Smells Like Teen Spirit

Karma Police

February 8, 1998

Draco huffed and a particularly horrendous note spewed from his Gibson. He stared at his tattered notebook, opened to a painfully blank page.

He sat on a black sofa in front of the roaring fire within the Slytherin Common room. Since the incident-that-shall-remain-nameless, he was avoiding her, which meant he couldn't safely play guitar or write music by the Black Lake, out of fear she might show up.

Not that she seemed to be making any effort to speak to him. They shared every class, yet she still managed to maintain a constant three-meter radius from him at all times, refusing to even look at him. Which he was absolutely fine with.

He wasn't the only one avoiding the witch. He caught Harry staring daggers at Hermione in the Great Hall. And Weasley himself kept giving her hurt looks, so Draco was left to assume that Hermione was either avoiding the redhead or had let him down.

It didn't matter; Draco reminded himself when he caught his mind wandering in her direction. Hermione had only entered his life five months earlier; he would be fine without her. In fact, they'd all be graduating in four months, at which point he would never see the witch again, which was just fine with him.

"That sounds horrifying." Pansy pressed her hands to her temples, her eyes shutting dramatically.

"It's not that bad," Draco mumbled, himself wincing as he missed a chord.

"What's up with you?" Pansy sat on the other side of the couch, pulling out some embroidery floss and knotting pieces together.

"I just - can't write. No matter what I do; it just comes out terrible," he explained, putting his guitar on a conjured stand. He placed his head in his hands, rubbing at his temples.

"Alright, let's hear something," she suggested.

He looked at her carefully. "Are you sure? It's — quite terrible."

"Yes. I usually like your terrible stuff - just, let's hear it." She made a beckoning motion.

He exhaled and grabbed his guitar, playing a series of power chords and began screaming:

It is't much

It doesn't matter

Here I am

Missing a ladder

I shouldn't have done it

I did it anyways

You live your life

I go my way

"Oh gosh." Pansy pressed her hand over his mouth, shaking her head. "Please stop."

"Told you. I just can't seem to write anything." He noticed it about a week earlier; every time he sat down to write his mind would go blank. His short screamo song was basically just him randomly writing stupid phrases.

"Wow. I wonder why," Pansy said in a particularly patronizing tone.

Draco narrowed his eyes at the girl. When she kept giving him a pointed look he finally said, "Just spit it out, Pans."

"I'm just saying, it's quite interesting timing - you stop spending time with Granger and suddenly you can no longer write." She shrugged, focusing once more on the grey, black and green strands she was twisting together.