Happiness Is an Angry Weasley

The rest of the day seemed to pass slower than Crabbe's mental processes. When dinner finally arrived, I was too nervous and excited to eat. Although I didn't really like Weasley that much, the thought of contact with another male left me feeling rather excited. Not "excited", mind you, but just with a huge swarm of butterflies beating their wings within the confines of my stomach. Somehow, my dim-witted companions noticed the lack of consumption.

"Gonna eat that?" Goyle asked, pointing at the slice of turkey on my plate. I shook my head and went into a slight daze until I was interrupted just a few minutes later.

"How 'bout that?" Crabbe inquired, already stabbing the potato lying on my plate. I motioned for him to continue taking it and tried to continue pondering my plan until I was interrupted yet again.

"And tha-..."

Before they could ask, I pushed my plate towards them, took a last swig of pumpkin juice, and stomped out of the Great Hall. Honestly, what kind of friends are they? I'm obviously bothered, and all they care about is whether or not they can have my food. Idiots.

I headed towards the Transfiguration classroom, not caring whether or not I arrived early for the detention. I was ready to get this over with, but at the same time couldn't wait to spend the extra time with Weasley. It had only been this morning that I decided he would be my victim... I mean... the object of my affection, but already I was quite attached to the idea of having him around. I mean, he must be good company. Why else would Potter and Granger have kept him around so long? I know it isn't for his money.

When I entered the room, I saw Weasley already off in the corner looking into a dark, dusty cabinet. I groaned loudly and was about to turn around and leave, realizing now that my plan wouldn't be furthered too much if I was in a bad mood from working all evening, until a hand came down upon my shoulder.

"Looking to start the detention early too, Mr. Malfoy?"

I looked up at the old witch and, with a voice dripping with sarcasm, replied, "I couldn't think of a better way to spend my evening, thank you, Professor." She smiled at me and patted my shoulder, before pointing towards the corner that Weasley stood in.

"The two of you are to do inventory on the supplies in the cabinets. Mr. Weasley already has the list of things that should be there. You are to re-write and update the list, dust the shelves, organize things alphabetically, and get rid of things that are defective. Understood?" I nodded mutely, and was then pushed into the room. As the door closed behind me, the old hag added, "You may leave when you are finished, or at midnight, whichever comes first."

As soon as the door was closed and the footsteps of Professor McGonagall faded, Weasley turned on me, quill in hand. "This is all your fault, you prat," he declared. I shrugged and picked up the parchment on the desk behind him. It was the inventory list. I noted with a distinct lack of enthusiasm that the list was at least three feet long. I groaned again and threw the paper down.

"This is cruel and unusual," I said. Weasley rolled his eyes and went back to peering into the cupboard hesitantly.

"Just get to work. We can finish this and be done with each other. No need to spend extra time together," he muttered. I stared at the back of his head and wondered if that was how he really felt. Oh well. The real question for that is... do I care?

The answer?

No.

So, it's safe to say that I was determined to spend as much time with Weasley as possible.

I wrote slowly, dropped things, dusted badly so he had to re-do it for me, and pretended to forget my alphabet.

"Now... does 'G' come before or after 'F'?" I asked innocently. I jumped as the fiery redhead next to me slammed the cupboard door shut.

"Malfoy! Are you really that much of an idiot?" he bellowed. I shrugged and held up the model of a griffin that was in my right hand, and the bag of feathers that was in my left. He walked over, grabbed them, and put them on the shelf with the feathers before the griffin. "Does that answer your question?" he asked.

Seeming to ponder for a moment, I scratched my chin and said, "Are we alphabetizing from left to right or right to left?" Before I knew what was happening, I was pinned to the ground by a very angry Gryffindor.

I caught his first punch, but wasn't so lucky with the second. It caught me in the chin and left me seeing stars momentarily. I kept a good grip on the first fist and managed to grab the second as he tried to use it to wrench his other hand from my grip. "You bastard! Why won't you just get the work done and stop trying to bother me?" he yelled, struggling to get out of my grip.

I threw him off me and began rubbing my chin, using my other hand to point my wand at him. "Me the bastard? You're the one that attacked me while my back was turned!" He tried to get at me again, swinging his fists wildly, but I cast a quick "Petrificus totalus" his way. I stood over him, my wand aimed at the dead-center of his chest. "Look here, Weasley. I may put up with quite a bit, being a Slytherin and all, but one thing I will not tolerate is a punch to the face. No one punches a Malfoy in the face." I met his gaze evenly and stared daggers. I was very close to giving up the whole game when I heard him let out some sort of muffled noise. I removed the spell and was struck dumb. He couldn't be... but he was.

Weasley was laughing his arse off at me.

It was the whole shabang. He was clutching his sides and rolling back and forth on the floor in a fetal position. His entire face was red as he wheezed and laughed, trying to regain his breath. It was some sort of demonic laugh, that one only does when one is in private. The noise issuing from the redhead's mouth could only be described as a series of squeals and giggles.

I couldn't help myself. The corner of my mouth, which was previously hanging open in surprise, quirked up into a slight smile. With every heave of his chest, the corner moved up a tiny bit more. When he coughed from laughing too hard to breath, I let out a small "Ha!" myself. Somehow, without realizing what was happening, I began laughing as well.

I don't know if it was the way he was laughing, the fact that I was in shock at being punched in my gorgeous face, or realizing how silly I had sounded when I defended my face to him, but I was laughing harder than I ever had. I had to sit down from the guffaws wracking my entire body. I knew I sounded as ridiculous as my fellow prisoner.

It was probably a good five or ten minutes later when we had both regained composure. We each had our back turned on the other, neither of us wanting to admit the moment we had just shared. I had honestly never laughed like that before. Not with my family, not with my "friends", not even with that odd hobo that I met once when I was hiding from my father in Knockturn Alley. Finally, feeling it was my duty as the instigator of the whole situation, I turned and looked at him.

I only caught the profile of his face, but the way the light hit it and caused the shadows to form in just the right places and angles, I knew for sure I hadn't given up on him as my vi-I mean, the object of my affection. Perhaps I'd even enjoy the whole fiasco, if he cooperated. I was just about to say something, anything to break the silence, when he turned to face me. What happened next was probably the most unexpected thing of the night.

McGonagall opened the door.

I never found out what he was going to say, but I did manage to scribble out a note while McGonagall told us off for sitting on the job, and slip it to him before we left. It simply read, "I hope you don't normally shriek like that in public," but I felt it got the message across.

Somehow... I think I may be developing a real interest in Weasley. That was not part of the plan.