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“What are you doing, Malfoy?”
“I could ask the same to you,” I snapped, glaring at the youngest of those damn, redheaded Weasleys. I was just leaving the Room of Requirement for the day, and she apparently decided to stalk me on my way out.
“Harry says you’re always in there,” she announced accusingly.
“Really? And he’s confining all this to a stupid fifth-year?”
“Better than a sixteen-year-old Death Eater,” she spat. Catching me completely off guard, she grabbed my left hand and pulled up the sleeve. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw the Dark Mark, and she quickly dropped my hand.
I smirked. It didn’t bother me that Weasley saw it. After all, she and perfect Potter had known all along.
Her eyes were blank as she asked, “Why?” She seemed to sincerely want to know.
“Do I get a longer question than that, or do I have to assume? If you’re asking why I hate your family—”
“Why are you a Death Eater?” she asked, enunciating as her eyes flashed.
I rolled my eyes at her. “As if I would tell you, Weasley.”
She was sitting outside the room for a week after we spoke. I didn’t bother to even acknowledge her presence after that first and — as far as I was concerned — final conversation.
But I had to admit that it was rather disconcerting to always see her there, although I could easily ignore her.
Until, one day, luck was in her favour. It had been a terrible day for me. I had thought I was so close to fixing the Vanishing Cabinet, but I failed. It was even worse than before.
I walked without seeing properly, but after a moment I noticed a presence beside me. I looked over at her, but didn’t say anything. We just continued walking, silent, since neither of us wanted to be the first to speak.
She stopped before we got into the area of the castle that people would see us together. Only a soft hand on my arm made me notice. I quickly shrugged off her hand, feeling slightly disgusted that a blood traitor had touched me like that.
“Anything you want to tell me, Malfoy?” she asked, her voice soft but her eyes like steel.
“No, there isn’t,” I said flatly and headed to my common room.
“Are you planning on stalking me forever, Weasley?” I snapped as I saw her there yet again. How long had it been since she started this war? Two, three weeks? What was it about, anyway? Who cracked first? I wasn’t going to say anything.
“Do you want me to?” she asked, her voice falsely innocent.
“Damn it, why would I?”
“Fine, then, just answer my question.”
“What was it you asked? Why I hate you? Because you’re annoying and—” I began to list, but she cut me off angrily.
“You know what I asked you Malfoy, so stop pretending you’re dumber than you are.”
“Insulting me won’t work,” I commented casually. “Besides, I still don’t understand why you want to know. Or why I would tell you.”
“I don’t know why I want to know,” she answered vaguely, but her words seemed very honest. “I just can’t help but wonder why anyone so young would waste their life doing something like that.”
We got to the place where we usually parted. Even later at night, there were always people outside the Great Hall.
“Tell you what, Weasley,” I began, my eyes glinting. I hadn’t had any fun in months, so I was feeling particularly reckless. “You walk across here with me, where all these people will see us. I know there’s a lot — what, twenty or something? — but if you don’t, I’ll never tell you.”
She wrinkled her nose in what I assumed was disgust. I didn’t particularly like the idea of walking with such a whiney blood traitor all that much either, but anything was better than having her waiting for me every damn day.
Her head tilted toward me, and her face was set in harsh lines. “Fine, Malfoy. Let’s.”
I inclined my head, unable to contain my smirk.
“Do we have to hold hands?”
I glared at her. “As if I’d want you to touch me.”
She faced forward, her red hair fanning out behind her in the gesture. I rolled my eyes.
“I want to get this over with,” she muttered, starting forward.
I caught up to her easily. “Trying to run away?”
She glared at me quickly before increasing her pace as we walked by more and more people. Some stared, and some didn’t seem to notice. A few Gryffindors started forward angrily — as if I were doing something to her — but they stopped at the shake of her head. Some of my housemates smirked, since it seemed to be a universal feeling that I was torturing Weasley in some way or another.
Once we cleared the crowd, she slowed. “Was that really so bad?” I asked softly, mocking.
She walked into an empty classroom and sat just inside the door. “Okay, Malfoy, you had your fun. Now spill.”
I bit my lip suddenly, inwardly cursing my reckless act. Now I had to tell her. Of course, I could lie, but what would I say instead? Besides, she wouldn’t believe the truth.
I launched into the tale, speaking faster than I ever had before. “Well, Weasley, I was asked to be a Death Eater, and I had to because it was expected of me. You can think I wanted it or not, but I only did it because I needed to — if I didn’t, my family would have been killed. Including myself, obviously, so you can assume it was purely for selfish reasons.” I winced slightly as I realised how pathetic that sounded. I wasn’t a Hufflepuff after all. I hoped she would believe I was just being selfish, even though I knew that wasn’t completely true.
“Is that all?” she asked, expressionless.
“Yes,” I said flatly.
She stood up. “I’m not going to say you’re a decent guy, Malfoy. I still think you’re a bloody idiot, and my brother’s going to kill both of us if he hears what just happened—”
“Point, Weasley?” I interrupted, annoyed.
“Well, thanks,” she said quickly and softly, her face turning red as she practically ran out of the classroom.
I stared after her, not knowing what to think. I wondered if she would continue stalking me, and I couldn’t help but feel like I wouldn't mind too much if she did.
“I could ask the same to you,” I snapped, glaring at the youngest of those damn, redheaded Weasleys. I was just leaving the Room of Requirement for the day, and she apparently decided to stalk me on my way out.
“Harry says you’re always in there,” she announced accusingly.
“Really? And he’s confining all this to a stupid fifth-year?”
“Better than a sixteen-year-old Death Eater,” she spat. Catching me completely off guard, she grabbed my left hand and pulled up the sleeve. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw the Dark Mark, and she quickly dropped my hand.
I smirked. It didn’t bother me that Weasley saw it. After all, she and perfect Potter had known all along.
Her eyes were blank as she asked, “Why?” She seemed to sincerely want to know.
“Do I get a longer question than that, or do I have to assume? If you’re asking why I hate your family—”
“Why are you a Death Eater?” she asked, enunciating as her eyes flashed.
I rolled my eyes at her. “As if I would tell you, Weasley.”
She was sitting outside the room for a week after we spoke. I didn’t bother to even acknowledge her presence after that first and — as far as I was concerned — final conversation.
But I had to admit that it was rather disconcerting to always see her there, although I could easily ignore her.
Until, one day, luck was in her favour. It had been a terrible day for me. I had thought I was so close to fixing the Vanishing Cabinet, but I failed. It was even worse than before.
I walked without seeing properly, but after a moment I noticed a presence beside me. I looked over at her, but didn’t say anything. We just continued walking, silent, since neither of us wanted to be the first to speak.
She stopped before we got into the area of the castle that people would see us together. Only a soft hand on my arm made me notice. I quickly shrugged off her hand, feeling slightly disgusted that a blood traitor had touched me like that.
“Anything you want to tell me, Malfoy?” she asked, her voice soft but her eyes like steel.
“No, there isn’t,” I said flatly and headed to my common room.
“Are you planning on stalking me forever, Weasley?” I snapped as I saw her there yet again. How long had it been since she started this war? Two, three weeks? What was it about, anyway? Who cracked first? I wasn’t going to say anything.
“Do you want me to?” she asked, her voice falsely innocent.
“Damn it, why would I?”
“Fine, then, just answer my question.”
“What was it you asked? Why I hate you? Because you’re annoying and—” I began to list, but she cut me off angrily.
“You know what I asked you Malfoy, so stop pretending you’re dumber than you are.”
“Insulting me won’t work,” I commented casually. “Besides, I still don’t understand why you want to know. Or why I would tell you.”
“I don’t know why I want to know,” she answered vaguely, but her words seemed very honest. “I just can’t help but wonder why anyone so young would waste their life doing something like that.”
We got to the place where we usually parted. Even later at night, there were always people outside the Great Hall.
“Tell you what, Weasley,” I began, my eyes glinting. I hadn’t had any fun in months, so I was feeling particularly reckless. “You walk across here with me, where all these people will see us. I know there’s a lot — what, twenty or something? — but if you don’t, I’ll never tell you.”
She wrinkled her nose in what I assumed was disgust. I didn’t particularly like the idea of walking with such a whiney blood traitor all that much either, but anything was better than having her waiting for me every damn day.
Her head tilted toward me, and her face was set in harsh lines. “Fine, Malfoy. Let’s.”
I inclined my head, unable to contain my smirk.
“Do we have to hold hands?”
I glared at her. “As if I’d want you to touch me.”
She faced forward, her red hair fanning out behind her in the gesture. I rolled my eyes.
“I want to get this over with,” she muttered, starting forward.
I caught up to her easily. “Trying to run away?”
She glared at me quickly before increasing her pace as we walked by more and more people. Some stared, and some didn’t seem to notice. A few Gryffindors started forward angrily — as if I were doing something to her — but they stopped at the shake of her head. Some of my housemates smirked, since it seemed to be a universal feeling that I was torturing Weasley in some way or another.
Once we cleared the crowd, she slowed. “Was that really so bad?” I asked softly, mocking.
She walked into an empty classroom and sat just inside the door. “Okay, Malfoy, you had your fun. Now spill.”
I bit my lip suddenly, inwardly cursing my reckless act. Now I had to tell her. Of course, I could lie, but what would I say instead? Besides, she wouldn’t believe the truth.
I launched into the tale, speaking faster than I ever had before. “Well, Weasley, I was asked to be a Death Eater, and I had to because it was expected of me. You can think I wanted it or not, but I only did it because I needed to — if I didn’t, my family would have been killed. Including myself, obviously, so you can assume it was purely for selfish reasons.” I winced slightly as I realised how pathetic that sounded. I wasn’t a Hufflepuff after all. I hoped she would believe I was just being selfish, even though I knew that wasn’t completely true.
“Is that all?” she asked, expressionless.
“Yes,” I said flatly.
She stood up. “I’m not going to say you’re a decent guy, Malfoy. I still think you’re a bloody idiot, and my brother’s going to kill both of us if he hears what just happened—”
“Point, Weasley?” I interrupted, annoyed.
“Well, thanks,” she said quickly and softly, her face turning red as she practically ran out of the classroom.
I stared after her, not knowing what to think. I wondered if she would continue stalking me, and I couldn’t help but feel like I wouldn't mind too much if she did.
The End.
R_Ravenclaw is the author of 3 other stories.
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This story is a favorite of 3 members. Members who liked My Stalker also liked 1246 other stories.
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