“Did you hear? Malfoy and Ginny are dating!” Lavender whispered to Parvati.
“No!” she squealed.
Lavender smiled smugly. She loved being a gossip queen…
“Since when?” she asked.
“Since yesterday,” was her easy reply.
By lunch, half the school had heard various versions of the date. Fortunately, the dream team had been too busy to take notice. Unfortunately, Ginny and Draco still hadn't heard. Ginny began to suspect something when girls kept glaring at her spitefully.
“Oi! Colin!” she called out.
He looked at her with disbelief and confusion.
“What's wrong?” she questioned when she reached him.
“Everyone knows about you and him,” he replied softly, not wanting to be overheard.
“Is that why Pansy kept glaring at me all day?”
“Maybe. She believes that he's hers.”
“How did they find out?”
“Well, you were out in the open, you know,” Colin muttered.
“The one time I want to be invisible, I fail me,” she sighed.
“Kind of like the Last Supper,” Colin noted thoughtfully.
“What?”
“Right. There used to be this muggle artist named Leonardo DaVinci. He painted this picture of this man named Jesus Christ and his disciples. It's kind of like Voldemort and his Deatheaters, only on the good side. Anyway, most think that the painting has him and the disciples, but don't look carefully enough. There are thirteen people in the picture. He used to have 12 disciples until one betrayed him. The bible says that he was at the supper, but he was really off, telling everyone that he was a fraud and deserved to be crucified. Anyway, in the drawing, the person next to him is a woman named Mary Magdalene, who was a persecuted whore. Only she wasn't. She was born into a royal blooded family, but was ostracized and cast out by society. Jesus fell in love with her and she sat next to him in the last super. Most historians deny it, but it doesn't mean it's not there.”
Ginny absorbed the newfound information, having so many questions. She pouted in annoyance.
“You think he likes you?” a feminine voice shrieked. “Well… He doesn't! He loves me! I just shagged him.”
Ginny rolled her eyes at the prissy girl. She was exercising her patience today.
“Does this face look like it cares? Keep your extracurricular activities to yourself, thanks.”
She screamed. Ginny snapped when the pug-faced witch slapped her. With a dangerously feral wail, she threw her fist at the girl's nose, hearing a resounding crack. Thank Merlin for older brothers. Pansy cried out in pain as the blood flowed down. The crowd gathered around them watched in utter fascination and awe. Pansy ran toward the infirmary, yelling a few vague expletives as she left. Ginny shook her head in disgust as she turned on her heel and left the limelight.
“Hey! Weaslette! Wait up!” a deep voice called out.
She turned to face the source of her problems.
“What?” she asked.
“We need to talk.”
He pulled her to an empty classroom.
“Well?” she pressed. “Talk.”
“Did you hear?”
“Of course I did. That's why I think we shouldn't hang out together anymore,” she stated.
She couldn't bear to watch his crestfallen face.
“Why not?” he questioned.
“Because there's just too much drama for me to handle.”
“Like what?”
“Like being mobbed by your fan club.”
“And?”
“And you know so stop asking!”
“If you don't know something, ask. Keep asking until you think you know. Then keep asking until you're sure. And then keep asking some more. I'm asking. What other drama can't you handle?”
“My brothers.”
“What about them?”
“Well, they see it like this: the only people for me are the mad ones; the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything and at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center light pop and everybody goes “Aww!” and you're not him.”
“I could be.”
“But you're not.”
“Well, it's the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.”
“Tell me something, Draco.”
“Tell you what?”
“Tell me about you. Your life.”
“Naďve, Weaslette. You can tell your entire life story in 30 seconds. There's just a question of editing. So I was born, went to school and I'm here now. Is that all?”
She stamped her foot to mirror her impatience.
“I want you to tell me about you. What you like, what you hate. Things along those lines.”
“That's easy. I like Quidditch and I hate Scarhead.”
“See? That's why we can't do this. You hate Harry. Harry is my family's adopted son.”
“And then? It's not like I'm proposing.”
“I know, but it's just really difficult.”
“Sod them all, little Weasley.”
“Look, Malfoy. As fun as this was… kind of… we should go our separate ways. So… bye.”
That was all she said before she left. A figure by the door smiled smugly, watching Draco frown.