Want To Be (d.m.)

eight

The next few weeks fly by in a blur of countless papers and library study sessions with Hermione, Ron tagging along occasionally. I find it sweet to watch him steal glances at his friend across the table without her knowing, he obviously has something for her that she doesn't notice. I know Ron knows that I sense something, but since he hasn't said anything about it to me yet, I decide not to mention it.

Ron and I have been getting closer lately since he seemed to be right about Draco at the quidditch match. And he has been right, countless times since that day I've caught him sneaking glances at me across the great hall and in potions class, coincidently my next class today. I can't help the pit that grows in my stomach at the thought of having to be in class with him, I've felt that way since the match. No matter what I do, I can't seem to get the image of his eyes raking me up and down out of my head, causing a kaleidoscope of butterflies to swarm in my stomach. I feel vulnerable having had him look at me like that, like I'm being judged or surveyed by him somehow.

I run my hand through my hair and push my glasses up the bridge of my nose as I walk down the corridor. I glance down at my watch, shocked at the time, hurrying as I realise my day dreaming has caused me to be late. I scurry into the classroom, realising the magnitude of my lateness as Snape is already standing at the from of the class, glaring at me and snapping a book closed as we make eye contact.

"Naomi Good..." he drawls. "...is it engrained in your nature, your lack of respect for time... or are you just. A plain. Dunderhead?" he says thickly, my embarrassment only increased by the thirty pairs of eyes boring into me. I blush deeply and start to head for my seat.

"Not so fast, Good," Snape instructs. "New seats, new partners." He nods towards the front of the room, a desk with one spare seat. I walk quickly towards the spot, my stomach dropping into my toes as I put my books down and turn my eyes to the front, deliberately not making eye contact with him.

Snape goes over the potion we are making today, ingredients and order, technique and temperature. He instructs us to get up and begin, my palms beginning to sweat, and my heartrate increases. Why am I getting so worked up over this? It's just Draco. He looks up at me with a raised eyebrow, cocking his head to the side.

"No one left to bully into being your partner?" I find the courage to challenge. He smirks.

"I was late, earlier than you of course," he says, unmoving. "Didn't remember we were switching today, just happened to miss it," he shrugs, still half-smug.

We walk to the benches where I set up and begin to make our concoction.

"You going to help or is this one on me?" I say after we go unspeaking as I prepare the elements, feeling bold and ready to take on his bad attitude.

"It's on you," he winks. I roll my eyes in disgust.

"You could at least put in a little bit of effort."

"Let it be known, I usually do," he insinuates, my disgust growing. He leans his back against the stone bench, crossing his arms and looking down at me. I never noticed his height advantage over me, he has at least half a head on me, not enough to tower, but enough to intimidate.

"Disgusting." I break eye contact and look across the room at the new partners. On the other side I see Millicent and a Ravenclaw brewing successfully together, Ron and Cho Chang, and Blaise and Hermione paired together. I cock my head at the odd paring, confused.

"Well focus, wouldn't want to burn our potion," Draco smirks. I put down the wooden stirrer and turn to face him, placing my hand on my hip.

"Our?"

"Our," he nods smugly, mimicking my actions.

"You wish, Malfoy," I say, just as smugly. I nod my head towards the cauldron which I deliberately let start to bubble up past the brim. Draco looks at it, panic flashing in his eyes briefly as he picks up the stirrer to stir the potion back quickly, messily to a reasonable bubble. But as he does so a huge splatter of the mix flies out and lands on my hand, searing it. I yelp and snatch my hand back, clutching it to myself.

"Good! Malfoy!" Snape bellows, stalking across the room to us. "How careless can you two possibly be?" he hisses. Draco takes the potion off the fire, and I run over to one of the big sinks in the dark corners of the room. I turn on the faucet which gurgles for a moment before shooting out freezing cold water. I run my hand under the stream, shocking, but soothing the burn. I rinse the hot liquid off my hand as best as I can, leaving it for a moment to aid the pain that will no doubt come once the water is off.

"While I do apologise for burning you, I must add, that was no doubt, your fault," Draco says as he walks over to stand beside me by the sink after cleaning the mess of the spill.

"Maybe if you had helped."

"Maybe, you could let me next time," he says, raising his eyebrows to challenge me.

"Well, maybe you-"

"Good!" Snap cuts me off. "You've had your health crisis, back to work." I roll my eyes and head back to my desk to finish notes on the task. Draco stays by the benches with Blaise, chatting while I work on my assignment, but I can barely focus, feeling eyes boring into the back of my head all the while.