'No one?'

'No one in particular, no,' she repeated, and Weasley snickered.

'What's so funny?' I asked, trying desperately to find out as much as I could about Potter's love life: blackmail is nothing without inside knowledge.

'What would you say,' Weasley began, voice lowered, 'if we told you Harry was trying to impress you?'

I blinked. 'I'd say you were out of your tiny Weasel mind and should be shipped off to St Mungo's as soon as humanly possible. Why?'

'Oh, thank Merlin!' he breathed, and Granger began a garbled explanation.

'Because Harry said that yesterday you were kinda half-nice to him and even gave Ron some money and we thought that maybe...I mean, you come across as, well...'

Weasley picked up as she trailed off. 'You come across as being as camp as a row of pink tents. And I don't need your charity, just for future reference.'

I raised my eyebrow at them, ignoring the last twinges of pain and the Weasel's last remark - he wasn't making any move to actually return my gift, was he? 'And you therefore thought that I fancied a go with Golden Boy?'

'Yes,' Granger replied confidently.

'And so you were making him wear extremely tight leather in a place where I would undoubtedly see him at least once every day?'

'No, we were trying to dissuade you. The trousers are just so that he gets some offers, because...' Her voice also dropped, '...he hasn't even kissed anyone since Cho Chang in Fifth Year, and it's getting quite--Oh, my God.'

I turned round, following her shocked gaze, to see Potter wearing leather.

Yes, leather.

It took me a few moments to collect my thoughts and enable myself to speak coherent sentences.

'Yes, Potter, very nice, but I'm not sure that the shirt really suits it. Maybe you should try this one?'

I held up a black tank top with green trim and he jumped back as if he'd been bitten by a teething Kneazle.

'Malfoy, that top is just...well, poofy,' he finished in a whisper, his blush deeper than it had ever been, even during our earlier hair-care conversation.

'Your point being...'

'I'm trying to attract the opposite sex, not the entire gay population of Hogwarts!'

Not relinquishing my hold on the top, I placed my hands on my hips. 'No, Potter, you're trying to get laid, and if what Granger here says is true, it shouldn't make a difference who it is as long as it's sex. Hell, if you haven't even been snogged since Fifth Year, you'd be lucky to be screwed by a House Elf. Now, will you try the damned top or not?'

He shot Granger a shocked look. 'Why did you tell him?!'

'Harry, he's Malfoy,' she said by way of explanation, and I smirked, content in the knowledge that I was superior to them all.

'Fine,' he grumbled, taking the top and turning back towards the changing room.

I think I imagined the extra swing of his hips.

~

Somewhere during the hour or so of Weasel-baiting and not gazing at Potter's arse, I managed to become responsible for picking out a whole new - and considerably tighter-fitting - wardrobe for the Boy Who Lived.

I must admit, I'd always had a weakness for shopping, especially for clothes: my parents - well, my mother mostly; my father was more responsible for the haircare side of things - took me into the highest class shops from a very early age, and I developed an infallible eye for fashion and the incredible ability to shop more than any girl of my age.

It was very lucky that my father was one of the richest wizards in the country.

We emerged from the shop while the storm was still raging, me clasping Potter's still-surprisingly-full money bag and Potter, Weasley and Granger carrying ten bags of clothes between them. I thought that at least Granger should have thought to use wingardium leviosa, but I may have been giving them too much credit.

I earned a few strange looks from both students and teachers at being seen with the Golden Gryffindors: the smugness in McGonagall's expression implied that she thought some of their supposedly good influence would rub off on me, and I smirked as I wondered whether she'd considered that one particularly strong bad influence is more likely to corrupt the others than be improved.

Besides, I wasn't planning to stick around the Trio for longer than necessary - it was just the clothes, the decisions, the spending... and possibly Potter's arse also played a substantial role in my enjoyment, but even Weasley seemed rather awed, and you can't blame me if Potter's hours of endless Quidditch practice paid off.

I finally managed to break away from them in The Three Broomsticks, making a beeline for the table where Blaise and Daphne were sitting sipping Butterbeer - 'no alcohol for Hogwarts students', as the sign claims - and putting my soaked cloak on the back of the chair nearest the fire as I went to buy my own drink.

The sight of Snape sitting in the corner nursing a bottle of Firewhisky made me wish I'd gone to the Hog's Head, but I thought I'd heard someone mentioning that Hagrid was standing by the entrance turning students away. It wasn't fair, as I was technically legally allowed to drink at eighteen - one year on from when a wizard legally becomes an adult, and one Muggle law I heartily disapprove of - and I glared randomly around as I waited in the impossibly long queue to order my drink.

Of course, luck would have it that the Trio were in the next queue over, talking impossibly quickly about what were probably completely inane issues, but I still decided to occupy myself by trying to listen in on what they were saying.

I didn't catch anything but boring discussion about the Charms homework until a rush of chill air signalled the entrance of a group of Hufflepuffs, and Granger turned to Potter, hands on hips.

'There he is!' she announced in a stage whisper, and Potter did something I'd never seen him do: he hid. He ducked behind Weasley and shot the Mudblood an evil look.

'Mione, do I really have to talk to him?'

She put her hands on her hips and stared him down. 'Yes, you do.'

'But what exactly am I meant to say? "Hi, Andy, I just wanted to ask you how you feel ab--"'

'Take your order, love?' The new girl behind the bar - was her name Miranda? - smiled prettily at me.

I leaned one elbow on the counter and watched curiously as Granger pushed Potter over towards the Hufflepuff table.

'Just Butterbeer, please,' I asked absently, handing her a Galleon. Potter and Andy Moon were walking away from the crowd and Potter was shuffling about nervously as he spoke. The Hufflepuff nodded as Miranda passed me my drink and my change.

'Anything else?'

'No, thanks,' I replied with a rather forced smile, picking up the Butterbeer and heading back towards the table. I frowned as I sat down, looking over at a giggling Granger ushering Potter over to their seats.

That was an interesting development. Not necessarily a good development, but definitely an interesting one.

~

That evening, as soon as I'd returned from Hogsmeade and waged war on my now-pristine hair, I settled down on the chair I'd claimed in the Common Room and drafted a list of potential Potter matchmaking candidates. I was so engrossed in my task - I was especially proud of a sketch in the top left-hand corner depicting Potter getting attacked by a giant rabid Flobberworm - that I didn't notice the time until Goyle walked over and blocked the light drifting over from a nearby candle.

I sighed and put down the parchment. 'Yes, Goyle?'

' 'S dinner time, Malfoy, you coming?'

'In a minute, yes. Why don't you and Crabbe go on ahead and grab me some chicken?'

He didn't move.

'What're you writing?' he asked after a few minutes, craning his neck to look at my amazing handiwork.

'This,' I said, letting a smile of pure evil cross my lips, 'is the first step to Harry Potter's downfall.'

Instead of eagerly asking me for all the details, however, he merely nodded. 'Oh. What is it this time? You gonna try and magic tarantulas into his bed again?'

I shook my head in despair. 'Goyle, that was a) in Sixth Year and b) revenge on the Weasel - yes, Weasley, not Potter - for refusing to pick up my new quill when he knocked it off the desk in Charms. And besides, that was childish magic nonsense that a quick 'Finite' could solve in an instant. No, this, my friend, is the most simple and brilliant plan anyone could have possibly conceived. I'm amazed that the Dark Lord himself didn't already come up with it!'

By this time, I had quite a few of the lower year Slytherins shooting me curious glances, but still no reaction from Goyle himself. I would normally blame it on his stupidity, but he really isn't as dumb as he looks - that may not be all that difficult, but still. No, Goyle just acts stupid, as does Crabbe, but they at least know when to snap out of it and give me attention and the praise I deserve. Yet this was one of those moments, and I was receiving nothing but the occasional bored look.

'Malfoy, I really am hungry, and so's Crabbe. Can't we have dinner and then talk about the plot?'

I rolled my eyes in exaggerated exasperation but put the parchment carefully away in the pocket of my robes - all right, so maybe the loose, billowy-ness does have its advantages - and gestured for Goyle to lead the way. Inside, however, I was deeply hurt by his heartless rejection of my new idea. It was truly a work of genius and deserved to be appreciated; and I'm meant to be able to rely on Crabbe and Goyle to act as sounding boards and at least pretend to take an interest in issues like Potter, which will undoubtedly have a devastating impact on the future if they are not dealt with as soon as possible.

But I decided to swallow a very small proportion of my pride and go with them down to the Great Hall, partly because I remembered that neither Crabbe nor Goyle can concentrate on much when their stomachs are empty and partly because I was also starving, having eaten nothing all day in order to prevent myself throwing up due to the previous night's overindulgence.

By the time we'd arrived at the Hall, it was nearly full and everyone had already started eating. I was quite pleased to note that Pansy had already piled a plate up with all my favourite foods, and Blaise claimed responsibility for the layout of the chicken and the full goblet of pumpkin juice which accompanied it. All right, so I wasn't blind enough to think they had done this out of human kindness - they were Slytherins, after all, and Slytherins who'd been lucky enough to associate with me for seven years - but I still felt special...at least until Blaise leaned in too close for comfort and placed a napkin on my lap, smoothing it down unnecessarily with rather strong and lingering strokes. At that point I decided to think about the food itself and not its servers, and began to eat, mentally reviewing the list in my pocket.

When I looked up from my plate to help myself to more roast potatoes, I glanced casually up at the Gryffindors to make sure they weren't levitating any mushy peas my way, and noticed that Granger was giggling. I actually did a double-take, looking back down at my plate and counting to three before looking up again, but there she was; the epitome of prim, the quintessence of disapproval, the Mudblood who scorned all things frivolous, giggling like the youngest Weasley after a few puffs of powdered Gillyweed.

And she thought I was acting strangely.

I narrowed my eyes in her general direction, willing her to stop before the sound of her raucous laughter put me off my meal, but it was one of those grotesque sights you stare at in horror because you find yourself simply unable to look away.

Next to her, the Weasel was choking on some disgusting morsel of half-chewed food as he tried to control his own laughter, and opposite, sunk down in his seat in embarrassment, was the unmistakeable Harry Potter. I couldn't see his face, but the back of his neck and the tips of his ears somehow peeped out from under his thatch of somehow-messier-than-usual hair and were flushed red. I leaned forward, trying to ignore Blaise's murmur of, 'Your napkin's slipping, let me get that for you,' and the accompanying actions, but could still hardly hear a word.

I'm sure it mentioned in Hogwarts: A History that the reason the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables were placed on opposite ends of the Great Hall was in order to prevent fights - especially food fights, but also magic fights and even Muggle-style physical fights - from breaking out between the two houses during mealtimes.

I doubt anyone really considered that Banishing Charms were likely to evolve in the following years, although it probably would have seemed rather unlikely at the time. Now we know that the average distance of a basic Charm has increased by at least five times since the trading of the tables, which has led to numerous inevitable food fights that were almost impossible to end, including one rather amusing incident last year in which Professor Flitwick got stuck under a very large slice of ice-cream cake and spent ten minutes trying to escape without his wand, which had been knocked under the Hufflepuff table. Unfortunately, I was so absorbed in watching him writhe like a cockroach under Cruciatus that Potter was able to get me right in the face with a slice of still-warm apple pie, but that is neither here nor there.

Anyway, the tables still have not been moved closer to one another again, and it was just bloody difficult to try and understand what any of the Gryffindors were saying, especially Granger, who talks far too fast for me to even consider lipreading.

I slumped back in my seat in frustration, not even caring when Crabbe leaned over and took three potatoes from my plate. The laughter had stopped by then, even though Potter was still blushing that unhealthy shade of tomato, and I was incredibly annoyed that I'd missed whatever it was Weasley and Granger were teasing him about. Given the day's many bizarre conversations, I guessed it was something to do with his non-existent love-life, which would make perfect material for my beautiful plan, which I'd almost completely forgotten about.

'Crabbe, Goyle, we're leaving,' I announced, pushing Blaise's hand off my lap and ignoring their complaints that they'd miss dessert.

However, when they began to glare menacingly, I agreed that I would go ahead and meet them in the Common Room.

But just as I was turning down the corridor that leads to the dungeons, I heard a familiar voice echoing from the entrance to the hall.

I looked round and saw Potter - well, who else could it possibly have been? - calling after Moon, who was heading towards the Hufflepuff Common Room.

Glancing round, I made the snap decision to hide inside the broom cupboard that was conveniently located by the Hall entrance.

I ignored the mop that was poking me rather painfully in the back and pressed my ear against the door.

',,,Talk about this now...' I heard, and cursed inwardly at the thickness of the stupid door. Why would they need a three inch thick slab of mahogany to protect a closet of cleaning supplies?

'...isn't it obvious?...' I sighed and decided to give up on improving the sound quality, and instead concentrated on trying to work out whose voice was whose.

'...need an answer...' Just when I was about to decide that this was all pointless, I heard Moon's raised voice echo round the Entrance Hall.

'I don't want to discuss this with you!'

'I'm sorry, too, but I have no choice!'

'I understand, but why...' And the voices dwindled again as I tried to piece it all together. Well, I suppose it was fairly obvious what was going on, but you never know with Potter. There was once an unfortunate incident when I walked in on what sounded like him and Granger shagging but was, in reality, the two of them trying to fix a desk in the Potions room before Snape realised it had been broken. Then again, it was pretty hard to suspend belief on this one...

'Yes, I understand...don't get why...'

I rolled my eyes. Moon again. 'I understand, but...' Stupid Hufflepuffs, not worth the space, really.

'...not up to me...more time?...'

And finally it seemed as if they were finished, so I waited until the footsteps sounded like they were a good distance away and stepped confidently out of the cupboard, brushing down my robes and trying to maintain my air of dignity and poise.

'Coming out of the closet, Malfoy?' Potter smirked. 'Don't worry, everyone already knows.'

I turned round and glared at him. 'What're you still doing here? I thought you and Moon had gone off to continue your little tryst elsewhere,' I asked, genuinely confused but damned if I'd let him know that.

Potter nodded and his eyes widened as if he'd just realised something, an amazing feat for someone with the intellectual capacity of a dead Flobberworm. 'Is that what you were doing in the broom cupboard, Malfoy? Eavesdropping on my conversation?'

'Of course not!' I scoffed. 'It's your own stupid fault for carrying on a private discussion in the most public area of the school, especially when everyone coming out of the Hall can hear you.'

He raised an eyebrow and I narrowed my own eyes, annoyed that he'd somehow gained the ability to do that and once again taken something from me. 'What exactly were you doing in there, then? And don't say looking for a broom, I'm not that stupid.'

'Could've fooled me,' I muttered, trying desperately to think of a witty and believable response. It may seem as though I always know the right thing to say, but in reality, most of my insults take careful preparation, and I sure as hell hadn't given any consideration to this situation.

'And why do you care about what Moon and I were doing, anyway?' he continued, clearly not expecting me to have a plausible answer, and I realised that I'd actually lost this one. I swear, spend two bloody hours with a group of Gryffindors and you'll go just as soft as they are. 'Are you jealous, Malfoy?'

I laughed out loud. 'Jealous? What? Potter, did someone spike your pumpkin juice? Where the hell did you get that idea?'

'Methinks he doth protest too much,' he recited, and I rolled my eyes dramatically.

'What could I possibly be jealous of? '

'You tell me.'

I pretended to think for a moment. 'Let me see...absolutely nothing.'

'Malfoy,' he said in an exasperated tone.

'Potter,' I replied evenly.

'Malfoy, you...' He paused again and his eyes became even wider, which was actually quite a scary effect with his glasses and somewhat reminiscent of Professor Trelawney.

'I what?'

He gestured towards the dungeons. 'Nothing, Malfoy, I just realised...just go.'

And, for the first time in my life, I thought that maybe he had a point, so I headed back to the Common Room mentally chastising myself and all the more eager to finish my list and execute my cunning anti-Potter plot.

~

Interlude: Kindness

kind adj having or springing from the feelings natural for those of the same family; disposed to do good to others; benevolent.

Kindness n the quality or fact of being kind; a kind act. [O.E. (ge)cynde -cynn, kin]

~

Diary -

Why on Earth did I ever agree to be Hermione's stupid messenger?! God, I wish I'd just stand up to her once in a while, but it's bloody difficult, especially when Ron's decided that he doesn't want to have any involvement whatsoever in her love life.

Yep, I spoke to Moon today. I never liked him, not really, even though I don't know him that well, and I wish he could hold a damn conversation without the words 'I understand'. No wonder he's a Hufflepuff, I don't know what the hell she sees in him... Then again, I can never say no to 'Mione or Ron, can I?

And now I sound like a complete bastard, sorry, Diary. I'm just tired, that's all. Not just tired in the not sleeping sense, but also tired of certain Slytherins who act like they've lost their minds the second they turn eighteen and then make stupid cryptic comments that aren't even clever.

Bloody Malfoy.

Yesterday, I thought that maybe we weren't so much sworn enemies anymore, but just...I dunno, playground rivals? A couple of idiots who've realised that they've held their grudges for longer than is natural?

Today he seemed to think like that, too: he was in Gladrags with Ron, 'Mione and me and he helped them force me into all kinds of awful clothes, including LEATHER TROUSERS. I'm not kidding, real leather. And he didn't even end up screaming at Ron and Hermione, he just kinda teased them and it wasn't even all that mean.

I just bloody wish he'd paid for the clothes himself: I could sense Ron's wince as the witch behind the counter told me how much it was going to cost and I still feel really guilty. Oh well, I suppose this time I can realistically blame it on Malfoy.

So, yeah, about Malfoy. I know it's weird and scary (and sick and wrong on SO many levels), but I think 'Mione's right: I think he might fancy me.

God, it's scary to see that written down. Malfoy...it's weird to even think it. But he acted like he was jealous of Moon this evening; and that's stooping really low. (NOTE TO SELF: stop being so mean, you sound like Malfoy himself) And he did spend a while staring at my arse in those trousers, but then again, so did Ron, and there's nothing there. At least, I hope not...

Anyway, I felt really guilty when he walked off earlier. I dunno, I think I might give him a chance. I mean, I did say yesterday that we weren't quite being bitter enemies any more, and he did seem genuinely hurt, which, as I'm sure I've mentioned, NEVER happens to Malfoy; his heart - if he has one, that is - is made out of some kind of really, really hard stone.

Then again, is that taking it too far? If he just wants to shag me - pretty likely, if the rumours about him are true - then maybe being slightly nicer to him isn't the best idea. Would he think I'm leading him on? Would he still respect me in his twisted way if I actually treated him better than I do now? Does he even DESERVE to be treated better?

Y'know, it's pretty pointless asking all these questions to a book, isn't it? I mean, it's not like Tom Riddle's gonna start replying to everything I write - at least, he'd better not. I think I'm gonna go speak to 'Mione and let her figure it all out without me mentioning any names. She's good at translating everything I say, which is useful when it's not her way of working out whether I've done any of my homework...which I haven't, I should really go do that now; Flitwick wanted the Charms essay in tomorrow.

Night,

Harry

~

'Envy according to the aspect of its object is contrary to charity, whence the soul derives its spiritual life... Charity rejoices in our neighbour's good, while envy grieves over it.'

~ Thomas Aquinas, Medieval theologian

TBC...