||[Sep. 8th, 2006|07:24 pm]
Title: Excerpts 1/2
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron/Draco (vague, minor: Hermione/Blaise, Harry/Pansy)
Rating: Teen, for the odd swearword
Word count: ~3200 (total)
Beta: the wonderful raisinous_fiend
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.
Draco was going to marry Pansy and live happily ever after, and no amount of watching Weasley was going to change that. Pansy nudged him with her elbow as she carried on her somewhat elaborate conversation with Millie. Shit. That meant she’d caught him stari… watching Weasley again. He turned his eyes back to his plate. It wasn’t like watching Weasley was wrong. He could be up to something; it was important to keep an eye on these things. After thoroughly glaring at Pansy he went back to watching the redhead.
Pansy was idly watching Draco re-organise his wardrobe. “Draco, darling, you’re the gayest man I know,” she commented.
Draco spluttered, “But you know Blaise!”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Blaise isn’t gay, Draco.”
“Blaise bloody well isn’t!” growled Zabini as he flopped down onto the armchair in Draco’s head boy suite. “Don’t you go pulling me into any of your perverted fantasies about Weasley!”
“I don’t have any fantasies about Weasley!” Draco exclaimed. “Perverted or otherwise.”
Draco was spying on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It was important to keep Slytherin ahead of the game. Weasley’s hair really did clash with the Gryffindor colours of his robes. Slytherin green would be a much better look on him.
Draco was nursing a black eye and a split lip. He whimpered slightly as he pressed a cold damp cloth to his face. Weasley was a bloody menace with that right hook.
“Draco! What the hell did you do?!” Pansy demanded, hands on her hips, glaring furiously at him while standing in his doorway.
“Piss off,” he mumbled.
Blaise pushed past Pansy and smirked. “So it is true then. Weasley took a swing at you.” Draco glared at Blaise, or at least attempted to, hissing as pain shot through his face.
“What did you do?” Pansy inquired again. Draco could tell she was on the verge of stomping her foot.
“Why the bloody hell do you think it was something I did?” Pansy gave him a look. “Weasley, the uncouth bastard, attacked me.”
“Damn!” Ron exclaimed, nursing his right hand. “Malfoy sure is a bony fucker.”
“Ron!” Hermione yelped. “Why on earth did you attack him like that?”
“He was spying on us, Hermione! And,” Ron added darkly, “he’s been watching me.”
“Watching you,” repeated Harry, exchanging amused glances with Hermione. “Maybe he just noticed what a wonderful catch you are.” Harry grinned and dodged Ron’s missile-projected Herbology book.
“Harry,” hissed Hermione, dragging him to one side, “you don’t think it… could be true, do you?” She was worrying her bottom lip anxiously.
“What?” Harry asked in bemusement.
Hermione blew out a frustrated breath. “That Malfoy could like Ron!”
Harry snorted. “Hermione, it was a joke. It’s not funny if there is the remotest possibility of it being true!”
“But Malfoy is the campest guy in Hogwarts… except Seamus,” she replied, looking only slightly mollified.
“Well,” Harry’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head after a moment’s consideration, “by that logic, Malfoy probably fancies me!”
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Well… aren’t you just a picture of modesty!”
Harry glared at her. “I didn’t mean…” Grinning, Hermione waltzed off, humming something Harry couldn’t quite place.
By the time Harry made it back to the common room Hogwarts was alight with the rumour that Draco Malfoy was in love with none other than the Boy Who Lived. There was a high possibility Harry was psychologically traumatised. Harry opened the common room door to be greeted by Seamus conducting a powerful rendition of ‘You’re so vain, you probably think this song is about you.’ With a long suffering sigh Harry stepped into the room. He was going to kill Hermione.
“So you’re in love with Harry Potter now?” Pansy asked.
“What?!” Draco yelped (in a manly way, of course). “Are you high?”
“Everybody is talking about it.” Pansy shrugged, watching Draco gawp.
“But… Potter? God, do I look like I have that little taste?”
Blaise coughed something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Weasley.’
“Why does everyone think I’m gay?” Draco almost wailed, slightly subdued only by the fact that he was a Malfoy and he certainly didn’t do anything as plebeian as wail. Blaise pursed his lips in an attempt to squelch down his laughter. “I am not gay,” Draco practically growled.
“You can see the closet door in front of you,” Blaise intoned, “reach for the door—” his mouth twitched, “—knob.”
Draco glared. “What are you yammering about, Zabini, what fucking closet?”
Pansy sighed and stopped filing her nails into points. “It’s a Muggle thing.”
Blaise looked down on the three Gryffindors. “Draco wishes me to inform you,” he delivered, “that he is not in love with Harry Potter because…” Blaise un-crumpled a piece of paper from his pocket and scanned it, “…he has better taste; he’s a Malfoy; Potter’s an imbecile… ah, and he is not gay.” Blaise looked up. “He also demands to know which blithering idiot started such a rumour.”
Hermione piped up, “I did.”
Blaise blinked. “What?” Hermione grinned at him. Wandering back to the Slytherin common room, Blaise contemplated this. It was possible, in a previously unsuspected turn of events, that Hermione Granger was a minx.
“Granger?! Granger started the rumour?” If Draco was anyone other than himself he would have been gaping. “Who told you this and why were you such a complete pillock as to believe them?”
“She did,” replied Blaise, still sounding a little stunned. Pansy watched Blaise with a calculating stare and allowed herself a small smirk.
“Potter must be in love with me!” Draco declared.
Turning her attention back to Draco, Pansy rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Draco.”
“I’ll have you know I’m very appealing!” Draco was now gesturing with his speech; this was never a good sign.
“You’re very… pretty,” Pansy conceded.
“Pretty?” Draco mouthed.
“Slight,” Blaise added helpfully
“Slight?!” Draco was now verging on the edge of hysteria.
“It’s just because we know you so well,” Pansy said in an attempt to be placating. “It is possible that from afar people could find you…”
“Irritating,” Blaise supplied.
Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “…attractive,” she finished. Draco slumped onto his bed, head in his hands.
Ron had been grumbling over his essay for the last 3 hours, scrawling bits and lobbing screwed up attempts across the common room. This in itself was nothing unusual, had Ron not been shooting death glares at Harry every 5 minutes. Sighing, Harry laid down his quill. “All right, Ron, what did I do?”
Ron glared at him and snapped, “What are you talking about?”
“You look like you’d quite happily strangle me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry,” said Hermione, “he’d probably only maim you.”
“I’m just working,” growled Ron. Harry shared a look with Hermione. Unfortunately, Ron noticed. “What?!” he roared. “Don’t believe me? So now I’m a liar as well as completely unfanciable!”
Ah. “Ron, I didn’t mean…”
“The singing, the rumours, all because you think Malfoy is more likely to fancy you than me! What is wrong with me?” Ron demanded. “It’s me he keeps staring at!” Harry felt liked he’d stepped into the twilight zone; he was having an argument with his best mate over which one of them Malfoy was more likely to fancy. Ron’s brain seemed to catch up with his mouth. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled, sitting back down, “sorry, mate, what the hell does it matter?” But Harry was beginning to suspect it mattered to Ron a lot more than he realised.