diane malfoy... winter playoffs 1995... prt 1, the night before
"The winter playoffs are underway! There's a lot of buzz around school campus. The old Gryffindor vs. Slytherin humdrum, but the real question is what will Diane be wearing?"
Draco slapped the school gossip column with the back of his hand while he snorted. Diane gently took her teacup away from his side of the table.
The night before the game, she thought as the porcelain teacup brushed her lips, and all anyone could write about was her outfit. How absorbed. How vain. How shockingly obsessive.
Draco's cackling continued as a sort of ambience to Diane's peaceful evening- bouncing off the common room grotto. He cackled and laughed until, Diane presumed, he realized he wasn't getting his desired attention. So, he stopped and twisted in his armchair to face Goyle. Poor, poor Goyle.
"I mean, what kind of article is that? What are they even brainstorming up in that bird's nest?"
"Heh," Goyle slobbered, "Aren't they supposed to be the smart ones?"
Draco scoffed, "Nothing's much of anything it's supposed to be, anymore. That's what Father says. Isn't that right, Diane?"
Diane pursed her lips, everything in her life seemed perfectly in place. She set her teacup down with a clink, "He does say that."
She played with the rope of her robe as Draco and Goyle went back and forth. Coming up with all sorts of jabs for the Ravenclaw writers, who's penmanship was Skeeter-ish at best. Some of the more interesting insults drummed up for the crime of this week's installment included: "Feather plucking fucks", "Prodigious drivels," and- Diane's favorite- "Bagshot bastardizations."
Eventually, Goyle's brainpower was dimming and Draco- as ever, Diane sighed- was growing bored. He turned to her.
In a squeal he asked, "So, dear sister, whatever shall you wear?"
She leaned back comfortably in her couch, finally bothering to look at him. "You went shopping with me last trip to Hogsmeade- for the outfit. Practically begged to tag along, so I could help you find a shade of black that accentuated your neck. Remember?" She tacked that last bit on with a sickeningly honey-coated smirk.
It wasn't true, of course. Draco snuck off to indulge in his love of shoplifting and snatching wine from Madame Rosie. He couldn't admit that, though. Goyle was too much of a loudmouth.
Speaking of Goyle, he was rolling, "Accentuated your neck! What- what's next?! Pick a shade of green to match your eyes?"
Truth be told, it wasn't all that funny. But the kind of comedy where things were out of place was the kind of low-hanging fruit Goyle could wrap his head around. In other words,
Draco turned bright pink, "No it wasn't, I was- I wanted to look nice for Parkinson! Alright? Geez, fat arse."
Diane watched him wince and was even more delighted. Pansy. Pansy Parkinson was the best excuse he could fumble out.
She finished off her tea with a valiant sip and stretched upwards off the couch. She knew if she didn't get upstairs to the girl's dorm soon, Draco was going to get the last bite in. Besides, it was terribly late. They were supposed to talk game strategy. Things had a funny way of always ending up being about her.
"Goodnight you two," she yawned softly, "I'm off to bed."
Draco's protests followed her up the steps and were muffled behind the girl's dorm door.