Pawns | A Draco Malfoy Love Story

Ron's Misunderstanding

I saw Draco again yesterday but unfortunately no sob stories were shared. I did poke him though, much like Ginny pokes me, and I gave him my best suspicious eyes and practically begged him to share some deep traumatic story in return. He had laughed and smacked my finger down.

The closest I got was a quick sentence or two about how he's always wanted to make his dad proud, which proved tough at times. For a second, I thought that he would tell me more because I saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes at the mention of his dad who I knew was locked up in Azkaban.

I instantly felt bad for asking him to share such personal stories just because I'd felt comfortable enough to share my own. My hopes were that he would have wanted to share his feelings, like I had; I felt like it brought us closer together. But hopefully he'd open up one day soon - I wouldn't push him.

It was Saturday today and there wasn't much to do.  I had come down with a small cold, nothing too bad, but I didn't want to be outside watching Quidditch practise. I wandered the halls alone and enjoyed the time to myself. Just because I'd been at this school for almost five full years doesn't mean I'd seen it all. The castle was enormous, not to mentioned it liked to change itself every so often; staircases moved around by the minute and new picture frames went up here and there. I swear the statues moved too, but no one ever believed me. I passed by the large wall where Umbridge's horrible rules used to hang. Too bad Grawp didn't squash her in the forest.

"Hi Sir. Nick," I said, passing by the faint gray outline of Nearly Headless Nick.

He tipped his entire head off at me the way most gentleman would have done it with their hats. It sent a shiver up my spine whenever he did that, but I knew better than to look disturbed. A couple years ago, Neville caught a glimpse of Nick's spine in the centre of his severed neck and he must have looked a little more distraught than appropriate given that the offended ghost proceeded to haunt him for the next two and a half days.

As I rounded a corner, I saw a tall figure with dark, greasy hair headed toward me. He was dressed in entirely black robes that were billowing ridiculously behind him. Snape.

"Ms. Nickoletti," he said, frowning.

"Yes, Professor?" I said, coming to a halt in front of him. He looked miserable. Though, that was his usual face so I suppose he looked normal.

"Wandering the halls for any particular reason?" he asked, sounding almost accusatory.

"I'm a bit sick. I didn't want to go outside for Quidditch and get worse," I explained.

"How are you doing in your classes?" he asked suddenly, surprising me by the abrupt turn in conversation.

"Fine, sir. I've been --"

"Because in mine, you have been been somewhere off in space," he said, cutting me off. "You have not been playing attention and you have fallen below your usual level of moderate competency," he said rudely. "So tell me Ms. Nickoletti, is there a reason you can't seem to focus?"

"No sir," I said, stuttering slightly as I was stunned at this sudden interrogation. I didn't think my marks were slipping in the slightest. He was just being his usual irritating self, but I couldn't argue with him as he was a teacher. "I'm sorry.  I'll try harder."

"Try harder to stay awake? Hmm? Last I checked you couldn't even keep your eyes open. Any reason for that?"

"Sir, I don't think --"

He cut me off with a scoff. "Figures. You and Potter are the same. The fat lady never did do her job well enough, did she? You've been sneaking around at night, haven't you!"