Life's events, at times, can be so unexpected. Beautiful, yet totally unexpected. In my life, the expected events are usually the most horrid ones.

One thing I never expected was for me, a Malfoy nonetheless, to fall in love. Well, it wasn't really falling. It was more like hitting the ground while running. Reflecting back on my tryst with love, I still find things hard to swallow. My path was cut out for me. Father expected me to become a Death Eater. Mother did also, granted she did not agree with the whole ordeal. The entire house of Slytherin bowed down to me as if I were a god, simply because of my name. I must admit, I liked having power. I liked being influential.

In the beginning, all I was about were appearances. A smirk here, a taunt there. I didn't care who I hurt. 'As long as the Malfoy name isn't tarnished, do as you wish,' my father would say. And the smirks, the sneers? That was the type of behavior expected of me. And at that period in life, a teenager with Father's money and aristocratic features to boot, people's feelings didn't even matter. Only mine did. And that behavior is what led me to my path towards falling in love. And no, I didn't fall in love with Pansy Parkinson, as was expected. No, it was someone totally different. Totally, completely, and utterly unexpected.

It all started my fifth year. That's when I noticed her. Sure, I saw her around sometime, but her face was always one in a crowd. Nothing really stood out, besides that hair. That's one of the things that made me take notice. Her hair. It was red, but not that orange type of red. Her red was more deep. Not exactly as crimson as blood, but not as bright as her brother's hair either. I guess it was just a shade that matched her -- unexplainable, yet completely breathtaking.

I bet you're saying to yourself, "Wow. Malfoy's completely gone around the bend." But I haven't. I guess you can call it me being insightful.

It was in Umbridge's office, when she bat bogey hexed me, that I really began to take notice. And I couldn't explain to myself why it was that I took notice of her, when I never did before. Maybe it was the way she stood up to me? The way my sneer didn't frighten her? I don't know. But whatever it was, it definitely had me intrigued.

Before she came into my life, things seemed utterly predictable. Like I said before, I was expected to become a Death Eater. Sometimes I felt trapped. I never knew what was good for me. Everything was to please Father. To follow in his footsteps. To not make a mockery of the Malfoy name. But why? Sometimes I thought, while I drowned myself in self pity, would it matter anyway? Would Father ever be pleased with me? But yet, I always found myself looking for his approval.

Despite my father's lectures about the value of Purebloodedness and how bad Muggles and Muggle lovers were, I sought Ginevra Weasley out anyway. Our story is one of a modern love.

During the summer before sixth year, I wasted most of my days away thinking of ways to get the youngest Weasley to talk to me. It wasn't a matter of getting her to notice me; she always noticed me. But I needed to come up with a plan to get her not to hate me so much. That's kind of hard being that I've teased her and her family for years. I know that anyone would find it a bit odd that I've taunted her family for years now, and suddenly I want to make her mind. Odd doesn't even begin to describe it.

And still, to this day, I ask the gods why they chose her for me to fall for. Why not someone else? It's not like I'm complaining about the choices they made, but an explanation would be nice.

-

It was a Thursday, or perhaps a Wednesday, in the late summer when I finally talked to her. And I mean talked, not tossing insults back and forth at each other. It was in Diagon Alley that this happened. Mother and Father figured that because I was such a responsible young man, it would be okay for me to go school supply shopping on my own. Hell, I was sixteen. Why wouldn't I be responsible enough?

Anyway, the first thing I did was got my books in Flourish and Blotts. The gods must have been smiling down on me, because there Ginny Weasley was. She was scanning through pre-owned books on a bookshelf towards the back of the shop. I believe she was school supply shopping also.

I had to make my presence known, so I followed her casually. Quietly. Now, I'm not exactly known for being the stalker type, and I didn't want to frighten her away. So I cleared my throat.

Believe it or not, it is very hard to change someone's opinion of you. It's harder indeed if someone has a rather nasty opinion of you. I didn't expect Ginny's opinion of me to change instantly; it would have to come gradually. And that would work splendidly, if I were the patient type. But I'm not.

Nevertheless, she noticed me. Ginny turned around, eyebrows high with surprise. Her lips then thinned. "Look, Malfoy," I recall her saying. "I'm not in the mood right now. Go away. Go annoy someone else." But I was hardly focused on her words at that moment.

My eyes drank her in. Worn black sneakers, worn jeans that looked a size or two too small, and a plain yellow t-shirt. It was nothing exciting or interesting, to say the least. Then I studied her face. Too many freckles. And when I say too many, I mean that there were so many that some were even on her lips. Whoever heard freckled lips? Not I.

Her hair was tied up with a thin black ribbon. But to me, her hair seemed to have a mind of its own, being that a few delicate strands had escaped the ribbon's grasp.

Ginny back then wasn't exactly stick thin. But she wasn't fat either. I think "curvy" would describe her perfectly. I would later find out that she took most of her features from her father -- especially her height. She must have been, what? A hundred seventy six centimeters, at least. That's pretty tall for a girl in my book.

She must have noticed the fact that I was staring at her for a great length of time. That was when she snapped her fingers right in front of my face, as if I were an animal or something. "Malfoy?"

"Weasley. Why are you so eager to get rid of me? What if I wanted to catch up with an old school chum?"

"I'm not, and will never be your chum. Now off you go," she said, rolling her eyes toward the sky.

"Well, as of now, you are. I have, er.. Plans for you." Okay. That didn't come out as smoothly as intended. 'Plans for you'? Is that the best I could do? Where the hell was my so-called "Malfoy charm"?

"Plans for me? Sounds simply intriguing," she said, sarcasm dripping in her voice. "Now, if you'd just leave me alone, I'd be very happy."

She didn't think much of my 'plans'. "Weasley, if you really wanted me to leave you alone, you'd have walked away by now." I reached over and curled a lock of her hair around my index finger. I could feel her body stiffen. She tensed. I released her hair as if it burned. Her chestnut-coloured eyes widened at me. Shock reflected in each of them. No loathing. Only shock, and perhaps confusion.

"I thought I was nothing more than a Muggle lover to you. Isn't it against your nature to converse with someone 'below you', as you'd put it?" And with that, she turned around and walked away.

I turned to the direction that she went in. I had expected that sort of reaction from her whenever I touched her. Well, actually, I sort of expected her to hex me. Good thing we're not allowed to use magic during the summer.

That day in Diagon Alley was spent with me shopping in a state of absent mindedness.

A/N: I forgot to mention this in the first chapter, but this story was inspired by the Bloc Party song "This Modern Love".