The Sugar Quill
Author: IsabelA113 (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: Weasley Is My King  Chapter: Default
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

Author’s Note: A big thank you, as always, to Zsenya for the beta

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 to think.

            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."

            "Sorry Malfoy." 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 dormitory.

            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.

            "Hm?"

            "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 followed.

            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 Stupefy!"

            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, relaxing bath.

            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."

//
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