Author’s Note: A big thank you, as
always, to Zsenya for the beta.
The heavy green curtains were
pulled shut around Draco Malfoy’s bed. No one disturbed him; no one dared with
his current level of patience hovering somewhere between "Whomping Willow"
and "nesting Chinese Fireball". He was hatching a plot, an evil plot,
but it just wasn’t coming along and so he had shut himself up in the dormitory
It all started with the
Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts. Potter’s little lapdog, Weasley, had by all
accounts made a good showing and won the position of Keeper. He was no Oliver
Wood, but Merlin knew that with the team as strong as it already was the
Slytherins couldn’t afford for that penniless Muggle-lover to be in form during
the match or they were sunk. They were planning to work harder than usual to
shake the team up before the match, maybe manage a minor injury, but they
really had to get to Weasley.
Draco had taken on the
project with particular relish. After all, he had practically made his school
career on harassing Gryffindors, with particular emphasis on Quidditch players
and Potter's fan club. Accordingly, Draco had indulged his prodigious
play-acting skills by mimicking Weasley dropping the Quaffle every time they
met in the corridors. It was amusing, and it certainly worked to turn Weasley
an unattractive shade of red, but Draco couldn't help feeling that there had to
be something more he could do.
He glanced down at the
parchment on which he had made some notes. "Buttons" was crossed out;
it would be gauche to go for the same trick two years in a row, wouldn't it?
Although, they had seemed effective, and he was rather fond of button-making.
He rewrote the word, followed by a question mark. "Posters" was
nixed, mostly because Draco assumed that the staff would be averse to rude
pictures of Weasley's mother being displayed in the stands. "General
intimidation" was followed by a check mark, but the team had made it clear
that something further would be expected. "Detention" had a question
mark next to it, because Draco hadn't yet come up with a scenario that would
send Weasley to detention without putting himself in the same spot. He was
working on it. There was always Potions class, Snape was generally willing to
turn a blind eye to Gryff-baiting. "Grievous bodily harm" had been
scribbled out entirely, because it was far too common a solution for a Malfoy
to contemplate. That, and his father would murder him if he got expelled.
Draco crumpled the paper and
threw it away in disgust. He was the bloody scion of Malfoy, evil plots were
his birthright! He needed to think. Closing his eyes, Draco flopped back on the
pillows. What were Weasley's weaknesses? Being a Muggle-lover. Being poor. Being
stupid and red-headed. Being a Gryffindor. Liking Potter. But all of that was
useless! He teased Weasley about that stuff all the time, so it wouldn't be
new, and it wasn't as though he could rib Weasley once they were out on the
pitch. What if he could get the crowd to shout insults? Draco pondered.
The sound of Blaise Zabini's
voice broke his concentration. "Ooooh, it hit me just like Stupefy,"
he sang quietly, trailing off to a hum.
"Shut it, Zabini."
Blaise pulled the curtains aside cautiously. "Couldn't help it. Pansy has
been singing that rot all day. Can't get it out of my head."
"Then take your head
elsewhere!" Draco snapped. Blaise withdrew, grumbling. Draco parted the
curtains huffily and slid off the bed. Well, he certainly wasn't going to get
any thinking done now that he had been distracted. Might as well go up to the
common room and get some homework done. He picked up his school bag left the
Blaise gave him a dirty look
when he walked in, but Draco ignored it and turned his attention to the second
year that was sitting in the chair he liked by the fireplace. He raised an
eyebrow, and the offending second year leapt up, taking his book to the shadows
at the far end of the room. Draco settled into the high-backed chair, pulling
out his Potions book, parchment and quill. He was just hitting his stride in an
essay about the properties of hellebore when Pansy Parkinson dropped into the
next chair, having dispatched the previous occupant. She was humming.
"Hmmm. Mm hmm. Oh when I
saw you baby, it was just like Stupefy!" she sang softly, bobbing her head
to imaginary music.
"Stop," Draco said,
leveling a glare at her.
"You're singing and I
find it distracting. So, stop."
"Oh! I didn't realize.
It's that new Myron Wagtail song, you know? He's gone in a completely different
direction since he's left the Weird Sisters. They've been playing it like mad
on the Wireless lately. It's very catchy."
"It is," piped up
Daphne Greengrass from a nearby sofa. "It's been in my head since you had
it on this morning."
"Have you seen the Witch
Weekly article? The one with the photos?" Pansy asked excitedly.
Next to Daphne, Millicent
Bulstrode said, "I did. "Who knew he was hiding that under those ugly
black robes?" She gave a deep, mannish sort of giggle.
"I was thinking about
putting one of them up on the wall by my bed. The one on the beach, with the
water dripping down..." Pansy made an expressive gesture.
Draco gathered his things in
an effort to stave off the impending nausea.
"Where are you going,
Draco?" Pansy asked, pouting a little.
"Away from you simpering
bints," he muttered as he crossed towards the door and headed up to the
library. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged looks, then picked up their things and
Two Hufflepuff girls walked
by in the corridors were humming the ubiquitous song. A herd of little
Gryffindors was in the courtyard dancing and singing "Love at first sight,
oh you know I don't lie. 'Cause when I saw you baby, it was just like
Stupefy!" so loudly that McGonagall came out and threatened to give
detentions for unruliness. A Ravenclaw at a table in the library that they
passed had drawn a picture of a witch pointing her wand at an unconscious
looking wizard with the word "Stupefy" between them and "I LOVE
MYRON" beneath, on a spare piece of parchment. Draco slammed down his bag
at a back table, and set to work.
At dinner, Draco sat between
Crabbe and Goyle, and across from a penitent-looking Pansy. The table was
fairly quiet, except for the firsties down at the end who were always fidgety.
They talked about the upcoming Quidditch match, and grumbled about the overload
of homework. Then Crabbe did something that made Draco choke on his pudding.
"Hmmm, just like
Draco looked at the other boy
with disgust. “Not you too!"
Crabbe looked at his lap.
"It's catchy," he mumbled.
"It's stupid. It is a
stupid song." Draco stood. "And the next person who sings it around
me is going to be very sorry." He glared fiercely at the entire table
before stalking out of the Great Hall. He started to head down to the dungeons,
then changed his mind and did an about-face. What he needed was a nice,
Settling back into the warm
tub, he thanked Merlin he was a Prefect. Not that Dumbledore could have
overlooked him; he was a Malfoy after all. He let his mind wander, releasing
the stress of the day- Quidditch, and potions and OWLs. He focused on the warm
water, the soft pine scent of the bubbles. Draco felt still, content. Then a
little voice in the back of his mind whispered, "'Cause when I saw you
baby, it was just like Stupefy."
"Gaaah!" He leapt
from the tub, sliding on the stone floor, and grabbed his towel. Barely
bothering to dry himself, he pulled on his clothes and barreled out of the
bathroom. Down the corridors he went, students scattering as he came near. He
reached the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons and spoke the password sharply.
Inside, made a beeline for his target, pulling his wand.
"I should hex your mouth
closed, Parkinson. You've got that ridiculous song in my head."
Pansy looked startled, and
slightly frightened, but she drew herself up in the chair. "That is hardly
my fault. Songs are like that. They just get in your head. So... so why don't
you go find a Gryffindor to harass?"
Draco opened his mouth, and
then closed it. His eyes grew wide as an idea began to take shape. "Harass
the Gryffindors," he murmured, "with a song…songs get into your
head." He began to pace. "If we get everyone to sing it..."
Draco turned abruptly and started walking off towards the dormitories.
"What are you doing,
Draco?" Pansy asked, bewildered.
He turned and gave her the
infamous Malfoy smirk. "I'm writing a song for Ron Weasley."