Love, and Other Things That Hurt

Chapter Nine

When Ginny entered the Great Hall for dinner, it was in trepidation of what she would find. It had only begun to occur to her in History of Magic that Neville might have been so desperate to win Linnéa over that he had gone so far as to use a love potion. It was really the only explanation that she could come up with for Linnéa's abrupt change in behavior. She therefore wasn't at all surprised when she approached the Gryffindor table and found Neville and Linnéa intertwined in each other's arms and cooing at each other.

"Hey, baby," Harlow greeted Ginny as the latter dropped down on the bench. Harlow's eyes followed Ginny's, which were still on the unlikely pair across from them, and she grinned. "Weird, right?" she muttered so that Neville and Linnéa couldn't hear. "I couldn't get a sane word out of either of them, so I gave up. They haven't eaten a thing, just gazed into each other's eyes." Harlow rolled her eyes, but Ginny could tell she was amused by the situation and, it seemed, far less perplexed than she herself was.

"Hi, Ginny!" Linnéa said brightly, tearing her eyes away from Neville to beam at Ginny. "How was your morning?"

"Astonishing," Ginny said vaguely. Her eyes were narrowed in suspicion as they focused on Neville who was gazing up at Linnéa as though he couldn't believe his luck. "Are you feeling OK, sweetie?"

Harlow elbowed Ginny hard in the side, obviously disapproving of this lack of tact, but Linnéa seemed blissfully unaware of the true nature of the question.

"I feel wonderful," Linnéa said earnestly, running her fingers through Neville's slicked-down dark hair. He responded with a little sigh, appearing to be positively faint with adoration for her, and a few seconds later they had begun snogging, and Ginny turned away in defeat.

"What is your problem?" Harlow whispered in Ginny's ear as she passed her the baked potatoes. "You're not implying that it's illness that has caused Linnéa to finally fall in love with Neville, are you?"

"Of course not," Ginny said in a dignified voice as she rummaged in her schoolbag for the oral antidote Madam Pomfrey had given her. "I'm implying that Neville has her drugged."

Harlow looked at her in disbelief. "Gin, you're not serious."

"Of course I am!" Ginny said stubbornly in an undertone. "Oh, come on, Harlow, you can't honestly think that hearing 'You Are So Beautiful' sung off-key in front of five hundred people is what made Linnéa finally realize her feelings for Neville, do you?"

Harlow shrugged. "I don't really know, to be honest," she said, with a glance at the pair across the table before lowering her voice. "But what I do know is that no matter what the reason, it's great that those two are together now. They belong together, Ginevra, you can't deny that. And really, when is love ever a bad thing?"

Ginny stared at her for a long moment before remembering to look away.

"Besides," Harlow said, sipping on her pumpkin juice and smiling wickedly at Ginny over the top of her goblet. "Now that we know that persistence pays off, maybe Colin will get a shot with you soon."

Ginny rolled her eyes.

Dinner seemed to take hours to finish. When people began rising from their seats and the sounds of comfortable chatter were met with the scraping of benches on floors, Ginny ducked under the table and seized Neville's wrist.

"Can I talk to you for a moment, Neville?" she asked in a falsely cheery tone, her eyes flashing dangerously. He didn't even seem to notice the menace.

"Sure," Neville said happily, looking dazedly at Linnéa. "I'll see you in the common room, OK?"

"Right," Linnéa said, a dreamlike smile on her face as she followed Harlow away, glancing over her shoulder at Neville ever once in awhile. Ginny registered this exchange with disbelief and exasperation and pulled Neville away from the milling crowd of people making their way to the doors.

"What's up, Gin?" Neville said cheerfully, looking politely surprised at her request to speak to him. Ginny eyed him suspiciously for a few moments as though to make sure that he was sincerely oblivious of the reason she had called him aside.

"Where to begin?" Ginny said, crossing her arms against her chest. "Firstly . . . Neville, what on earth ever possessed you to pull a stunt like you did at lunchtime?"

To her relief, Neville looked properly abashed; she had started to grow concerned that perhaps both Neville and Linnéa were under enchantments that made them blissfully unaware of what was and was not socially acceptable. "That's what I was trying to talk to you about at breakfast," he said sheepishly. "I - I woke up this morning and it was as though the idea had formed in my dreams. And it - it just felt right." He looked intently at Ginny. "You told me to trust my instincts, and my instincts told me to make Linnéa know she was loved."

"I never told you to trust your instincts!" Ginny said, outraged. "I told you to be subtle and charming and suave and to never, ever do anything rash!"

Neville's face was set. "Well, maybe you did," he said coolly, his voice defensive. "But your way wasn't working, was it? And it looks like mine did."

This caught Ginny temporarily off guard, but she regained her flow quickly. "Maybe it did," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Or maybe it didn't. Neville . . . just how far would you go to get Linnéa?"

Neville looked taken aback. "What do you mean?" he asked, frowning. "I've already got her, haven't I?"

"That's not what I mean," Ginny said. Her tone was careful . . . she didn't want to seem like she was making an accusation, even though she was. "How desperate were you to win Linnéa over, Neville? Was it desperate enough to do something drastic?"

Neville seemed to understand. He looked at Ginny with an uncharacteristically angry look on his face. "If you think I used some - some spell to get Linnea to love me," he said heatedly, turning rather pink, "then you're wrong!"

"Am I?" Ginny shot back, unable to contain her disdain. "Neville, let's be serious. Linnéa has had absolutely no interest in you since our first year. Are you telling me that your little performance turned that all around?"

"Yes, I am!" Neville said indignantly. He looked both angry and hurt, and Ginny found herself feeling slightly guilty despite herself. "Just because you don't believe in me doesn't mean that I don't believe in myself. And it paid off, didn't it? You'll see! Linnéa and I will be together forever and you're going to be sorry!"

"Oh, Neville," Ginny said, feeling both ashamed of herself and infuriated. "Of course I believe in you. I always knew that you could -"

"Don't lie," Neville snapped, interrupting her. "I know that you don't think I'm good enough for Linnéa. But do you know what? I am! And I don't care what you think." He turned on his heel and began stalking away.

"Neville, come on," Ginny said, hurrying after him. "I'm sorry, alright? Don't be angry with me. It's just -"

But Neville had already disappeared into a large group of dinner stragglers and by the time Ginny emerged into the Entrance Hall, he had disappeared.

Ginny stood alone in the middle of the marble floor, her eyes closed. She felt sick with herself. After all, what proof did she have that Linnéa didn't indeed fall head over heels in love with Neville after his first brave act of love? Was it so unlikely that beautiful, refined Linnéa could fall in love with round-faced, forgetful Neville that spellwork had to be the reason for it?

Ginny didn't go to the common room; she wasn't in the mood to talk to any of her friends, not even Hermione. Her plan was to pace the corridors until curfew, but it only took ten minutes for her absently wandering feet to lead her to the entrance to the Room of Requirement. She stared at the all-too familiar tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy for long minute before she willed the door to appear. When it did she took hold of the handle and slipped into the huge dimly lit chamber that she knew so well.

Ginny fully expected to have to wait there alone for hours. She had just propped open her Charms book against the headboard and laid down on the bed on her stomach to do some much-needed studying when the door creaked open and Draco strode in.

"Hi," Ginny said, sitting up in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Escaping society," Draco responded, looking equally as surprised to see her. "How was dinner? Did you uncover the mystery of the suddenly requited love yet?"

"Apparently I'm too insensitive to comprehend the fact that it was Neville's natural charm that won her over," Ginny said petulantly, idly flipping a page as Draco came over and stretched across his half of the bed. "I hazarded a guess that he had used a love potion, and you should have seen the look on his face. It was as though I had just accused him of armed rape and torture."

When Draco didn't make a snide comment about it being more likely that Neville would be the one captured and violated in such ways, Ginny knew something was wrong. "What's going on?" she asked, closing the book and turning to look at him. "You look pissed off about something."

He shrugged. "I should just stop taking post," he muttered, laying his arm over his face. "It's not like it ever carries amorous tidings from my parents."

"What happened?" Ginny asked. "Was it your dad?"

Draco launched into a brief and abrupt description of the letter and what it contained. Ginny's mouth fell open. "He knows? But how could he know?"

"Fuck if I know," Draco said moodily. "I questioned Zabini, Nott, Goyle, and Crabbe separately and nobody is owning up to it."

"But how would they know in the first place?"

"That's the problem," Draco said angrily. "There is absolutely no way that any of them could know. If anyone, it would be Blaise, but I can tell when he's lying. Anyway, he doesn't have any reason to sell me out for it. It doesn't make sense because we would know if there was anyone in this school who knew besides us."

When Ginny didn't say anything for a long time, Draco looked at her. She had turned slightly red and was biting her lip.

"What?" he asked.

"Um," Ginny said, leaning forwards so that her fiery red hair curtained her face, concealing the fact that her cheeks were turning steadily redder. "Well, there is . . . one person who might have a . . . tiny . . . inkling?"

There was a long moment of silence. "Jesus fucking Christ," Draco said, sitting bolt upright and turning to face her. "Did you tell Decoulter?"

"No!" Ginny said defensively, her voice rising in pitch. "I didn't tell anyone! It's just . . . well, Hermione figured it out."

"GRANGER?" Draco said loudly, and Ginny's eyes darted nervously towards the door. "Granger knows that we're sleeping together?"

"Oh, come on, it doesn't matter!" Ginny said, crossing her arms and frowning. "She's known for ages now and she hasn't told anybody."

"Ages?" Draco growled, his entire body rigid with fury. "You told her ages ago?"

"I already said, I didn't tell her!" Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "Will you get a grip? Filch could probably hear you if he walked by right now."

"Well, maybe we should just let him in on the secret," Draco snarled. "It's not that big of a deal, right?"

They both sat there staring at each other for several minutes, Draco's chest heaving and Ginny's eyes wide with shock and resolve. Finally, when Draco's breathing had slowed considerably and some of the color that had risen to his face had drained, Ginny spoke.

"I didn't tell you because I knew you'd react like this," she said coldly, opening her Charms book again and setting it on her lap, no longer looking at Draco. "I knew it wouldn't be an issue, but you manage to blow everything out of proportion."

"You're calling me a drama queen?" Draco said, almost speechless with indignation now. "You bawl your face off over everything and I blow things out of proportion?"

Ginny chose to ignore that very valid comment and plowed on. "We had decided not to tell our friends, an agreement that both of us have complied with. It's not my fault that Hermione found out, but even if I had told her - which I didn't - it wouldn't matter anyway because Hermione is the one person on the planet who wouldn't judge me for being with you."

"Well that's touching," Draco snapped. "But what you don't seem to realize is that if Granger is the only one who knows besides us, she obviously wrote the damn letter, didn't she?"

"That's ridiculous," Ginny said coolly. "Hermione would never interfere like that. And anyway, the person who did write the letter clearly doesn't know who you're sleeping with, or they would have mentioned it. What would be the point not to?"

Draco was still glaring at nothing in particular, and Ginny knew that she had achieved a small victory. The minutes ticked by with Ginny's eyes stubbornly fixed on one page of her Charms book and Draco's eyes on the ceiling. Finally, Ginny grew tired of the heavy silence.

She pushed her book to the floor and crawled over to Draco. While he lay motionless, she trailed her hand from his thigh up to his chest, leaning in to kiss him. His eyes moved slowly onto her as she took his hand in hers and guided it under her shirt to the silky flesh there.

"Look at me," she whispered, dragging her fingernails gently along the fly of his trousers, and he inhaled sharply from the sensation. Ginny closed her eyes and remembered every time with Michael, all the times with Dean when she had been angry with him, or tired, or just not in the mood, those times when she had been a million miles away but still managed to give them what they wanted. Draco wanted sex from her - according to him, it was all he wanted - and he was going to get it. But just as she began undoing his trouser zip, he moved her hand away and pulled away from her.

"You looked tired," he said shortly, slipping out of his shirt and not looking at her. "You should get some sleep."

Ginny watched him turn onto his side and fall silent, still kneeling next to him with her shirt disheveled and her eyes overbright, staring at his back. After awhile, she slid under her side of the blankets and extinguished the lamps with a wave of her hand.

Time dragged on slowly, and despite the fact that he didn't move or make another sound after turning away from her, Ginny lay with her eyes open, waiting for him to tell her he was just kidding and to kiss her in his way that made firecrackers go off inside her stomach and make warmth slide over her heart.

But he didn't.

Hours passed, silent hours in which Ginny's emotions went from being desperate and hurt to angry to guilty to sad as she lay awake. Just when she was wondering if he was still awake too, she felt her eyes slide close and she was dreaming.

-

The next morning, Draco and Ginny awoke simultaneously, and although neither brought up the events (or lack thereof) of the previous night, they were extremely short tempered with each other.

"You know," Ginny commented icily as Draco pulled his shirt on and began doing up the buttons. "It isn't very courteous to sprawl across the bed for half the night when you're sleeping with someone else."

"I really don't know how you would notice," Draco responded flatly, stretching his arms and pocketing his wand before locating his shoes. "Seeing as you were out cold before I was and snoring like a boarhound for half the night."

"I do not snore!" Ginny said shrilly in a scandalized voice.

"Tell that to my insomnia," Draco said darkly, and Ginny mouthed soundlessly at him.

They both finished getting ready in silence.

"I do not snore," Ginny muttered, and Draco half-smirked.

"Whatever, Weasley," he said, starting for the door. "See you."

"Oh, come on," Ginny said, annoyed, following him. "You're not even going to kiss me goodbye?"

"For God's sake," Draco said, losing patience and turning towards her.

"Don't bother," Ginny said, pushing his arms away and scowling at him. "I don't need your pity affection."

She shoved past him and slammed the door in his face.

"Good morning, sunshine," Harlow trilled twenty minutes later as Ginny slid into Transfiguration, early for once. "Don't you look chipper!"

"Good morning," Ginny said, smiling half-sincerely. "How was Linnéa this morning?"

"Radiant," Harlow said in an exaggeratedly dreamy voice. "Still typical Linnéa; doesn't kiss and tell, but she doesn't have to. She has it bad for that boy, Gin."

"Mmmm." Ginny leaned her head on her hand and sighed inaudibly.

"You look terrible," Harlow commented as people began trickling into the class right before the bell. "Still not sleeping well?"

"I'm sleeping fine," Ginny said, rubbing her temples. "I'm just still so nauseous, even with the antidote Madam Pomfrey gave me. My head hurts all the time and I'm dizzy."

"PMS, then?" Harlow suggested, and Ginny shrugged.

"Must be," she said. Of course, PMS lasting several weeks would only happen to her.

When Linnéa sashayed into the class and came to sit next to them, Ginny was distracted by her physical condition as she found herself focusing on every little thing Linnéa did. Ginny threw Neville's name experimentally into their whispered conversation and watched Linnéa's bluebonnet eyes light up from behind, watched roses appear in her porcelain cheeks, a smile slide slowly across her face.

"Elle, can I ask you something?" Ginny asked Linnéa in an undertone as Professor McGonagall strode into the classroom and began berating people in the front row who had their heads in their arms and seemed to be trying to have a morning nap.

"Of course," Linnéa said, smiling.

Ginny bit her lip, trying to figure out how to phrase the question tactfully. "Why - why Neville?" she said, and when she realized how that sounded, she quickly added, "I mean, why now? He's been in love with you since our first year. What is it that made you suddenly fall for him yesterday after you've been spurning his advances for years?"

Linnéa didn't look taken aback by this question; she seemed to be pondering her answer. "I don't know," she said finally, her eyes alight and her face full of genuine contentment. "I don't know exactly what it was, Gin. When I saw him standing up there at lunchtime and he said my name, I was completely embarrassed, you know? He just looked so silly." She smiled and shook her head. "But when he pulled me up there, and he just started singing his heart out, no holding back, it just . . . hit me. I just couldn't believe that he was going so far out on a limb, to stand there in front of all those people and tell me that he thought - thinks - I'm beautiful."

Harlow was listening too, watching Linnéa with a vague smile during the retelling.

"I've always liked Neville, you know, as a friend," Linnéa continued, shrugging. "And maybe a little more than that. But it's been hard for me to comprehend how to be in a relationship, how to give myself over to someone. I've never really known how to fall in love. And I guess . . . just seeing him like that yesterday, it made me realize that you don't need to know how to fall in love." She beamed at Harlow and Ginny. "The love teaches you as soon as you let it find you."

"Wow," Harlow breathed, looking impressed and uncharacteristically wistful. "I guess love will always find a way."

Linnéa merely smiled wider. "Does that answer your question, Ginny?"

Ginny nodded miserably. She felt sick and stupid. All that 'advice' she had given to Neville, and it turned out doing the exact opposite of what she had told him had served him best. She felt like a failure, as though everything she had thought she knew had gone out the window. Ginny had always known she wasn't exactly the queen of functional relationships, but how was it that things got to just magically work out for Neville when she, Ginny, had spent the past ten months pouring her mind, body and soul into a relationship that had gone right back to where it started and didn't seem like it was going anywhere anytime soon?

"Speaking of true love that's meant to be," Harlow said, in a whisper so that Professor McGonagall, who was prowling the classroom and picking up everyone's essays, couldn't hear. "I detected a lot of tension between Ron and Hermione at breakfast today."

Ginny was, despite her preoccupations, intrigued. "What kind of tension?"

Harlow gave a little smirk. "Tension of a sexual nature, if you know what I mean."

Linnéa let out a muffled giggle from behind her hands. "Harlow! Don't be silly. You detected no such thing."

"Suit yourself," Harlow said with a shrug. "I'm telling you, those two are finally waking up and smelling the pheromones. And it's about time."

"I would love to have 'Mi for a sister-in-law," Ginny mused. "Better her than Lavender, the brainless slut."

"Oh, come on, Gin," Harlow said with a grin. "Everyone knows she and your brother never even got to third base."

"What's third base?" Linnéa asked earnestly.

Before either of the other two could answer, Professor McGonagall swept over to their table and they all fell silent very quickly.

"See you in Charms," Harlow called to Ginny when the bell rang and everyone headed for the door. "But you should skive off if you're not feeling well."

Ginny waved and started towards Gryffindor tower for her free period. Maybe skiving off for the rest of the day wouldn't be such a bad idea. The only good thing about today was that it was Friday, after all.

Panic briefly flooded her as she realized that the next day was Saturday. She had to get well today . . . tomorrow she was flying against Slytherin in the Quidditch house championship. And if there was one thing she refused ever to surrender to Draco Malfoy, it was bragging rights.

-

"G'day, mate," Blaise said to Draco as they met in front of first period Potions. "Sleep well?"

"That attempt at an Australian accent is atrocious," Draco said by way of greeting. "And what the fuck did you do to your hair?"

Blaise's dark wavy hair, usually sleek and effortless, had been spiked into a hairstyle that looked as though he was auditioning to become a member of the Weird Sisters. "It's called punk," he said unabashedly. "By the way, Ally was asking for you at breakfast."

"Ally?" Draco repeated blankly.

"Yeah . . . well, that's what Alyssa said to call her," Blaise said, looking slightly embarrassed. "Anyway, she was wondering where you were." He winked. "She's got it bad for you, Draco."

"Great," Draco said, shifting his eyes up to the ceiling. "I suppose the fact that I'm not interested hasn't been made clear enough yet."

Blaise shook his head in disbelief. "I don't get it, mate," he said as they followed their classmates into the dimly lit dungeon and sat down at a table near the back. "She's hot shit. How could you not be interested? She seems like the type who would do just about anything -" He smirked. "- if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I'm well aware," Draco said moodily. "I guess it hasn't occurred to you - any of you - that maybe 'doable' isn't the only prerequisite I have when it comes to being attracted to a girl?"

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "It isn't?"

Draco shook his head in bewilderment. "I'm shallow, Zabini, but not that shallow," he said. "Give me a little credit."

Blaise grinned. "I stand by what I said before," he said. "I think you're already with someone."

"Don't you think someone would have noticed by now?" Draco snapped. "I'm obviously not interested in Parkinson or that Australian one. So who exactly am I with?"

Blaise seemed to be considering this. "I bet it's a Ravenclaw," he declared finally. "They're not bad looking, especially the Asians."

Draco exhaled sharply through his nose. "Forget it."

Blaise chuckled and leaned forward slightly as Snape began writing instructions on the board. "Listen, man," he said. "I already told you - I'm not buying that there's no girl in the picture. You can deny it all you want, but I know. Is it a Mudblood? Is that why you're not telling anyone?"

"What are you talking about?" Draco said edgily, wishing it wasn't so obvious that he was stalling. "I am not with a Mu -"

"- and Mr. Malfoy undoubtedly would like to recite the relevant use of dragon's blood in today's potion," Snape said loudly, his voice carrying all the way from the front of the class as he set his eyes on Draco.

The class turned to look at him.

"Dragon's blood isn't used in the Draught of Salvation, Professor," Draco said, his face deadpan.

Snape looked slightly disappointed, but turned away without further comment and resumed his address of the class.

"You are one lucky little shit," Blaise murmured to Draco, looking amused. "OK, OK, let me guess. If I guess right, will you tell me?"

"Why do you care?" Draco snapped. "Honestly, Zabini, mind your own damn business."

"You know, I always had a hunch that you had a thing for Daphne Greengrass," Blaise said thoughtfully. "She has a nice ass. Hufflepuff, though. What are your feelings on Hufflepuffs?"

Draco didn't respond. Now that Blaise was throwing out names, he reasoned that it would be safer to simply withdraw his participation from the conversation.

"Or Loony Lovegood!" Blaise said, snickering into his palm. "Oh, that would be hysterical."

Draco made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat.

Throughout the rest of the lesson as they concocted their Draught of Salvation, Blaise would pipe up with another name, and Draco would ignore him. Blaise didn't seem to be getting discouraged, however. He had just worked his way steadily through a list of brunette Slytherin fourth years when he paused, so suddenly that Draco glanced up at him.

"It's a Gryffindor, isn't it?" Blaise said slyly, and Draco clamped his teeth together and didn't respond. Unfortunately, Blaise took this as assent.

"Well, that narrows it down," he said with satisfaction, and ignored Draco's splutter of protest. "It must be Harmony Barlow then. I knew it! Nott even said -"

"No," Draco growled. He didn't like the road Blaise was traveling down at all. "You might as well stop now, Zabini, because I'm not even going to continue acknowledging this bullshit."

"Or Granger!" Blaise continued maliciously, throwing his head back and letting out a snort. "The Mudblood of all Mudbloods. Or the Decoulter girl, that Irish one. Or the whore who dated Weasley, Lavender whatever-her-name-is. Or -"

Blaise froze and Draco's insides turned to ice. He willed himself not to look over at Blaise and keep shelling his salamander eggs, but his heart was slamming against his chest like a Bludger.

"No way," Blaise said in a hushed voice, and Draco gritted his teeth, his feigned deafness made difficult by the fact that his grip on his silver knife was shaking. "Not the Weasley girl!"

Draco scowled down at the simmering potion in his cauldron, hoping that his expression of disgust would serve to disprove Blaise's theory. No such luck.

"It is! It is!" Blaise hissed in a shocked undertone, seizing Draco's shoulder and shaking it. "Jesus fucking Christ -"

"Is there a problem, Mr. Zabini?" Snape asked as he passed, looking down his greasy hooked nose at Blaise.

"No problem, Professor."

Snape drifted away. Draco, whose knuckles were turning white on the handle of his ladle with which he was stirring his draught, could not even bring himself to look at Zabini. He could feel heat positively radiating from his face as more and more blood rushed to his pale cheeks.

"You're nailing Weasley?" Blaise said in a hushed voice. "Oh my fuck!"

"'Oh my fuck'?" Draco said, finding his voice at last and staring at Blaise. "Really? That's the best you have? 'Oh my fuck'?"

"Don't change the subject!" Blaise said brusquely, brushing this aside. "Draco, look at me. Look at me! How long has this been going on?"

For a few moments, Draco didn't answer. However, he didn't feel as though there was any real way to get around this without flat-out lying, and it probably wouldn't matter anyway. Blaise could sometimes be a remarkably oblivious individual, but he also had a knack for knowing when Draco wasn't being entirely truthful. As though the words pained him a great deal, Draco said slowly, through gritted teeth, "Almost ten months."

Blaise sat back in his seat and stared at him. "Merlin's sodding pants," he said, shaking his head back and forth in disbelief. "Weasley. Weasley!"

"Will you keep your voice down!" Draco hissed, hitting him on the knee and looking around quickly. "How the bloody hell did you know, anyway?"

"Just the look on your face when I mentioned her brother," Blaise said, the expression on his face still stunned, as though he couldn't quite believe the scandal he had uncovered. "And then when I called you out for it, it was too obvious. But bloody fucking fuck -"

"Oh, get a grip," Draco snarled, losing patience and dropping his ladle into the cauldron with a splash. "I don't see what the big deal is. It's not like I married her."

"So how does this work, anyway?" Blaise said, lowering his voice again so that nobody around them could hear. "You fuck her a few days a week in exchange for what?"

"What?" Draco snapped. "There is no exchange. It's sex. It's mutually gratifying."

"Oh." Blaise appeared to be thinking this over. "So she's good, then?"

Draco was considering telling him to mind his own damn business, but Blaise held a timebomb here and they both knew it. Blaise held all the power now; he could quite easily let the secret slip whenever (and to whomever) he felt like. "Let's just say," Draco said, tapping the flames underneath his cauldron with his wand, and speaking with difficulty, as his jaw was clenched, "that it's been worth ten months of little to no sleep and the knowledge that if anyone were to find out, I'd be a dead man."

"Well, c'mon, mate, details!" Blaise urged, nudging him and grinning. "I have to live vicariously through your sexcapades, after all. I haven't had sex since that Hogsmeade weekend in October when I convinced Ava Golden to steal all that Firewhiskey from the Hog's Head and to meet me in the astronomy tower." He paused, obviously reliving the pleasant memory.

"What do you mean?" Draco said, looking over at him with barely concealed surprise. "You . . . I mean, well - it's Weasley."

Blaise nodded. "And?"

"She's a - a blood traitor."

Blaise waved this aside. "Oh, that," he said, sniggering. "Well, yeah, I'll always give you a hard time for that. But, mate, she's hot. Smoking hot, really. And the blood is pure, even if it is a little dirty, so no big deal." He yawned, leaning back on his chair legs and looking at Draco, who was eyeing him suspiciously.

"If you tell anyone," Draco said, his voice calm, "I will castrate you with a blunt knife and feed your remains to Hagrid's dog."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Blaise said with a chuckle. "Listen, man, I would probably bang Weasley myself, given the chance, despite what I may or may not have said in the past, so I've got your back."

Despite the fact that he was already regretting divulging the information to Blaise, he couldn't help but trust him. For all intents and purposes, Blaise was his best friend after all, and he wasn't conniving and underhanded like some of Draco's other 'friends' had a tendency to be. If he was going to betray Draco, he wouldn't claim to be trustworthy. Neither of them had the patience to be anything but upfront; that was probably why they got along.

"You really don't care?" Draco asked before he could stop himself.

"That it's Weasley, or that you've kept it from your best mate all this time?" Blaise asked, grinning.

Draco rolled his eyes. "The former."

Blaise shrugged. "Honestly, man. You need to stop worrying so much about what people think of you. Hell, why d'you have to be so secretive about the whole thing anyway?"

Draco looked at him in disbelief. "Do you understand what people would say if they knew? Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, not to mention my father." The thought of this made him feel slightly nauseated. "We're from two different planets, mate. Her family wouldn't be too much happier about it either, I'm guessing."

"But if it's just sex," Blaise reasoned brightly, "why does it matter?"

"Yeah, I'm sure all six of her brothers would feel much more comfortable with the fact that I'm with their baby sister if assured that I'm merely using her for the sex," Draco said sarcastically.

Blaise sighed. "Fair enough," he said. "My lips are sealed, Draco."

Despite this claim, and the fact that Draco more or less believed it, he couldn't help glancing around every few moments for the rest of the lesson, paranoia telling him that all of his classmates had overheard the conversation and were now plotting how best to divulge the fact that Draco Malfoy was engaged in a relationship with a Gryffindor blood traitor. When the double period finally ended, Draco packed his things away with relief and swiftly left the chamber, Blaise on his heels.

"So, are you going to introduce me?" Blaise asked brightly as they started down to the Slytherin dormitories to get their books for Transfiguration.

"No," Draco said flatly. "What do you think this is? As far as everyone is concerned, you don't even know about this."

"That's no fun, mate," Blaise, said, but he slapped him on the back. "Suit yourself though."

"Draco! Draco!"

Both Draco and Blaise turned. Pansy Parkinson was sauntering along the corridor behind them, smiling widely at Draco.

"Hi," Draco said stiffly, before turning around again and continuing to walk in the direction of the common room. Pansy, however, caught up in a matter of seconds and turned her yellow-brown eyes on Blaise. "Could you excuse us for a moment, please?"

Blaise shrugged, smirking, and gave Draco a significant look before heading down the corridor alone. Draco reluctantly looked over at Pansy. "What do you want?" he said, slightly more rudely than the situation called for.

Pansy smiled widely at him. "I don't know if you've heard," she said, matter-of-factly. "But Theodore and I are dating now."

"Mazel tov," Draco said with a straight face. "And you're telling me this, why?"

Pansy gave him a significant look, her pug-like nose upturned with what Draco assumed was disdain. "I was just letting you know," she said coolly. "I wasn't sure how you would feel about it."

"I have absolutely zero feelings," Draco said, completely honestly.

Pansy surveyed him for a moment. "Well, yes," she said softly, eyeing him with a half-smile that unnerved Draco for some reason. "I suppose you're so preoccupied with - this and that, that you don't have time for anything else."

Draco glared at her. "Meaning what?"

She shrugged, her eyes widening innocently. "Oh, I don't know," she said sweetly. "It must be difficulty to keep up with what's going on when you're sooo busy day and night."

Before Draco could even open his mouth, she continued. "You know," Pansy said sleekly. "Slipping out of your dormitory in the middle of the night. Wandering the corridors. Disappearing behind . . . tapestries." She lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug. "It's a good thing nobody has noticed," she continued, a malicious glint in her eyes. "They might think you're doing something you shouldn't be." She paused, and then added as an afterthought, "or . . . someone?"

Draco's voice didn't seem to be working. He opened and closed it several times, but before he could find it again, Pansy had given him one last sardonic smile and had turned on her heel and disappeared around the corner in the opposite direction.

He stood there for several minutes, staring after her, his mouth still hanging half open as her words revisited him over and over again.

Oh my fuck.