Divine Humiliation

Divine Humiliation

'The world can take a student out of Slytherin but it can never take Slytherin out of a student', 'Slytherins make the best politicians' and 'Slytherins know best how to groom themselves, present Head of House excluded' were only some of the existing pillars of truth upon which the dungeons were built.

Of course, the most predominant of them was, 'Draco Malfoy is not an early riser'. Know this and one could and would survive in the harsh environment that was the Slytherin quarters.

Which explained why his housemates were giving him weird glances as they noticed that not only was he in there minutes after the sun rose, he'd been doing it twice already. On consecutive days.

Him doing it once was scary. Him doing it twice was enough to send some of the Slytherins on their knees and pray to whoever was listening that they would never, ever, do something evil and despicable and downright naughty again. Twice was enough to make them want to fall in love with a Gryffindor boy or girl, turn their backs on evil, and be redeemed.

It was also a well-established fact that all Slytherins had a sixth sense that could detect whether or not Draco Malfoy was in a foul mood. It was instilled in them during their first year through a ritual that involved blood and gore and a laughing image of Malfoy.

Which was why they were doing their best to stay out of his way, choosing to stay in the shadows rather than show him their faces. Those who wanted to see another day would never dare cross the path of an angry Malfoy, unless they were on self-destruct mode or on a suicide mission or on drugs.

Nevertheless, Draco felt the need to release some of his frustrations so he let out a dignified shriek of "OUT!!!" at his housemates. Immediately, they dropped whatever they were doing, pooled towards the nearest exit, and slithered away.

Only two bravely remained in his midst. Draco suspected this was because of their repeated exposure to Gryffindor blood.

Stupid Gryffindors and their contagious, dirty bloo--

"And a pleasant morning to you too," drawled Blaise, as she closed the book she was reading.

Draco sent her a scathing glare. "Shut up."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Someone's clearly gotten up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Gee. Wonder why."

"I'm warning you--"

"Fine, fine." She mimicked the action of zipping her mouth.

Draco turned on the more silent one of the duo, an idea formulating in his mind and driving a small portion of his anger away. He was actually somewhat relieved to see that Pansy was here because he wouldn't have to approach her later and make everyone think he was pining after the girl. He sat next to her, as she was busy removing invisible lint off her precious muggle robe. With the event that transpired yesterday, he had to tell her his new plan for the Graduation Ball. She had to know that he had absolutely no intention of bringing her as his date and it would take only a thousand wizards with their wands pointed at his throat to make him change his mind. There was no other way to do it than let it out simply to spare her the anguish and hurt and dear God I hope she doesn't bawl on me. I just had this robe washed! "Parkin--er, Pansy dear," he started slowly, "I--"

"Draco dear," she said, tearing her eyes off her clothes. "I--"

They looked at each other, having spoken at the same time.

"I don't want to go to the ball with you," simultaneously rolled out from their tongues.

It took Draco approximately three seconds to digest what she said.

"What!" he howled. "You don't want to go to the ball with me? Are you deranged, woman? You, the self-proclaimed president of my fan club? You, who used to sleep with my discarded clothes when I'm not available? Which is always? You, who used to blackmail every single girl I came in contact with? Which is every woman I know, including my mother? You? Don't want to go to the ball with me? Deranged! Deranged, I say!"

When he finished, he realized that he was standing and pointing at Pansy's face repeatedly. "Are you finished?" she asked, her face concealing the tiniest bit of laughter.

Draco sank on the chair again. "Yes." He glared at her. "But don't get me wrong; I still want a very long, very elaborate explanation on why you don't want to go to the ball with me." As he said the words, a chill overran his body. Imagine, a woman not wanting to go out with a Malfoy? The shame! The horror! The sheer impossibility of it!

But then, this was Pansy Parkinson. Technically, she didn't count.

"Where should I begin? Oh, I know." She looked at him straight in the eye. "There's that part where you asked Granger to the ball."

His jaw dropped open. Nobody else was supposed to know that! "How did--"

Pansy waved his question away. "Even boys talk. Especially when very sharp, very pointed objects are aimed at their jugulars. You know that." She tucked in an errant strand of hair. "And apparently, you asking her out wasn't the only thing that happened last night."

Oh, yes. Some of the Slytherins were definitely going to die a very horrible, tragic death. This morning, if possible. While they were busy cleaning his room.

Those witless cowards. They'll soon realize what 'Hell hath no fury like a Malfoy scorned' means!

"Draco, you're such a bastard." Blaise grinned, her teeth flashing brightly. "An inspiration to the rest of us, really."

"Well," he muttered bashfully. It always made him feel special to learn that his dastardly deeds were appreciated. He smiled, basking in the memory of Granger's humiliation. Then he flinched.

Blaise leaned towards him, scrutinizing a part of his cheek. "Say, is that a... a lifeline along your face?"

Draco gritted his teeth. He'd been studying the very clear, very raw imprint of Granger's hand the entire night that of course he didn't miss the way her lifeline branded him. The handprint he could cover with... very manly, very masculine face powder, but the lifeline? Stuck. His mirror even prompted at him, "Rough games you've been playing with your luvah, dah-ling?"

The shame! The horror! The insinuation!

That girl had strength her body could conceal, he'd give her that much. Damn it, when will I learn? As if my third year experience with her hadn't taught me that already! "Yes, it's a bloody lifeline," he snapped. "In case you've missed it, that's not the only thing on my face."

Pansy squinted her eyes. "Hmm. You're right. I think I see a zit over... here." She pointed at her pug nose.

He stared at her, feeling his face go cold. "Wha... how did... zit!" he manfully squealed.

She grinned. "Kidding."

"Wicked," said Blaise, as she placed her palm over Draco's cheek.

He slapped it away. "And what in hell do you think you're doing?"

"Measuring the size of her hand. Granger sure has one that packs a wicked slap."

"Well can you blame the poor girl?" said Pansy, taking the book Blaise abandoned. Before she opened it, though, she noticed the weird looks Draco and Blaise were throwing at her. "What?"

"You're... you're empathizing. With Granger," said Blaise. She shuddered. "Nasty concept."

Pansy looked at her condescendingly, her nose in the air. "You do realize that this is Hermione Granger we're talking about."

"So?"

"So, she's Potter's best friend. She could become your link to him, you know."

Blaise gasped, then glared at Draco. "You evil bastard! Apologize to her, immediately!"

"Never," said Draco with true and deep conviction. "Why should I apologize? She's the one who made this mar on my face. That's a crime already worth a dementor's kiss!"

"And you're the one who made that stupid bet with the others. She wouldn't have slapped you if you didn't humiliate her in front of them!"

Draco clamped his mouth shut and studied Pansy, wondering if this was the same girl who happened to have 'kicking puppies' and 'being cruel to others' listed in the Official Slytherin Slum book as her favorite past time activities. Could this be another trick? He took in her eyes and her face. No, there wasn't any trace of intelligence in her eyes, or any difference on her face to indicate that she was anyone else except Pansy Parkinson. Just the fact that she was spouting nonsense and brimming with let's-all-be-friends logic that clearly wasn't imprinted in the genetic code of Slytherins. "Let me get this straight," he started slowly. "You're taking her side over mine?"

"You bet your narcissistic arse I am," she retorted acerbically.

He turned to Blaise. "What the hell's wrong with her? Aside from the usual, I mean."

Blaise shrugged. "Well, we are talking about Hermione Granger here."

"And?"

"And she just happens to be best friends with one Ron Weasley." Blaise smirked at the other girl. "Isn't that right?"

"No!" Pansy shrieked. An entertainingly red flush started creeping towards her face. Draco didn't know anything could make Pansy blush. Well. Except that. "Of course not! What do I care about some... some filthy plebian? He lives in a burrow, for crying out loud. He's... he's poor! And filthy! And poor!"

"And filthy," Blaise said, nodding.

Pansy glared at her. "Shut your trap, Zabini! You don't see me badmouthing your pathetic boy toy even though he's such a stupid--"

"Excuse me, but just who are you calling stupid, Parkinson?"

The two were like cats eager for a royal tumble on the ground. Blaise actually growled and Pansy arched her fingers to resemble claws.

He knew he had to do something to stop this insanity. Draco could never tolerate girls who were fighting!

Unless they were fighting over him. Totally a different case then.

"Well," said Draco, making sure his voice was loud enough to distract the two, "isn't this a surprise. I'm actually surrounded by Gryffindor lovers. As if being surrounded by Gryffindors isn't nauseating enough as it is!" He felt his stomach churn at the thought of Blaise and Pansy... or anyone... fancying a Gryffindor. Specifically one Harry I'm-such-a-lucky-bastard-maybe-I-inherited-leprechaun-blood-because-I-sure-do-look-like-one Potter and one Ron the-Weasel-I'm-so-poor-I-have-nothing-in-my-future-but-becoming-the-doormat-in-Draco's-bathroom Weasley.

Disgusting. Revolting. Gross!

"And this is coming from one who just asked another Gryffindor to the ball," Blaise pointed out, her face changing to sneer properly. She cocked her brow at him. "Admit it, Draco. You're just as into Granger as Pansy is into Weasley or as I am into Harry."

The implication! The subtext!

"Am not!" denied Draco and Pansy at once. "That's insane!"

"Ah yes, the first stage of love." Blaise smiled, blissfully ignorant of two people mentally hacking her to pieces. "Denial. I remember it so well. That was the day I--"

But Draco and Pansy weren't listening to her at all.

"She's everything I was born to hate! I abhor her with every fiber of my being! With every breath I inhale! Every step I take! Every move I make! Every--"

"I don't even like him! He's poor, he's filthy, he's... he's... he has freckles! He's poor! And filthy! And freckled! Besides, I have my secret admirer, and--"

"Second stage: Rationalization." Blaise drummed her fingers on the table. "My, my, you're both progressing nicely. Any minute now you're going into the third stage, which is--"

But Draco had had it of Blaise's know-it-all attitude about love. "Stop this nonsense, Zabini! Just because you're way in over your head over a pathetic, hideously scarred Gryffindor doesn't mean I am as well." He paused. "Not that I'm into Potter or anything," he said hastily to Pansy's shocked expression. "I'm just saying Granger isn't hideously scarred. Or pathetic." He paused again. Then huffed at the triumphant smirk Blaise sent him. "I. Am. Leaving! Bring this up again and I'll make you rue the very minute you were born."

"Sure!" retorted Blaise. She waved at him. "See you at dance practice, loverboy."

It took all of Draco's strength to keep himself from hitting the girl.

See, 'Slytherins don't hit girls, just manipulate them into becoming masochistic.'

He stalked towards the door, intending to get some fresh air before practice started. Draco waited for the portrait to swing open, and when it did he spotted one of those he least wanted to see in his entire life.

Apparently, this person felt exactly the same way about him. "What on earth are you doing here, Malfoy?" asked Weasel, his mouth frothing.

Draco leaned on the doorway. He learned early on that the only way to deal with an angry Gryffindor was to annoy it further and hope they'd go kill themselves afterwards. "Well," he started. "Not that I expect you to understand logic, but this is the Slytherin dungeons. I'm a Slytherin. Therefore, I belong here, unlike some filthy, freckled freak I refuse to name."

Weasel opened and closed his mouth, probably having thought that what Draco said was the truth and therefore made perfect sense.

Well wasn't that a surprise. Weasley could actually think! "Now, I'm prompted to ask--"

"What're you doing here?"

"Parkinson!" said Weasel, turning a pretty shade of green puke that Salazar would've been proud of. "Erm--uhm--well--"

Draco arched his brow at Pansy, then at the Gryffindor. "I believe the lady is waiting for a mildly intelligible answer, Weasley."

"Um--" He turned an even prettier shade of red that Godric would've been envious of. "SnapesaidIshouldgetyouhewantsustodosomethingtogethersohereIam."

Huh? Draco paused considerably. "Weasley, when I said 'mildly intelligible', I meant--"

"Doyouknowwhyanddon'twehavepracticetoday?"

"WedobutIthinkitwon'ttakeustoolongsowewon'tmissit."

"OhIseeokayareyougoingtowaitformehere?"

Weasley looked down on the floor. "UmIwashopingwecouldgoatthesametimeIhopeit'sokaywithyou."

"Wellthat'sjustfine--"

"Good lord," said Draco dramatically, looking at one and then the other. "You two have your own language. How... incredibly odd."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Shut up, Draco."

He grinned. "Even think the same way."

"Malfoy--!"

"Draco--!"

"Even pause the same way! Hmm, maybe Zabini is correct. You are as into Weasley as she is into Harry."

And Pansy turned a shade identical to Weasley's unfortunate coloring.

Draco bowed. "Ah, but what lovely, uncomfortable atmosphere we have here. My job is done. I shall leave you kids alone." And off he go, humming happily as he went.

Take that, Parkinson. That's what you get for not wanting to go with me to the Ball!

He decided to drop by his room first before going to practice. "Hopelessly evil and damn good at it," Draco chanted. His portrait swung to reveal the Slytherin seventh year men in their aprons and different cleaning solutions on their hands. "And how are you all doing this morning? Enjoying the task, I hope?"

"Draco," greeted Crabbe. He lifted a large basket full of clothes. "Do you want these washed and hung? Ironed? Folded?"

He glanced at the bulky Slytherin. A lot changed between his and Crabbe's relationship since the day he... well... since that day. Draco knew he could never look at the other Slytherin the same way again. "Sure," he said briskly. "Do whatever you want. Just leave. Be gone. Disappear from my sight. Right now!"

It bothered him that Crabbe went out looking like a wounded little girl.

It horrified him when he heard a sniff.

It terrified him that the reason why Crabbe was hurt by his easy dismissal was because he actually had a thing for him.

And now he was going to wash Draco's clothes. All alone. Without anyone to watch over his activities.

His poor, innocent, soon-to-be-abused clothes. Who knew what things Crabbe would do to them?

"Goyle!" Draco barked. "Go with Crabbe. At once!"

And Goyle abandoned his spot on the floor to join an extremely put-off Crabbe.

The moment they left, Nott threw his rag on the floor. "That's it, I'm done!" He stood, making everyone pause to look at him. "This activity does not befit a pureblood like me! Making us clean your dirty, filthy room, this should be the work of elves--"

Draco shrugged. "You're the one who said I could ask you to do anything for me once I won the bet. And now that I did win, you're complaining?" He clucked his tongue. "Theo, Theo, Theo. When will you learn? Don't make bets you can't honor. Or, at least, don't make bets with me, as I always win."

Nott inched his chin higher. "Don't be cocky. You're just lucky the Mudblood's stupid enough to fall into our trap!"

Something snapped inside Draco, making his fingers curl to his palm and bury into his skin. "Careful, Nott. You're just bitter because you lost. But enough of this." He gazed critically around his room, then crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not happy with your work. It's unsurprisingly inadequate. Report to me after dance practice, as I still see some dirt and grime. I told you I want it sparkling clean. As of now, it's not sparkling or clean."

Nott looked at him with daggers glinting in his eyes. "You're going to pay for this, Malfoy."

"Am I? I think not." And he went out.

He was itching to hack Nott to pieces, only he didn't for as of now the bastard was in charge of cleaning his room and he could do some dastardly damage to it just to get back at Draco. He wouldn't want that to worry him as he tucked in at night.

Sometimes, he thought, I'm just too kind.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," said Flitwick as Draco stepped inside the Charms classroom. "Do make yourself comfortable as we wait for the others. It shouldn't be long, I hope."

Draco nodded, then headed towards a corner. He rested his back against the wall for a moment, his eyes on the door. A flash of brown caught his attention, and then his hopes deflated - it wasn't her.

Not that he was waiting for her or anything. After all, he was still angry for her slapping him the previous day.

Why should I care if she came or not? I don't! I really, really don't--

"Oh!" said Flitwick as he approached. "I should inform you that Miss Granger wouldn't be joining us today, Mr. Malfoy. And since you won't be having a partner, I--"

Draco registered the words 'Granger will not be joining us today' and suddenly his senses went overdrive. "What do you mean she won't be joining us today?" he asked loudly, his back ramrod straight. Thousands of images flashed through his mind, thousands of reasons why she couldn't make it: scenes of her being attacked, of her being pulled into the lake by the Giant Squid, of her hair suffocating her to death, of her having a morning tryst with someone else--

The seventh year males present were shocked at the severity of the glare they received from Draco Malfoy. It promised a death too horrible to put into words.

Even Flitwick was taken aback at the look Draco gave him. "Mr. Malfoy," he said firmly, "kindly stop giving me your evil look. There. Thank you." He adjusted his glasses. "I reckon nothing wrong happened to Miss Granger as she herself approached me this morning to ask for an excuse. I thought the girl looked quite tired, so I agreed. Her performance so far had been excellent, so a time off won't hurt it a bit."

The explanation did nothing to quell the bile rising to his throat at the thought of her missing this practice. It was abnormal of her to do so! Didn't this midget realize that? "Are you sure you saw her today?" he pressed. "You could've been fooled! Didn't you suspect for a second that this is Hermione Granger we're talking about, and it's completely OOC of her to--"

"OOC?" asked Flitwick.

"Out of character," Draco snapped. "Missing classes is not something she does. Being her professor all her life, you should've known that." If something happens to her, so the late Voldemort help me... I will show you my wrath, midget!

Flitwick was silent. "Well, I do remember her missing a class during your third year." He shook his head, then fixed Draco a steady look. "Your concern for Miss Granger's safety astounds me, Mr. Malfoy, but fortunately your fears are baseless. She told me she would only be staying in her room all day."

Only one way to find out! "Sir, may I be excused for the dance practice?" He shuffled his feet and glanced out of the room, very impatient to get out.

Flitwick looked apprehensive. "Well... Miss Bulstrode's also absent today, and I was hoping you could take her place and dance with Mr. Long--"

But Draco had already bolted out the door.

It took him less than a minute to reach the portrait hanging before her room.

Later on, majority of the population at Hogwarts could've sworn they saw a roguishly blond and handsome shadow fleeting through corridors with unbelievable speed.

"Password?" said the damsel as she fanned herself delicately. She patted her mouth gently as she yawned.

"This isn't the time for formality!" shouted Draco. "I need to see her. Let me in."

"Password?"

"Didn't you hear what I said?" He stepped closer to the portrait, and pinned on her a murderous glare. "I told you--"

"Password?"

Draco was doing everything he could to stop himself from clawing the portrait to pieces. It might ruin his nails. "Don't you know who I am, woman? I'm Draco Malfoy, and I order you to--"

The fan made a slapping sound as it closed. "Oh," said the woman eagerly, "you're that Malfoy! I was wondering for ages whom that name belongs to."

He drew his brows together. "What do you mean I'm 'that Malfoy'?"

The damsel glanced around her discreetly and said, "Well, I shouldn't be saying this but my mistress changed her password yesterday and the new one contained your name. It was surprising, really. The usual passwords were passages from books so this one was certainly... different. Less... wordy, I'll say."

A fluffy feeling fluttered inside Draco. "Interesting," he said. He cocked his head at one side. "But first, riddle me this: is she inside?"

"Why, yes."

Now he could relax. "And this new password is?"

The damsel looked wickedly happy. "I shan't tell you anything, you arrogantly handsome fiend."

"I'll guess, then." He paused. "If I figure it out, will you let me in?"

"Of course, love." She winked at him. "After all, you must be so very desperate to see her. I shan't get in the way of your sacred quest."

Draco thought for a minute. "I love you Draco Malfoy?"

"Try again."

"You're a god, Malfoy, and I worship you?"

"Try harder."

"I'm secretly the Vice-President of the Malfoy fan club?"

The damsel grinned and pointed her fan at him. "My advice, love? Do not flatter yourself."

Don't flatter myself? This is going to be harder than I thought! "Um. Draco Malfoy you're an evil bastard?"

She clapped. "You may enter!" The portrait swung open.

"Right," said Draco wryly as he stepped inside. "As if I didn't know that already."

The appearance of the room startled him for a moment. He was expecting it to be screaming a vile color scheme of red and gold, with blankets and drapes a bloody shade of red and her pillows and carpets a blinding shade of gold. This wasn't as Gryffindor-ic as he imagined it would be. Granger's room was of pale cream palettes, with only minute touches of red and gold here and there. All in all, it looked pleasant and warm.

Then again, he read somewhere that a room only reflected the personality of its owner, so it shouldn't surprise him that this one was pleasant and warm.

Not that he thought of Granger as pleasant and warm. She was a cold-hearted, vindictive, ruthless bitc--

"What in hell are you doing here, Malfoy?"

See?

Well. At least she was alive. And not in the process of having a morning tryst with someone else.

His eyes widened when he saw that she was clad in nothing but a very short, very tight towel, tied snugly around her chest and reaching halfway down her thighs. The picture she made was very... stimulating. "By all means, don't get dressed on my account. I enjoy the view as it is."

She turned a violent shade of red that contrasted with her yellow towel beautifully. Granger dashed towards the bathroom and closed its door with all her might.

"Hmm," muttered Draco, as he sat on a sofa. "Maybe I shouldn't have noted her current state of undress. A wickedly naughty draft could've done a lot of wonderful things to that towel."

Sometimes, he thought, I'm just too refined.

Moments later, and he heard the bathroom door open again. Disappointment flooded him as he noticed that she was now wearing their school uniform. The only difference was, since her hair was still dripping wet it was pasted to her skull and with it weighed down she looked almost human.

Well. As close to a human whose face revealed a very evil intention, that is.

"I'll ask you again: what are you doing here? How did you even get in?"

"The damsel recognized me and let me in." Draco crossed his arms. "By the way, I'm flattered that you used my name as a password. You're too kind."

"You shouldn't be; it was meant as an insult!" she snapped, her face coloring.

"Being described as an evil bastard all my life, I see it now as a compliment."

Granger tapped her foot against the floor. "You didn't answer my question."

Draco spotted a small tray of sweets on her desk. He stood and helped himself with one. "Which is?" he asked, biting the cookie afterwards.

"Why are you here, and what do you think you're doing?"

"Eating." He grabbed another one. "This is good. Not my usual fare of sweets, but I like it. What's it called?"

"It's called hands-off-my-cookies-you-evil-bastard." She approached him and slapped his hand away as he was reaching for a third.

"Selfish, aren't we."

"Evasive, aren't we." Granger glared at him. "A simple question, Malfoy. Why. Are. You. Here?"

He shrugged. "You didn't attend the practice today. I was curious."

She placed a hand over her chest and sighed. "Your concern just astounds me to no end."

"No need to mock," he retorted, stepping away from her and her scrumptious cookies. "And please, don't flatter yourself. I have no concern for you whatsoever."

"Oh, of course." Granger smacked herself on the forehead. "How could I've been so stupid? You made that point so clear yesterday." And she went to the door and stepped outside the room.

Draco followed her steps, and found her standing on a deserted hallway. "Don't tell me you really expect me to ask you to the Ball?"

"I didn't," she said loudly. "Why should I? You have no reason to do it, except humiliate me. Which you did. Congratulations." Granger clapped her hands. "Bravo."

He rolled his eyes. "Why are you being so melodramatic? I asked you to the ball, you said yes, so we're going together. You should be very happy about it."

"Oh, but I am," she retorted acerbically. "I'm happy you asked me, and I'm happy I said yes. The only problem is, I'm not happy about us going together, so we're not."

At that declaration, his entire easy mood evaporated. "What do you mean we're not?"

"Don't tell me," she said heavily, "that you really expect me to go the Ball with you."

"Of course you are!" Draco said. "You already said yes. You can't back away from that commitment."

"Don't be thick Malfoy." Granger planted her hands over her hips. "In the first place, your entire proposition was a sham. Technically, it's not valid, so my answer doesn't amount to anything. I'm not committed to you, you're not committed to me. End of story."

Her one-track mind was really starting to annoy Draco. "Why are you making this difficult? We're going to the ball together. End of story."

"We're not."

"We are."

"We're not!"

"We are!"

"I'm going to the Ball with Ron or Harry," she said triumphantly. "I'm not going to the Ball with you!"

The very thought of her going in the arms of either the leprechaun or the doormat sickened him to no end. "The hell you aren't!" he returned vehemently. "You're with me now. I'm not going to allow you to take anyone else except me."

She snorted. "'You're with me now?' What exactly do you mean by that?" Granger demanded. "And what made you think I would allow you to control my decisions for me? For your information, I--"

Draco had had enough. He grabbed her by the shoulders but resisted the strong urge to shake her senseless. "This is getting us nowhere," he said low.

"I agree," she retorted. "Let me go."

"Only if you promise that you'll go to the ball with me."

Granger tried to wiggle from his grasp, but his hold was too firm. "Why are you so obsessed with that?" she asked. "Didn't I just help you win your stupid bet? That alone should've made you happy. No need to further harass me like this!"

"Are you really that thick, Granger?" he snarled, his face mere inches from hers. "Don't you get the reason why I want us to go to the Ball together?"

"Enlighten me, oh great one."

She wanted the truth? Fine. So be it. His fingers buried into her skin. "It's because I like y--"

"What is going on in here?" demanded a third voice.

Draco froze. So did Granger.

Professor McGonagall looked coldly at him. "Unhand Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy. Right now."

Reluctantly, he did.

The professor glanced at the Gryffindor. "Are you all right, Miss Granger? Was Mr. Malfoy attacking you?"

Draco stared at her, defying her to say yes, but inwardly hoping she'd say no. Granger returned his cold, cold stare with one of her own.

"Miss Granger?"

Slowly, she met her Head of House's eyes. "Yes," Granger said determinedly. "He was."

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. "I believe," she said sternly, "that I need to see you in my office, Mr. Malfoy."

That night, Draco Malfoy served detention alone, cleaning one room after another without the use of his wand.

Author's Notes: Hooray! Another battle fought. Heehee. Anyways, thank you very much for your reviews! You have no idea how those make my utterly boring life less boring. Hehe. Thank. You!

I would like to apologize for not updating earlier... believe me, working is HELL. Agh! It prevents me from sitting and writing, which means I have to do it only on weekends... as an apology, I've written a ficlet involving Draco and Hermione in a very... private situation. If you leave your e-mail address on your review, I'll send it to you ;)

Oh, and for the readers of Sanctuary in Potions, I'll be updating that as well. Next week!