Divine Humiliation

Divine Humiliation

In this season of great endings also comes the season of great beginnings, for even if we are at the end of a journey we are at the foot of yet another great adventure...

Right, thought Draco as he placed a strong, bold line in the middle of the words he'd just written. As if I'm going to say that in public.

He was in the middle of creating his valedictory speech. Well... maybe middle was being a tad optimistic, because he was actually stuck at writing a catchy introduction. And being too busy with writing a grand start came the grand price of not advancing to anything grand beyond that..

He brought the tip of his quill into his mouth, biting it as he thought. Draco was in a common room that was devoid of any soul. Not that Slytherins had souls, but that was beside the point. He was working in the wee hours of the morning, making good use of the time his housemates were drooling on their beds while torturing some poor animal in their dreams. Draco yawned, his body reminding him that he wasn't used to being awake at such ungodly hours. Of course, he could've chosen to work in his bedroom but he felt that a short walk towards the dungeons could help him concentrate. Now though, it proved to be a useless exercise to do. Not that exercises were useful, but, again, beside the point. He focused on the fire crackling in front of him, and rummaged his brain for something interesting to keep him awake and working. Unfortunately, nothing of the sort was coming to mind.

The minutes were like invisible Quidditch players, each zooming past him with fever-inducing speed. Before he knew it, he'd been working on the damned speech for an hour already, and yet he still had to produce something with quality, something fitting to sprout off a Malfoy's mouth. Sighing irritably, he wrote anything that dared enter his brain.

As the world turns, and day becomes night

What was he doing, writing bloody fanfic?! Now is not the time! Stupid muse. Where were you when I was stuck in chapter five, huh?

Webster the Weird Wizard defined graduation as

... something that would guarantee the loss of interest of the audience for it's more likely that he'd put them to sleep faster than the most powerful sleeping potions could if he continued with this train and length of thought. Damn it, think! And with the proper use of conjunctions, please.

I, Draco Malfoy, modestly stand upon you today to humbly rub in your faces that I am the most intelligent wizard of our times. (Insert pointing and laughing maniacally here.)

No line there, for truth was beauty, beauty truth, wasn't it? Too bad he couldn't use this as a catchy attention grabbing line, no matter how catchy or attention grabbing it could be.

The inevitable had happened. He was suffering from writer's block! And it couldn't have happened in a less important time! Breathe. Think of all my favorite things. Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes.... snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes... ah, hell. Not working!

Defeated, he pursed his lips and searched for something to distract him from working on the bloody speech.

I bet, he thought, slapping his quill on the table and leaning lazily on his chair, that Granger's composed herself a boring and wordy speech. He grinned. Therefore, it falls upon my shoulders to keep everything light and interesting. I also have to draw (ergo, steal) the attention away from her and bring it all to me. Well, that certainly made the situation easier. Not that he was cocky, but who would want to focus on a Muggleborn when they could feast on a Malfoy? Finding some inspiration in this, he began to scribble:

Inside every individual is the potential to become the best he could be. That potential remains only an idea, a force, which is inactive and useless unless great work is done in order to stimulate it into motion. All of us (ladies and gentlemen) have that potential, and having stayed seven years in this school proved that we have indeed activated that force. What we have is not potential anymore. What we now have is skill, talent, honed to perfection and ready for execution.

Yes! Something worth saying in public! His quill poised to write yet another excellent paragraph in his brilliant composition.

With this said, it is only inevitable proper to say that all of us we... ... ... ... ... ...

... ... ... ...

... ... ...

... ...

...

"Damn it!" he swore, slamming his hand on the table. Why was it so bloody difficult to compose a bloody valedictory speech? What was so bloody hard on writing a bloody piece that would show off his ingenuity and greatness and all-around excellence? He was a Malfoy. Showing off was supposed to be his greatest talent. So what the bloody bleeding hell was wrong with him?

Inspiration. Must have some bloody inspiration... yes, brain. Time to think.

A delightful idea dawned on him (thank you brain!). His brows drew together as he recaptured the events that happened yesterday... an evil, predatory smile appeared on his face, and Draco did his version of an evil, predatory cackle. Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at it, his impression coming off as more of a wheeze than a laugh. He tried again. Same result. Oh, well. Contrary to popular (ergo, his) belief, he wasn't perfect.

I wonder... he thought as he nibbled on his quill again. Did she keep them? Or did she throw them away? Not that he particularly cared if Granger did, but it'd be pretty stupid of her to throw jewelry away. Sure, the necklace was something he stole from his mother, but the earrings and ring weren't exactly a bargain. They probably cost more than the worth of Potter's scar, if his head was sawed off (preferably when he was still alive) and his skin harvested and sold to an auction. Hmm, pretty mental picture. He shook his head, dismissing the pretty thought. Draco grabbed his quill and wrote:

I will NOT search through her garbage to see if the jewelries are there. I will NOT ask her what she did with them.

But maybe I'll perform a nifty spell to see where she placed them...

A grin curled his mouth as he thought of the perfect spell to execute. Difficult it might be, it was still effective, and of course he could do it. He wouldn't exactly be doing a valedictory speech if he wasn't smart now, would he? But truth be told, he wasn't exactly doing a valedictory address at this moment either...

"What are you doing?"

He looked up to see Pansy awake and dressed. Assuming a casual look he turned his attention back to his task. "My speech," he answered.

"For graduation?"

"No, my funeral."

Pansy frowned, her pug-nose more pronounced than ever. "I swear, these days you've become nastier and crueler. Even to me."

"You mean especially to you?" He raised his brows. "Pansy dear, I've yet to remember an incident when I wasn't nasty or cruel to you."

"My point exactly." She rolled her eyes and folded her arms. "Merlin forbid, even Weasley's company is more attractive than yours."

That certainly stung. He squinted as he bit out, "I resent that. Nothing Weasley owns is more attractive than mine! Why, I bet even my dandruff looks better than his. Not," he added hastily, "that I have dandruff." Pause, shudder, vomit at the ugly mental picture.

"Whatever." Pansy sat beside him and looked around. "Hey, what's that?"

Immediately, he placed an arm over his parchment, covering it just in case she was feasting on the words he wrote. She wasn't. Draco followed her eyes and they rested on a small box with a green bow on top. "No idea," he said, relaxing a bit.

She stood and approached it. "For Pansy Parkinson," she read off a small rectangular note. She flipped it open. "May I find you wearing my gift today. Sincerely, your S.A." Pansy's face glowed, and to Draco she seemed almost pretty as a smile warmed her face. She placed the note over her heart, sighing dreamily.

"S.A.?" he asked, his curiosity peaked. "Satan's Assistant?"

"Secret Admirer," she retorted, lifting the lid off the box. Pansy reached for what's inside, and her hands brought out a black cloth. "It's..." she trailed off. "It's a robe." She inspected the label. "From GAP." Her smile widened, and she quickly shrugged her own robe off and wore the gift on. She sighed. "I think it's perfect."

"I think it's cheap, like something Weasel would buy," Draco told her disgustedly, but he got to admit the robe fitted her fine. "GAP? Please. I thought your taste went a bit higher than that?"

"Well it's a gift," Pansy said. A dreamy, far-off smile lit her face again. "From my S.A. And it's a robe. I'm not complaining."

"It's good one of us aren't," drawled a third voice, "because I am."

Draco looked at the shadowy part of the room and saw Blaise emerge from it. He rolled his eyes. Honestly, I came here to find some peace and quiet and all I was able to do is one measly paragraph and then these people come barging in! Why in Merlin's name are they up so early, anyway? He folded his parchment, knowing that he couldn't do any more of it. He stuffed it inside his pocket.

"What's wrong?" Pansy asked, frowning as she stared at the other Slytherin. "You look like your parents forbade you to do something destructive."

Blaise sniffed. Her eyes were swollen, and it was apparent she'd spent hours bawling them out. "McGonagall, that's what," she answered, brandishing a small note in her hands. "She might as well kill me!"

He grabbed the note from her. It read:

Ms. Zabini,

This is to inform you that I have received complaints from Mr. Potter of you stalking him. According to Paragraph Thirty, Section Two of the Hogwarts Code of Student Ethics and Proper Conduct, no student is allowed to stalk another student regardless of reason. Therefore, it is within my authority, as his Head of House, to order you to stay away from Mr. Potter, and outside of your dance practices you are not to approach or talk to him, or are you to give him any gifts.

Professor Minerva McGonagall.

P.S. (from Mr. Potter) LEAVE ME ALONE YOU VILE WOMAN!

Draco met Pansy's eyes and they laughed unabashedly.

Blaise produced a sound much like a snake would when wounded. "Shut up! This isn't funny!" she snapped.

"Come on, Blaise," Draco drawled, rolling the note and throwing it at her, "you know you went overboard with mauling your beloved Potter with gifts.."

"It's not like you have great taste in choosing them, either," Pansy added. "Though they did provide us with unceasing entertainment."

Blaise glared at her. "For your information, those were the gifts my mother gave my father when she was trying to seduce him!"

"So... it's natural for your family to let the woman declare her love for the man?" asked Pansy, looking interested.

"Yes!" said Blaise. "Oh, what am I going to do? How am I to declare my undying love for Harry if I'm not allowed to ever get near him or even give him gifts?"

"One word: Imperius," Pansy told her, eyes gleaming evilly.

"I'm not that desperate, thank you."

"There's always dance practice," Draco pointed out. "Haven't you realized that McGonagall didn't do anything about you and Potter being partners?"

She looked at him, renewed hope filling her face. "That's it! I could--"

"Of course," said Pansy as she lifted her arms to inspect her robe, "you can't do anything audacious because Flitwick is there."

"Nonsense," said Draco with a dismissive wave. "He won't notice. Aren't you placed in the middle?"

"Actually, at the back." A wicked grin erupted on Blaise's face, mirroring the wicked thoughts on Draco's mind perfectly. "We're at the back...." And she did her impression of an evil, predatory cackle that was, in his opinion, quite good and quite scary. Some small part of him actually felt sorry for Potter... imagine what nasty, vile things Blaise had planned for the git!

"As much as I love to stay and solve all your problems, I best be off." And with that, he left.

Draco headed towards the Great Hall. As it was still early, only some students were up and about. When he opened the doors he found the tables to be empty, except for a couple of Hufflepuffs, a few Ravenclaws... and surprise, surprise, a lonely Gryffindor.

"Good morning, Granger!" he said cheerily, depositing himself beside her at the Gryffindor table.

She faced him, her quill poised on her paper and her lovely eyes flashing sparks at him. "What the hell--oh, never mind." Granger returned to her task, looking determined to disregard his presence, but it delighted him to see that her lips were pursed and she was writing too heavily she might as well be engraving.

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to get a good look at her work.

"None of your business," came her curt reply.

"Not a morning person, are you?" Draco told her. She sighed and stayed silent.

Not wanting her to ignore him, he swiftly swiped the paper from beneath her hands. "Hey! What--Malfoy, give that back!"

"Not until you tell me what you're doing."

He dangled the paper in front of her, then deftly moved it back when she attempted to reach for it. "You're hopeless, you know that? Hopelessly annoying, irritating--"

"I haven't realized it's time for your litany of adjectives for me," he said, lifting the paper higher to make sure she couldn't get it from him. "Now let's see... 'In this season of great endings also comes the season of great beginnings, for even if we are at the end of a journey we are at the foot of yet another great--'"

Granger sighed loudly and said, "If you must know, that's my valedictory address." She slammed her quill on the table. "Hand it back before anyone like you gets hurt."

A sense of déjà vu entered Draco as he read the line again. "'In this season of great endings also comes the season of great beginnings...' I know this line," he murmured. Then it clicked. With his other hand he took out his parchment. "Aha!" he said triumphantly as he compared one with the other. "You copied my sentence!"

Her mouth dropped open. "What--I did not!" she said indignantly.

"Then how do you explain this, huh?"

With a baleful look at him she took both parchments and compared one with the other. "Oh," she said, after several moments of silence.

"'Oh'? That's all you could say? 'Oh'? How about 'Oh I'm so ashamed I stole Draco's brilliant speech! Oh! I'm a fraud! Oh! I'm--'"

Granger lowered the parchments and glowered at him. "It's coincidence you blond freak. Besides, this line in the middle tells me you weren't intending on using it anyway."

"Coincidence? I think not. Besides," Draco took his parchment from her and stood, "I'm intending on using it now, so better look for another crappy sentence to begin your crappy speech." He headed towards the Slytherin table.

"Don't worry," floated her voice. "I'm intending to search through my garbage for one, but I could always ask you. Or maybe I'd just do a nifty spell..."

That stopped him on his tracks. Draco lifted the paper and then cursed, for he'd forgotten that he wrote the part about his quest to discover if she threw away the jewelries or not... and when she read his sentence it was likely that she read about them as well. Stupid, snoopy Gryffindor! Resisting the urge to look at her, he sat on his usual place at the table and angrily ordered an elf to get him his food.

So much for his bloody quest.

"Hermione!" He heard someone say. Looking up he saw the pathetic duo of Potter and Weasley coming to claim their seats on either side of her.

"Hey, Harry, Ron!" greeted Granger in a bright tone.

Draco's brows furrowed as he noticed that the two cast furtive glances around them before sitting. Potter he could understand, what with the whole Blaise-thing going on. But Weasley? Hmm. Interesting. Must remember. Could be used for blackmailing the git in the future. Draco you conniving genius you.

Just when his food was delivered, so came the flood of students rushing to their tables to get their breakfasts. Loud chatters made Draco wince, reminding him again that he hadn't enough sleep that night. Unfortunately, the loud chatters grew in intensity, until he found out that the sources of these mundane talks were Pansy and Blaise, and that they were walking hurriedly to sit by him. Wonderful. What a way to--oh, hang on. Did they just cast furtive glances as well?

They did. Blaise actually blanched when she spotted Potter, and Pansy, well... she walked regally, proudly displaying that she was wearing her S.A.'s gift to her. And when they sat, Blaise was quiet, and Pansy's eyes were shining.

"We better hurry," Pansy said, grabbing a piece of toast from the food that emerged on their table, "I heard Flitwick wanted to start practice earlier today."

Draco shrugged and ate at his own pace, thinking that this was definitely going to take a while.

Five minutes later and the two women were dragging him towards the Charms classroom.

"I haven't eaten anything yet!" he murmured darkly. "You two thick bitc--"

"Ah, Miss Zabini, Parkinson, Mister Malfoy!" greeted Flitwick, putting a lid to his pet name for the two Slytherins. "Good morning! On time, I say. Stand on your positions, please, and wait for your partners. Do you know where they are?"

"They're eating," Draco emphasized, sending deadly looks at Blaise and Pansy. "Which is what I should also be doing this very moment."

"Shut your trap," Pansy snapped. But her tone was distracted, as she was staring at the door.

"What did you just--"

"Mister Potter! Mister Weasley, Longbottom, Finnigan, Thomas, do come in please. Miss Bones, Patil... Miss Granger! Towards your partners, immediately." Flitwick looked very much the happy camper as he welcomed the students that stepped in the room.

"Waiting for me, I see."

Draco smirked at Granger as she approached. "Give me one good reason why I should be."

She pretended to think. "Well, there is that something you're just dying to know."

He could practically see the italics in what she said. "Isn't that right?" He raised his brow. "Why don't you just tell me?"

"Why should I? You haven't asked. Not that you're going to." She smiled brilliantly at him. "Are you?"

There. Challenge issued. "You do realize that if this whole thing happened yesterday, all I have to do is order you and words will just come from your mouth."

Her eyes darkened as he reminded her of the stunt he pulled. Good. At least you haven't the upper hand in this match. "But this isn't yesterday," Granger told him. "And I do believe it's my turn."

At that moment, a curious scent enveloped him, reminding him of jasmines in springtime. He ignored that and said, "And how, pray tell, might--"

"Shh!"

Draco turned and saw Weasley frantically waving his hands and pointing at Flitwick.

"What?" asked Granger.

Too late. "Mister Malfoy, Miss Granger! I said assume positions... ten points from each of you!"

"What?" he demanded.

"Sir--"

"That'll be twenty points apiece," Flitwick threatened, "if I don't see your hands on each other."

Immediately, Granger sprang to his arms, and he placed his hands where they belonged. Which felt right.

Flitwick looked pleased. "I already told you before that I would be firmer this time. This is not something to be taken lightly! Need I remind you that the ball is twelve days from now, which gives us only eight days to perfect this dance!"

Draco rolled his eyes. Someone's clearly woken up as the Drama Queen this morning. But the sight of the professor glowering at them brought a new feeling upon him. He felt the slightest amount of fear.

Which was ridiculous, because he didn't fear anyone or anything.

The professor clapped his hands and their song played. "Dance! Dance like there's no tomorrow! Dance dance dance!"

And they did. Cross-step-cross, side-side-side, turn-bend-turn-dip, cross-step-cross, side-side-side, step-step-step, curl-dip-change hands-curl-bend-change hands--

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mister Potter!" Flitwick howled.

Draco felt Granger's sharp intake of breath, and couldn't help but smirk..

"But sir!" wailed pathetic Potter, "Zabini was--"

"Six points!"

"She was--"

"Seven points!"

"She touched me!"

"And I'll touch you if you don't get dancing this moment!"

That probably scared Potter enough to hold a delightfully triumphant Blaise in his arms.

"Don't--" Draco heard Pansy snarl, "--crumple this robe! This is a gift you pathetic--"

"Oh a gift, eh? From someone insane enough to like a pug--"

"What did you say?"

"And do you like this robe? Do you?"

"Of course! Which is why I don't want you--"

"Ten points from Slytherin!"

"Ha! Serves you right, Pugkinson--"

"Ten points from Gryffindor!"

"This is insane," whispered Granger, her hands clutching his robe so tightly he knew they were ruined for good. "Flitwick's insane! He can't keep doing this!"

"Power-tripper," said Draco with deep and true conviction. Despair engulfed him as he realized, "He's already taken twenty points from us!"

Flitwick clapped his hands and the music stopped. "We'll start again. From the top! And the next one I catch clowning around--" Draco winced at this, "--will get detention!"

And for the next three hours they all danced diligently, exerting effort not to get on the professor's extremely volatile side.

At the end of practice Flitwick seemed to be back to his sweet, good-natured self. "One-hundred points to all houses!" he announced. "You see? All you need is positive and negative reinforcements to keep you working at your best. Dance practice tomorrow, same time. Dismissed!"

One hundred points! Happiness blossomed in Draco's heart, making him think of gardens with hyacinths and carnations in full bloom. Fluffy pink bunnies hopped around, and the sun shone so brightly he felt--

Wait the bloody minute.

Granger stepped away from him, and with his arms empty he felt as though all the happiness had been sucked right out of him. She then said, "How are you feeling?" with no apparent intention of waiting for an answer because at that moment she walked away.

Which left him feeling sad and lonely and stupid for feeling sad and lonely.

At that moment, he heard a very distinct sob from his right. He turned and saw Pansy sitting on one side, trying to stop herself from crying. The need to comfort her was so overwhelming he couldn't do anything but adhere it. "My friend," he said softly, which was bizarre because he never said anything softly, and don't even get him started with the word 'friend', "don't cry."

And when Pansy lifted her tear-stained eyes at him, something tugged at his heart and pricked his eyes and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug her.

Which was when he realized that something was wrong with him.

Granger.

He stormed out of the classroom, knowing that if he had a bloody spell cast on him again then he'd pin it on no one else but her.

And no, his pulse wasn't racing or were his thoughts occupied by her, thank you very much. He blamed his raging pulse on the fact that he was running and his busy thoughts with the fact that he was imagining her messy end at his hands.

Draco was too occupied with these that he actually bumped into Weasley who was carrying a glass of water.

"Malfoy! Watch it!"

"I'm sorry Ron!" he apologized quickly. A first for him, because he never apologized. But then, this was a Weasley, so it didn't count. "And I have a name. It's Draco!" And he left, leaving behind a mortified Weasley and his own mortified wits and pride as well.

He spotted Granger's hair, and he was about to yank it when he heard a riot to his left. Cursing his heart and the fact that he was using it, he made a swift turn and saw a couple of Slytherin third years bullying a Hufflepuff first year.

"Hahahaha! Look, ickle Johnny's going to cry!"

"Waaahhh! Go on Johnny, cry! Waaahhh!"

Pity assaulted him; he knew the first year was helpless against the older ones and for Merlin's sake he had to do something! He had to help! Thus, Draco's inner hero sprung into action. He bravely stood in front of the crying Hufflepuff and ordered, "Stop it! Stop hurting him!"

His sudden intrusion shocked his housemates enough to stop throwing stones at the child. "It's Malfoy," one said.

"Yes, it is! And I'm sick of this - us Slytherins shouldn't do this to other houses! They aren't inferior to us; no one is! We're all on equal footing, and what you're doing is just wrong!"

And as soon as these words were out, he realized that he not only had the third years as his audience but also a whole lot of other students passing by. Drawing strength on this, his stupid pathetic (where's Granger and her stupid pathetic litany when you need her?) heart said:

"Listen to me, all of you. By now we should've realized that nothing comes from the act of hurting other people. Yes, it does give temporary happiness but at what cost? At the emotional scarring of other people? I say to you, it isn't worth it! Nothing is! As wizards and witches, one of the powers we should be exhibiting is the power to make friends with each other. Why don't we all just get along? Is that so hard to do?"

And then he felt something wet against his cheek and oh my God I am crying I'm crying oh my God someone KILL ME NOW!

Like in the movies, it started with a single clap. The Hufflepuff first year looking at him with worshipping eyes began clapping, and another soon followed, and Oh my God everybody within hearing range was clapping, including Professor Dumbledore with his damned twinkling eyes and Professor Sprout who was wiping tears from her eyes and the whole bloody Hufflepuff house who had happy eyes for they found themselves a protector in the persona of one Draco Malfoy.

His heart swelled with happiness while his pride shrank in terror. Normally he would bask in the attention but this time it was for an entirely different reason. They were clapping because Draco just showed them he wasn't just a handsome face, he had heart!

And Malfoys didn't have heart, damn it! This whole bloody-hero thing was just not their style!

With head held high, he strode out and found a room to hang himself in.

Even when the door was shut he could still hear them clapping.

Someone knocked. His instincts told him to ignore it, but a part of him - his damned heart - leapt at the thought that it might be her.

It was.

"My God Malfoy," Granger said, eyes shining like twin beacons of--oh shut it! "What big heart you have."

He pulled her inside. Anger raged in him, pouring like lava and burning like acid. Never mind that his skin actually tingled at their contact and with her cheeks pink against her skin she looked like an ange--oh holy mother fuc-- "You silly little bint!" he snarled. "Look what you made me do in there!"

"You mean the crying part? Personally I thought it was brilliant."

"Not just that - you turned me into a bloody... bloody..."

"Hero?" Granger contributed. "Knight in shining armor? Protector of the innocent? Good person?"

"Yes! You turned me into all of those! You silly little--"

"Call me a bint again and I'll hex you to oblivion," she threatened, eyes flashing like lightning.

I should really stop with all these similes! "And you call me terrible? Despicable? Horrible? Hands down, you deserve all those names for what you did to me today."

"Why? Do you feel humiliated because you just showed how soft you are? That you actually care and that you want us all to become friends? Oh, 'why don't we all just get along' indeed--"

"Shut up."

"You had that in you all along you know, I just brought it out with a nifty spell. And my, my, Malfoy... what a softy--"

"Shut up!"

"You can't make me this time, and even if you--"

Thankfully, she did shut up.

Because he had planted his lips on top of hers and was now kissing her rather fervently.