Rating: G
Author's Note: This is a short, fluffy piece that I was going to use as a drabble. Unfortunately it got a little out of hand and may or may not become an actual fic. Let me know what you think!
Draco Malfoy was positive he was coming down with Something Terrible. Placing a hand on his forehead, he checked for...well, what he was checking for, he wasn't sure. He had seen a Muggle movie that summer and the mother in it placed her hand on her son's forehead and immediately proclaimed her son to be sick.
"Pansy, do I look alright?" Draco asked the nearest Slytherin. Pansy Parkinson rolled her eyes; this was a question Draco asked roughly every twenty-three seconds.
"Yes, Draco," she obediantly answered, after sparing the Slytherin Prince a quick once over.
"Bloody hell," Draco swore. He didn't feel sick in the typical sense of the word. Racking his brain for another solution, he remember fourth year and the wonderful lies that were told about Scarhead and his band of idiots. "What do you know about love spells?"
This quickly got Pansy's attention. "What?!"
"Love spells. I think I've caught one," Draco calmly explained.
"You can't catch a love spell," Pansy retorted. "What are you talking about?"
Before he could answer, the little Weasel crossed his line of vision, again. Her long red hair trailling onto her hand-me-down pink robes should have inspired a sneer and, maybe, a scathing remark. Instead all Draco felt was the need to kiss each and every one of the hideous freckles on her overly pale complexion.
"Oh," Pansy said, watching her friend watch the redhead.
"Redheads really shouldn't wear pink," Draco muttered, scowling at his inability to stop looking.
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