Happiness Is an Angry Weasley

Weasley and I continued to meet in secret for the next week. A quick snog in that broom closet Filch caught us in, a little playful insulting in Charms and Transfiguration, and once we even stayed up half the night when we had classes the next day just to sit next to a big window somewhere near the Divinations classroom that we found while "patrolling."

It was overall going fairly well. We acted as we had before, I'd insult him and he'd turn red and say, "Fuck off, Malfoy" and then we'd snog and it'd be over with.

I knew that since I was finally really happy with a relationship, something bad was bound to happen.

I knew exactly what when a rather large silvery grey owl flew through the window into the Great Hall on the morning before everyone left for Easter break.

"Shit," I said. Pansy looked at me curiously, almost too curiously, and asked what was wrong for me to use such grotesque language. Only she didn't use the word grotesque. I'm not even sure she'd know what it means.

"It's my father's owl. He doesn't write to me unless he's angry," I explained.

"Oh," she said airily, and I just shrugged it off as her being a twit.

I ate quickly and left for my room, holding the dreaded letter tightly. Ron must have sensed that something was wrong because I heard him call my name when I was halfway down the stairs towards the dungeons.

"What's up?" he asked, a little winded after having to run to catch up with me.

I held up the letter and said, "It's from my father." His eyes widened to the size of Quaffles.

"You don't think he knows, do you?" he asked. I shrugged.

"I have no idea how he would. Who knows besides you and me?"

He was quiet for a second too long. "Weasley, who else knows?"

His ears were red. Damn. Who did he tell? "Just Hermione," he said. I sighed in relief. Granger was smart. She wouldn't go spreading it around to anyone who might tell my father. "And I want to tell Harry," he added.

No. Potter enjoyed attention too much to be able to deal with such a secret. "Not Potter," I said. He narrowed his eyes and asked, "Why not?"

"Because I don't trust Potter yet," I said.

"I do. With my life."

I shrugged it off and turned to walk away, calling over my shoulder, "Do what you want. He's your bloody friend. Good luck."

That was the wrong thing to say. Why can't I control my tendency to be an arse?

"Shut up, Malfoy. He'll accept me, even if I told him I... if I told him I wanted to be a girl and move to Sweden."

I laughed and turned to face him. So he isn't as angry as I thought. "Whatever," I said, and walked back to him and ran a finger down his jaw-line. "If you trust him then... well, I still don't trust him. But I suppose I can always blame you if it gets out."

He laughed slightly and placed a quick kiss on my forehead. "Want me to be around when you read the letter?" he asked.

I looked down at the now crumpled letter in my hand. Did I? If it were bad, I might need Weasley to comfort me.

I mean. I'd need someone to insult to make myself feel better.

That's what I meant.

Anyway, if it were nothing important, or something my father thinks is important but really isn't, then it wouldn't matter anyway and it might be an unnecessary chance that we could be caught by someone.

"That's alright. I'll tell you what it says later."

"Alright," he said. He squeezed my shoulder reassuringly which caused me to roll my eyes at him. He smirked at me, which he had picked up surprisingly quite well from me, and then turned to go the other way towards his friends. I sighed. I didn't know how Potter would react, but I hoped it wouldn't be in some sort of explosion that caused the school to wonder about the trio. If they started snooping about in their business, then everyone might find out about our secret.

I made it back to my room and opened up the letter apprehensively. It was more likely that I had done something wrong without realizing it than this being something seemingly unimportant. I read the letter quickly and sighed with relief.

It just said that he wanted me home for Easter break to meet some important people. This meant I had to lose time with Ron, but at least I wasn't in trouble.

-------------------------

The next day was spent packing things for the weekend. I packed quickly so that I could say goodbye to Ron in a secluded area before having to board the train, and probably packed less than I ever had for a break. He had decided to go home with his younger sister, Potter, and Granger since I wouldn't be there and his mum had invited them to spend Easter there, so I had made a fuss out of how he had better pack fast. If he was there before me, that would come back to haunt me and Malfoys are never proven wrong.

We met for just a few minutes in our usual broom closet (is the irony of the situation obvious to everyone else?) to do things that I thought were very girly such as hug and kiss as though we wouldn't see each other in years, when really we'd be back in just a couple of days.

He told me to write him if anything bad happened. I told him to write me if he became intelligent. We hugged again and left, going our separate ways.

We boarded the train separately, sat in separate compartments, and then exited the train without even acknowledging each others existence. It was quite sad, but having learned to keep my face neutral for my entire life helped me with that bit. I overheard Ron say something about just being anxious about getting to be home again for a bit.

I saw the glint of the sun reflecting off of the white-blonde hair that could only belong to someone from my family, and made my way through the crowd.

I was surprised to see my father, rather than looking apathetic to his surroundings, looking slightly flushed and with something hidden in his eyes. He wasn't looking at me, I realized, and noticed his gaze landing on something over my shoulder.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

Weasley.

He was looking at Weasley.

He turned his glare on me, and through gritted teeth told me to touch the Portkey in his hand. I knew I couldn't refuse, so I touched the cane he was holding out to me, knowing this wasn't going to be the relaxing break I had hoped for.