18

* * * November 22, 1997 * * *

The first time one of the downspouts suddenly swivelled in the courtyard and discharged a cold gush of water onto Draco's head, he chalked it up to some prankster. The second time it happened, he began to keep a careful tally of everyone in his vicinity. By the fourth time, he reckoned he needed to go have a talk with that gargoyle.

He flew up on his broomstick just before sunset and found the granite creature in the exact same pose as he'd last seen it, but it took one look at him and flared its snout. The eyes began to glow a dull red.

"Oh, come now," Draco said crossly. "At least give a man a chance, won't you?" It turned its head toward the wall, but the glow faded. "Look, I'm sorry I was so rude to you the other night," he began in an unconvincing tone. "You probably haven't had a single visitor up here since the tower was built, and then the very first one tells you to sod off. I can see why you're so upset." Though it moved not one bit, Draco perceived a drop in tension, and smirked to himself.

"Here's the thing: A climber takes on a rooftop like this for the challenge. I didn't come up here to have an easy climb of it. When you boosted me up like that, it was... sort of an insult, you know. To my skills as a climber. I thought you were trying to tell me you didn't think I could make it."

The gargoyle turned around with knitted brows, and Draco knew he was in the home stretch. "Plus, it rather threw off my concentration, you know. Having my foot suddenly moving like that. I might've let go from the surprise! So really, it wasn't until later that I realized you were only trying to be... helpful. And that's why I came up to apologize for being so rude at the time. You gave me a bit of a fright, is all!"

The eyes began to glow a delicate pink and Draco figured his days as a gutter snipe were at an end. He reached out amiably to scratch the creature's head, but soon regretted that he'd flown into reach: the gargoyle reached out with a massive clawed foot and caught hold of the front of his broomstick. "Whoa, steady on, there!" Alarmed, Draco reached for his wand, but before he could hex the thing, it pushed off its little pedestal with the other foot and settled contentedly on the broom handle.

They plummetted fifty meters before the broom could adjust to the additional weight. "Morgan le Fay, you might have killed us both!" Draco railed at the thing, but it merely ruffled its batlike wings into a more comfortable pose. Draco groaned. There was no way his broomstick could haul that boulder back up the North Tower; descent was the only option.

Not wanting to be seen like this, Draco flew down with considerable difficulty to the window of their common room and opened it, hoping to slip inside and then coax or shake the gargoyle off the handle of his broom. Unfortunately, the creature obviously took the open window as an invitation, and climbed nimbly onto the sill. It then gave a mighty flap of its stone wings and sailed gracefully to the mantelpiece of their fireplace.

Draco had managed to avoid Granger completely since his humiliation, but he knew he'd have to explain the new presence in their common room. He left a note tacked to the frame of the portrait at the door and hoped it would suffice. But some part of him knew it wouldn't be that easy, and he sighed in resignation when he heard the portrait click shut. It was less than a minute before she knocked.

He pulled open the door with a huff. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me, Draco Malfoy. Why is there a gargoyle on the mantel?"

"I know you can read," he sneered, pointing at the note in her hand.

"Indeed," she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she read the parchment aloud. "'Granger: Mind the new gargoyle.' Nice and succinct, I'll give you that, Draco, but hardly an explanation. I never would have pegged you as the type for tacky furnishings--"

"Don't call it tacky!" he hissed in an earnest plea. "At least not loud enough for her to hear you," he amended miserably. There was no way out of this except an explanation.

"Look, you've heard about my climb the other night," he began quietly. Granger nodded, grinning in earnest now. "Well, the little bint's had all her mates around the castle dumping water on my head for four days now. I went up there to, ah, make peace with her, and she, well, sort of crawled onto my broomstick."

Granger went wide-eyed. "It followed you home?"

Draco sighed, and Granger laughed out loud. "It's not funny," he groused, but damn it all, some idiotic part of his brain apparently agreed with her. "Stop laughing," he snarled, even as he began to chuckle.

"See?" Granger gasped, pointing at him. "It is too funny!" She spun round and flounced happily to the fireplace, casting an Incendio on her way. "A pet gargoyle for the suite! Have you named it yet?" She began petting its cold talons.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Be my guest."

She studied it thoughtfully for a moment and said, "Rocky?"

He scoffed. "It's a girl."

"A girl? How can you tell?" She tried to peer discreetly between the stony claws, but it revealed nothing.

"Trust me on this," Draco grumbled.

He left for Patrol early to stop at the kitchens for dinner, which he'd missed in the "excitement" of settling in the new "pet." When he returned to the suite, there was a proper fire blazing in the hearth and the gargoyle was a picture of contentment on the mantel, its eyes glowing orange like the coals beneath. Granger was there, too, sitting on the divan, nonetheless. What the hell is she up to, he asked himself, but it failed to raise his guard. She was smiling at him, and damn it, he just didn't feel like fighting at that moment.

He took his customary spot on the other end of the divan, but he kept his eyes on the ridiculous gargoyle. "You know, it does lend a bit of atmosphere to this place," he finally said.

Granger snorted. "I think so, too! Sort of traditional. Right out of the history books."

"'Once upon a midnight dreary,' and all that," Draco quipped. "All we need are a few skulls, maybe with some very drippy candles on top..."

"Exactly!" she cried, giggling. "We can host a theme party before the Yule Ball--A Return to the Classics!"

The Yule Ball. Shite.

Granger was admiring the new pet again, and missed his sudden gloom. "I like her," she said matter-of-factly. "But she still needs... What is it?" She'd turned back to Draco, and her voice had gone serious.

"Nothing." What the hell was I thinking, sitting out here? As he tried to rise up from the divan, she put a hand on his knee. "Don't touch me!" he snapped. Bad tactic. Egad, she looks almost like Mother.

"Now listen, Draco," Granger began, her voice low and unyielding. "I'm sorry you embarassed yourself the other night. I'm embarassed too, you know. But there's no need to go on sulking. It happened, it's over, now we move on, all right?"

"No. No, it's not all right. Look, Granger..." He wasn't quite sure what to say, only that he wanted it to hurt, to make her leave him alone. "I know the score here. It's been 'Draco' this and 'Draco' that since the Halloween Ball. I sent a little magic down your spine, and now you act like the hottest little tart in the castle. You're not. It was just a dance, Granger. Get over it."

That speech would have set Pansy off like a Longbottom potion, but in her usual infuriating fashion, Granger merely sat back and gazed at him thoughtfully. He stared back, refusing to blink, but feeling more childish with every passing second. It was a relief when Granger finally sighed and shook her head.

"Maybe you need to go spend your evenings down in Slytherin again, so you'll have someone to spar with. Because these games, they don't interest me at all. It's hard for me to believe that anyone really enjoys it, luring and baiting all the time, then plunging in the knife, but maybe that's just the difference between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

"You were kind to me for a few weeks, Draco, and it was nice. It was a whole new side of you, and I liked it. I liked dancing with you, too. The magic came when I danced with Harry, and with Professor Snape, but even so, it was somehow more intense with you. I thought that might be a sign that we could be friends. Harry and I weren't friends right off the bat, you know; it took a while for us to warm up to each other. And I've only become friends with Professor Snape over this past year--I used to think he was a right bastard."

"He is," whispered Draco, quietly and fondly.

"He can act the part, that's for sure," Granger agreed coolly. "But he also knows when to turn it off. I can't imagine him ever calling Mrs. Snape a little tart."

She rose smoothly from the divan and went into her room as Draco clutched his hands tightly to his belly and fought to keep his breath steady. Only after her door clicked shut did he dare even to raise his eyes. Twin tears spilled immediately onto each side of his face, and he wondered how it could be so much easier to speak frankly to a creature made of stone than to her.