Gravity

Chapter 10

The meal was excruciating. Kara played her role as his date far more enthusiastically than he'd anticipated. It was as though she weren't playing at all. And Draco ... he was stunned by her boldness, but he couldn't let it show. After all, he was supposed to have dated this woman. He flirted with her, matched her, word for word, look for look, touch for touch. This was one of Draco's skills, after all. Little used, yes; despised, true; but a finely-honed skill nonetheless.

Draco was relieved when the conclusion of dinner was announced. He'd sworn never to use these skills to wound again, and when he saw the look on Hermione's face halfway through dinner, he'd felt sick at his stomach. And he was pretty sure he'd lost all of Harry's respect.

He was anxious to get away from Kara. As dinner progressed, he became further convinced that she was just like many of the guests his father had entertained-spoiled, selfish, arrogant, and likely interested in one...or two... things: his money and/or the rumors about his proficiency in the bedroom. Not exactly for the long walks on the beach and slow-dancing kind of thing.

It grated on his nerves so much so that when he finally was able to leave the table, he stood noisily, scraping his chair across the floor and storming away, wondering how he'd ever found her attractive in the first place. He felt low-lower than low. Like he could never scrub himself clean. And he certainly never wanted to set eyes on her again.

When the guests were led to the ballroom, Draco stayed against the walls, near the bar. Halfway through the second dance, someone interrupted his third Firewhiskey.

"Oi! Draco!" It was Ron. Ron, who had obviously not spoken to Harry, Ginny, or Hermione, evidenced by the fact that he was smiling as he approached. "Have you danced yet?"

"Uh, no."

"Why not?" Ron ordered himself a butterbeer and stood beside Draco, sipping and watching the crowd.

"As a general rule, I don't dance," he replied bitterly, watching Fred and Hermione moving smoothly across the dance floor. Fred Weasley. Draco had thought about him all through dinner. He was smart, highly successful, and rich-all of which Draco was too. However, Fred was also a Weasley, and therefore generally good-natured, friendly, and he smiled. A lot. Things that could notbe said about Draco. And, knowing he owned a joke shop meant that he could probably make her laugh. Draco ground his teeth at the thought. He was supposed to be the one who made her laugh. Jealousy bubbled unchecked inside him.

"Nonsense, Malfoy. You danced fourth year."

"Once. Because Pansy threatened to stab me with her stiletto."

"Still. You should. It would make Pansy happy; she thinks you're over her, sulking in the corner."

"I am," he muttered under his breath.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Have you talked to Harry lately?" Draco asked, skeptical.

"Yeah. Said you were a giant prat at dinner. Not that it's surprising to see those old, half-forgotten traits resurface."

He glared at Ron. "Sod off."

Ron laughed. "Come on, Draco. We don't like you because you're a giant cuddly teddy bear. Now that I think about it ... don't ask me to try and say why we like you, all right?"

"I'm always good for a sarcastic quip or to pick up the tab when we go out."

"That must be the reason," said Ron. "So ... what exactly happened at dinner?

"I ... was an idiot."

"Must've done something unusual; Harry never gets annoyed when you're an idiot ..." Ron's eyes went wide. "Wait! Did you sit at Hermione's table?"