Author's Note: If I owned Harry Potter I would be rich, blonde, and an amazing writer. Sadly I am not. Constructive criticism is welcome so please review.
Draco lay sprawled across his bed, green sheets entangled in pale fingers. Images of a certain brown haired vixen tantalized him. She was so close to him, having leaned closer until he could feel her breath glide across his skin. "You know you want to," Draco smirked. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, what would his parents do if they found out? All those repercussions fled his mind as he gazed at those honey colored eyes and pink slightly wet lips. Draco tilted her chin slightly and went in for the kill. Suddenly an intense pain hit him.
He awoke suddenly, gasping for air; the wind had been knocked out of him. It took him a few seconds to focus his bleary eyes on what had hit him. It was a pillow, its case half off, feathers jutted out from the sides at odd angles. The object was literally crushed, just like his dream. So close! She was right there, Draco thought. Even his dreams denied him the pleasure of her. Wasn't it enough that she clearly disliked him? She was always with Potter and Weasley. Maybe a furtive glace here or there, but that was it. Unless Granger harbored a secret lust for him, he doubted he would ever get that close to her again. In a flash of green and feathers Draco was off the bed and angry.
"What are you twits doing?" Draco literally seethed with rage; feathers were stuck to his tousled hair. They better have a good excuse for this. Who was he kidding; they had no excuse to hit him, Draco Malfoy. He watched as Grabbe and Goyle nearly bolted across the room. That was the fastest he had ever seen them move. Usually, they moved at the pace of a disabled snail.
"Well," Draco shouted, his voice going up an octave. Goyle moved forward, his square shaped head and beady eyes managed to make a reproachful expression.
"We'd seen a wasp buzzing around the room so we tried to kill it, but then it landed on your nose," he said twisting his cotton-striped pajamas "I'm allergic to wasps."
"So you hit me?" Draco considered hexing the two idiots. He glanced over to his nightstand. How many seconds would it take to get to my wand, thought Draco. This at least brought a small smirk to his face until Crabbe piped up.
"Yea we was afraid you'd swallow it since you were making a face like a fish," said Crabbe, even going so far as to mimic this expression. It was not attractive. Draco had his wand in his hand in 5 seconds. It was a new record.
"Affligo," yelled Draco in anger, Crabbe yipped as he was hit running out the door, Goyle trailing him. Draco wondered why he even kept them around. Why have they been so insubordinate lately? I literally hand them the answers to every exam! Of course they have to get a few wrong, I mean the professors would catch on. Maybe they're getting stupider that's plausible, like people shrinking as they age, Draco mused as he crossed the room; carefully he avoided the shattered lamp on the floor. "Reparo," said Draco as his hand flicked dramatically. He mussed his hair as he looked into the mirror, checking that everything was in order. His hair was the same white blonde color, steel grey eyes, perfect nose, and…. As he looked in the mirror he twitched or rather shuddered. On his face was the wasp, half dead, and still twitching, it's entrails smeared into a yellow and black mustache. That is disgusting. When those two get back I am going to kill them. Draco steadied his hand and removed the twitching bug. "What the bloody hell!" Draco almost screamed. In a last ditch effort to save itself the wasp had actually stung him right below his nose. "Know what, you can actually just sit there, you stupid bug. I was going to be merciful, maybe even nice, and kill you, but now I'm not. You can just sit there in pain you dim-witted animal. I'm going to take a shower." In a flurry of robes, Draco was in a black towel and headed down the hall. Cool air hit him, making his skin prickle. That feels nice, acknowledged Draco, maybe today won't be so harrowing. I can have a nice shower, of course then I'll have to deal with that sting. Draco touched his face and it burned. I'm sure I can fix it, or rather Madame Pomphrey can. As he walked, the halls were unusually empty, not that the showers got much traffic this early in the morning. He had his obtuse roommates to thank for the early wake up call. I have to remind them later why they don't wake me up, ever. As Draco stepped into the lavatory, he enjoyed the simple beauty of it. Since Slytherin House was located under the lake, it glowed iridescent green, lake water mixing with the vestiges of sunlight. The ceiling was like that of the Great Hall; only instead of weather and stars, fish and other creatures could be observed if one just looked up. He always found it comforting, in a weird way. Draco shook free of his towel and started the water.
Water hit his lithe form; almost caressed him as he reached for his shampoo. Draco absentmindedly turned his thoughts to Granger. Why am I so obsessed with her? He remembered a time when she disgusted him. She wasn't the least bit attractive then, but then within a couple months, things started to change. He'd noticed when she wore her hair different or were she usually was at certain times, how she smelled. Finally it all accumulated to very graphic dreams about the brunette. And I actually want them to happen, I want her to like me. Ugh. I don't care what anyone thinks anymore, but she would never have me. Draco pressed his head against the side of the shower stall. "It's not that I'm ugly! I mean look at me," said Draco out loud to himself. Yes, he'd just have to show her how nice he could be.
"I certainly agree," said a girlish voice. Draco hit his head hard against the shower wall as he tried to find out where the voice was coming from. In the process, he hit his head a little too hard leaving a bruise. As he turned around swiftly, one hand holding his head the other covering his private area, he met face to face with a girl. Or, rather, the ghost of a girl.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my shower," Draco choked out. Water ran down him in rivulets, but ran right through the girl.
"You don't know who I am," she sniffled "Of course no one knows who I am, least of all you." She moved closer to him leaning her face in. "My name is Myrtle." The girl giggled, almost shaking all over like a hyper active Chihuahua. If only Hermione acted like this around me, I could get used to that, Draco thought.
"That's great Myrtle, but would you please get the bloody hell out of my shower?"
"Your shower? Your shower? This is my shower, I've been living in a toilet for fifty years; I practically own these pipes! Just yesterday I got flushed into the lake!" said Myrtle clenching her fists. " Of course I wouldn't expect you to care!" As Myrtle started to rant, Draco tried to figure out how to improve the situation; but to no avail. Seriously, do all women act like this? Draco remembered Pansy and a couple of other girls acting this manic at certain times of the month. I wonder if Granger gets like this, he thought to himself. No she is too smart for that. The situation with myrtle grew worse as she began to flail, her hand going through his arm, which was not a pleasant experience. He couldn't curse her because: one she's dead, and two, he had no wand, and he couldn't ask her to leave. So, calmly he went against his nature and asked a brave question, "Myrtle what do I have to do to get you out of here?"
That made Myrtle smirk. Draco watched in horror, as she got even closer and then whispered into his ear. His face constricted in horror. "No! That is disgusting!" Then the bathroom exploded and Draco was blasted from the stall and skidded across the stone floor. Water ran violently out of pipes. "That was disgusting, Why can't I find a nice normal girl that is mildly attractive who doesn't want to molest me?" Draco muttered to himself. He was glad he said no, even though now he had a bruise on his head and a larger bruise was forming on his bottom. As he stood up slowly, he realized that his shampoo had been blasted onto the mirrors, forming a thick goop. As it slowly advanced down the mirrors, he realized his towel was missing. Draco could only say one word.
Though it was still early in the morning, the thought of streaking down the hall with a bruised bottom was not on his list of things to do. Of course, it is better than someone finding me here. They'd ask questions and I'd have to explain I was accosted by a dead twelve years old. No, but if I'm seen in the hall what am I supposed to say? 'Oh lovely morning for a nude stroll?' Draco sighed and cautiously poked his head out the door after much deliberation. What is the world coming to, he thought, after this I am getting a huge bowl of porridge I at least deserve that. Porridge was Draco's favorite thing to eat for breakfast, why if there were to be a shortage on porridge, Draco would probably have an aneurism.
The hall was empty. At first, Draco started out at a slow pace and jumped at every little sound. Eventually, he got bolder as he got closer to his room and the walk turned into s sprint for the door. That of course ended badly. As Draco rounded the corner he came face to face with Blaze Zabini. Both boys turned an interesting shade of red. How am I going to explain this? Draco decided not to, and ran to his room; slamming the door loudly. As he pressed himself to the door he sighed, I'll have to avoid Blaze from now on. C'mon Draco just get dressed and go upstairs. Yes, food is all I need! As he consoled himself he put on his robes hurriedly and dashed up the stairs. It's early yet I can avoid more people. Draco strutted up the stairs to the Great Hall trying to appear confident, not wanting people to notice his harried expression or the slightly red mark under his nose. He lucked out, there were not many people up yet, since it was around eight thirty in the morning. As Draco touched the Great Hall's giant oak doors he felt relief and opened the door. There was the Slytherin table, clad in green and silver, and hardly anyone was there. Draco sat down gingerly, trying not to agitate his bruise. Slowly he sipped his orange juice and glanced, casually of course, over to the Gryffindor table. Hermione was there in her usual seat, her brown curls glistening in the morning sunlight. Surprisingly, she was alone. Interesting, the two dunderheads aren't here, it must be too early for them. Draco smirked, maybe the day is turning around; at least I have a view. If he couldn't have her, he could at least look at her. He shifted himself, still keeping his eyes on her, and reached for his spoon. Porridge had always been his comfort food; his mother would make it for breakfast every morning. Of course, when he was older he found out the house elves made it, but those days had been so warm and comforting. Breakfast was always a safe recluse from the troubles of the world and at home. At least back when they were a family, before the Dark Lord came back, and his father went to Azkaban. Draco sighed and looked down. There was no porridge. He was taken aback; every day for the last couple years he had eaten the same porridge in the same seat. Draco twitched a little bit, after an awful morning didn't he deserve his only two comforts of a hot meal and at least looking at the woman he cared for? As swiftly as this thought came, he was hit by the nauseating perfume and syrupy voice of Pansy Parkinson.
"Draco darling when did you get here? I must not have seen you come in," she tittered "Oh baby what's wrong you look positively awful!" Pansy put her arm around him and pressed her cheek against him.
"I'm fine Pansy," Draco grit out," except my breakfast has gone missing…" How is it all these women keep hanging all over me but the one I actually want! I'm starting to wish I was in a different house! Wait, what am I thinking! He tried to shake the thought physically from his mind.
"Oh, yes your breakfast," she said, her eyes getting larger, " Blaze said something about you not feeling well, so I ate it, I was sure you wouldn't mind." Pansy smiled and cocked her head to one side, then began to prattle on about something else. Draco did not hear it; he did not know whether to simple cry in defeat or persevere. Remain calm, they're not trying to mutiny they just are extremely dense I am not in Ravenclaw. I can find a solution to this problem. As he craned his neck looking up and down the table, Draco soon realized that there was no porridge on the whole table or any table for that matter except across the hall. Located diagonally from Draco was a lone bowl of porridge located scenically next to Hermione's shoulder. Damn it! Draco's stomach growled angrily, agitated by the incessant talking of Pansy. Why does she always give me indigestion now? It never used to be like this. Maybe if I imagine porridge it will appear that's usually what happens around here. As he squinted his eyes, Draco imagined a steaming bowl of porridge until he heard a voice.
"Draco honey I think you should at least eat something, your face is even all scrunched up in pain," Pansy smiled "Do you want me to feed you?" Draco tried to hide his disgust. Swallowing his pride he tried to remain as sugary as she was.
"No babe, but I need some porridge," he used his winning grin "You see I have a sensitive stomach and porridge is the only thing that will soothe me this early in the morning. So maybe if you could find some I would feel better."
"Oh yes. I remember now I'm sorry I ate your porridge Drakie, I'll go find some more!" Pansy clasped her hands together in search of the coveted breakfast food, but Draco knew it would be fruitless. Curse my sensitive stomach, if only I could eat cereal or eggs like a normal person. He tried that once as a child and ended up getting sick all over, his father was not pleased. Now what am I going to do? I could go back to bed hungry and hide, but then I'd have to wait till around noon time. They always serve lunch later. Or maybe I could go over there and ask her to share. As he glanced around he realized one thing, he would have to walk all the way across the Great Hall to get there. That would result in students and teachers seeing him walk over to talk with a Gryffindor, no less Hermione Granger, and asking her to share some porridge because of his delicate digestion. No I can't do that, it would be like some huge walk of shame, plus it would get around school. In addition to that she doesn't need to know about my weak stomach. As Draco mussed his hair, he had an idea. He raised his wand and pointed it at the delicious bowl of steaming goodness and whispered "Wingaurdium Leviosa." Slowly the bowl of porridge rose, luckily Hermione was too engrossed in a huge leather bound volume to notice the bowl moving sluggishly overhead.
"Creamed corn!" someone breathed in his ear. Draco whipped his head around surprised by the voice and saw Pansy beaming down at him. Then he heard it. Splat. Draco looked in horror, as he saw Hermione covered in porridge; it had spilled all over her beautiful brown hair and all over the book she was reading. Why? Why must this happen to me! To her! What do I do? Draco pressed himself down closer to the table trying to hide. Then Pansy did the unthinkable; she started to cackle.
"Good one Draco! Ha Granger ha!" Draco slid as far as could in to his seat when he saw her turn around slowly and glare at him. In an instant, she had cleaned her hair and stalked over to him. When Hermione reached the table, Draco had made himself as small as possible.
"How dare you Draco Malfoy! I thought you were better than this. Why would you attack me at breakfast of all times? What have I ever done to you? If there is anyone who deserves porridge dropped on their head it's you. I am so disappointed in you, you foul, loathsome, evil little ferret!" With a flick of her wrist, she conjured porridge out of thin air. How the hell did she do that?
"What are you going to do with the bitch, Draco, do something!" Draco was frozen in fear and by the time he reacted he also was wearing a bowl of porridge on his head. The Great Hall was silent as Hermione stormed away and Draco sat there defeated. Draco just sat there and thought one thing: I'm going back to bed.