It's a Muggle Thing

Chapter Twelve

Starkiller's P.O.V.

I was pulled out of Castle Rock, Maine, where I was looking for a dead body, and pulled back to Hogwarts, where I was reading Different Seasons by Stephen King in the Slytherin common room by something being tossed at me. I picked it up; it was my copy of My Aim Is True by Elvis Costello and The Attractions. A glance upwards revealed Malfoy standing over me.

    “Was that really necessary?” I asked him irritably as I folded the page in my book and set it aside.

    “No, but you know me,” he grinned, “I like grand entrances.”

    “Yes,” I agreed. “I do know you. I assume that you want another album, then?” Malfoy nodded eagerly; ever since I had first introduced him to muggle music in the beginning of the school year, it had become our thing where I gave him new records to listen to and he returned them when he was finished, sort of like a library. “What do you want?”

    He thought for a long time; I had never given him a choice before. “Something that’ll piss my parents off,” he finally decided on.

    As we talked more and more, I gained a little bit more insight on Malfoy’s home life. His father was controlling, and his mother was weak, and Draco was the only child. Mr. Malfoy didn’t understand that he couldn’t buy his son’s love; it had worked for the first twelve years of his life, but now he was seeing the light. Blood status doesn’t matter, nor wealth. Just the goodness of your heart.

    I grinned, “That’s my specialty.” I ran up to the girls dormitory and thumbed through my records, finally deciding to give him a daily double; something to piss off the older generation, and something nice.

    I tossed the records in his lap as I resumed my place on the couch, “Here. Appetite For Destruction by Guns N’ Roses, and Rubber Soul by The Beatles. Something sour and something sweet.”

    Draco gave both records the ol’ once-over before smiling and looking up at me, “Thanks, Rose.” There are only three people in the world allowed to call me Rose: Fred, Draco, and my father.

    I nodded, pleased with myself, “No problem. It’s what I do.”

    After a moment’s silence, Malfoy looked at me and asked, “Hey, Starkiller, can I ask you a question? Between you and me, as friends?”

    I turned the page of my book and answered without looking up at him, “Shoot.”

    “What’s up with you and Weasley?” he asked, and as soon as the words had left his lips, my heart sunk. We’d been found out. Being caught by Stanley and George was nothing; being caught by a Slytherin was the end of the world as I knew it. I would be condemned by all Slytherins for going out with a Gryffindor, not to mention a Weasley. In simple terms, I was screwed. “You two seem extra touchy-feely lately.”

    I furrowed my eyebrows, “Have you been spying on us or something?”

    “When I’m not with you, I’m usually trying to hide from Pansy. When I find a sufficient hiding spot, I just sit down and observe everyone else,” he defended himself. “It’s rather relaxing, actually. And you avoided my question.”

    I sighed, “Do you promise you won’t tell?”

    Malfoy smirked triumphantly, “I knew it. It was about time. We’ve all been waiting for you two to get together, you know.”

    “Promise?” I repeated.

    “I solemnly swear that I won’t tell anyone,” he sighed, crossing his heart.