Serpent's Veil || Draco Malfoy.

Waltzing with Rejection

DRACO'S POV

I'm sitting in Transfiguration, but honestly, I might as well be in Potions or even Flying for all the good it's doing me. 

McGonagall's droning on about something, and my quill's moving but barely. 

I mean, it's a sad day when I actually want Snape's insults more than I want to listen to this, and that's saying something. 

My mind's somewhere else, replaying that utter disaster with Emily on a loop, wondering what the hell I was thinking.

Yeah, alright, I admit it. 

I've been an idiot.

But seriously, how was I supposed to keep my cool when she shot me down like that? 

It's not like I give a damn about the ball itself. 

The whole thing is just an excuse to wear ridiculous robes, pretend to dance, and maybe get plastered enough to tolerate the evening. 

Normally, I wouldn't blink. 

But this year was different. 

This year, I had it planned out to the damn minute: I was going to ask Greenleaf to go with me.

Spend the entire night together, maybe even end it alone together if things went that way. 

Not a full-blown romantic confession or any of that rubbish, but a real night with her, for once.

What's so stupid is that I actually thought it might work. 

I even had some idea of asking her to take things seriously with me, see if she'd even consider it.

No, I'm not losing my mind. 

I just thought she might say yes, and we'd make a thing of it. 

The fact that I feel anything close to serious about this girl, who only seems interested in making me hate myself on a daily basis, should be enough proof that I'm a masochist. 

I mean, any rational person would've given up by now. 

Emily Greenleaf is nothing if not relentless in reminding me of every single one of my flaws, pushing buttons I didn't even know existed. 

And here I am, ignoring every ounce of pride and common sense I have to ask her to the bloody ball.

But she had other plans.

Her excuse for rejecting me?

Drumroll, please... bloody Nott.

I don't know why it always comes back to Theo. 

Somehow, he's the one person she holds over my head, even though she barely seems interested in him either. 

I'd laid it out there for her, taken a step that I don't take for just anyone, and the first thing out of her mouth was, "Oh, Theo would get upset, and besides, you're with Pansy."

To hell with both of them. 

I'm furious.

Now I'm supposed to be focused on this transformation exercise—turning a goblet into a pigeon or something equally pointless. 

But how am I supposed to give a single damn about pigeons when she's sitting right there, practically radiating irritation in my direction? 

McGonagall, clearly unimpressed with the slack effort going on in this corner, stalks over and looms like a disapproving bat. 

She crosses her arms and looks directly at me. 

"Mr. Malfoy, why haven't you managed this spell yet?"