The first time, he had been in the library with Blaise, attempting to finish his Herbology homework so that he could go for Quidditch practice later, when she had walked in with her dotty Ravenclaw friend, Loony or something along those lines. They had sat near the window, facing his general direction, which was all well and fine enough.

But then he started noticing flashes out of the corner of his eye. And then when he bothered to look up he realised that these flashes were flashes of red. More specifically, Weasley red. Even more specifically, Weasley red which caught the sunlight, which glinted off her hair and into his eyes. He had tried to ignore it, he really had. He just wanted to be done with his homework and be able to leave the library.

But after attempting in vain to read his Herbology text for the second time (Draco was not a very patient person), he decided that he’d had enough. He’d considered moving to another seat, but then he rationalised – why should he? He’d been there first. He’d tell the little chit to bugger off and sit somewhere where she wouldn’t distract him with her stupid sunlight-catching orange hair.

And so he did. He had marched over and told her kindly to please move to another seat – extremely polite of him, he thought – as her hair was distracting him.

“My hair is distracting you?” she’d said, looking all amused. “Why don’t you move, Malfoy? I’m perfectly content sitting here; if you can’t keep your eyes off my hair it’s not my problem.”

He had taken issue with this, sputtering indignantly that it wasn’t that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her hair; it was throwing sunlight in his eyes. And that she had to be the one to move because he had been there first.

She had snorted at his answer. “Real mature, really. It’s hard to believe you’re in the seventh year sometimes.” And then she had the audacity to turn back to her work! Ignoring him!

And then while he had stood there, stunned that she had ignored him, Loony had blinked her too-large eyes at him and said, “I think she’s busy. Anyway, your friend over there is rather cute. What’s his name?"

Draco had been too stunned to reply Luna. He had stormed back to his seat without even remembering to insult the Weasel’s family. The only thing he got out of that encounter was that he got to rib Blaise about the fact that Loony thought he was cute. And that didn’t even go as planned; Blaise had simply raised an eyebrow slowly, as if pondering the possibilities of going down that path.

In retrospect, he didn’t understand how it was that the littlest Weasel had managed to get him so riled up. He was normally so cool and composed. He resolved to be the epitome of calm and collected the next time he ran into her. That evening, he had glared at her with extra effort as they crossed paths in the hallway, and she had returned it with an equally sweet smile. After she was out of earshot, Blaise had asked, “What’s up with you and Ginny Weasley? Got a little something for her?” Draco had snapped that he was crazy; he wouldn’t go near that with a ten-metre pole.



~



The second time, the library was crowded with students preparing for exams. Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors – they were everywhere. During the exam period, school unity was greater than usual; everyone was in the same sinking boat. Still, Draco scowled as he realised that there were no empty tables, only a single empty seat opposite a person who was bent over some books and who had bright red hair. It had to be one Ginevra Weasley, who was sitting at the same seat she had the last time with a few other Gryffindor. Curse his luck. Well, at least there was no sunlight today – it had been a dreary, rainy day, which probably also explained why there were so many students in the library.

He set his books down on the table and sat down.

Ginny looked up. “Stalking me, Malfoy?” she greeted. “Can’t get enough of my hair?”

“Who’d want to look at your stupid orange hair?” Draco retorted cleverly. To be fair – which Draco most definitely was not – her hair wasn’t exactly orange, but more of a warm reddish auburn (now that he could see it without going blind) but he certainly wasn’t going to tell her that.

She cocked her head, studying him for a moment, and then went back to scribbling on the piece of parchment that was in front of her, a small smile playing on her lips.

Draco opened his Astronomy text and began reading. After a while, the scritch-scratch sound of quill on parchment caught his ear. It had to be Weasley, of course. He glanced irritably at her but she didn’t seem to notice. He stared pointedly at her quill, which was running out of ink, thus creating the churlish noise. That was when Draco noticed her handwriting – a messy childish scrawl, unlike the loopy feminine writing that most girls had. It was quite fascinating; he could see her forming the letter ‘n’ with her quill, but when it came out on paper it looked like an inverted raindrop. He wondered how she managed to pass her exams. Then he realised what she had just written – Malfoy, stop staring at my work.

He looked up, shocked. “I can’t help it; how does anyone manage to read what you’re writing?”

Ginny shrugged. “You just did, and upside down I might add.”

“That’s not counted!” he cried indignantly, only to be met with a chorus of shushes and tsks. Death Eater father or not, whoever disturbed the silence of the library would be duly punished.

“How’s your handwriting then?” She plucked his Astronomy text from under his nose and eyed the notes written in the margins. “What, no poncy, pretentious cursive handwriting? What have your parents been teaching you?”

Draco narrowed his eyes at her and snatched his book back. “Clearly more than yours have been teaching you. At least mine’s neat.”

“Right. And I’m sure neat handwriting is what we all yearn for, in our heart of hearts.”

“Go to hell, Weasley.”

“Real original, Malfoy.”

Mustering all his willpower, Draco ignored her and went back to Astronomy. He really needed to get this done. It wasn’t a difficult subject, but there was so much to memorise. “Once every twelve thousand years, the planet…” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see something moving. It was Weasley, absently poking her cheeks lightly with the end of her quill as she thought. Once in a while she would twirl her quill and it would drop onto the table, creating a loud clattering noise. Honestly, Draco thought, frowning. Why was she constantly fidgeting? Draco resolutely ignored her.

He hadn’t read more than three pages when he heard her muttering softly to herself. He looked up to see her eyes closed, apparently memorising a particularly tricky bit of Charms. It seemed that there was no end to the ways in which she could irritate him. Draco cleared his throat, to no avail. Damn Weasley and her annoying study habits!

Well, two could play at this game. Draco thought. He would be as disruptive as humanly possible. He began humming under his breath. When Ginny didn’t look up, he increased his volume and tapped his quill on the table for effect. Ginny still didn’t seem to notice, but the rest of the library apparently did, from the many dirty looks he received. Draco thought this was manifestly unfair. Weasley had been utterly annoying the entire time and no one said a word; all he did was retaliate and he got Death Eater treatment? At this point, Ginny looked up, and gave him an amused grin.

Huffing, he left his seat and went in search of a book to give himself time to calm down. After all, he had resolved not to lose his cool in the face of The Amazing Power of Weasleys to Annoy. It would not do to appear to lose his temper over the silly girl’s antics.

He found the book that he wanted, and returned to his seat. He opened the book and was about to copy some notes into his notebook when he froze. There was an almost imperceptibly tiny squiggle of purple ink on the margins. He peered closely at his notes. It was a smiley face.

Panicked, he glanced around the library, wondering who had drawn that thing – in purple ink, no less! – in his notebook when he noticed that Ginny’s shoulders were shaking. She was looking down, apparently intent on Charms, but the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips gave her away. “Did you do this?” Draco demanded, shoving his notebook under her nose.

She did not reply directly, but the impish grin on her face said it all. “Why do you always look so grumpy?”

Draco was struck by the absurdity of her question and of the situation he had found himself in. She was the one who’d caused his bad mood in the first place! “You are unbelievably annoying!” he told her, with the air of someone who was incredibly mature. “You write loudly, you play with your quill, you-- you talk to yourself. Why are you so bloody fidgety?”

“And why are you so bothered by what I do? Colin here is forever tapping his quill on the table” – here the boy in question visibly gulped and sank down into his seat, terrified – “and Neville hums out of tune when he studies.” Neville looked shocked by this revelation. “Anyway, I could see you needed some cheering up,” Ginny said, nodding in affirmation of her point.

For the second time in his life, Draco was speechless. How did one respond to someone who had drawn a smiley face on one’s notebook in the hopes of cheering one up? Draco Malfoy had been taught many things from a young age – he could tango, he could shoot a target at two hundred metres, he could even tell you how to throw a baby shower – but as he wracked his brain for something to say to this girl he came up with naught. He began to perspire. “Well, tha—study hard then.” He then insulted her family several ways, just because he was used to doing so, before grabbing his things and hightailing out of the library.



~



The third time, they were the last people to leave the library at night. He could hear her muttering under her breath – she really was a noisy bint – about the rules of transfiguring animate beings into inanimate objects.

“Malfoy, could you do me a favour?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You don’t even have to do anything; just keep still for a moment while I attempt something.”

“Now look here, Weasley—”

“Verto!”

Draco let out an outraged yell and leapt out of his chair. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, striding over to where she sat.

“Damn. Why didn’t it work?” She frowned, ignoring him.

Looking over her shoulder, Draco saw ‘Before’ and ‘After’ pictures in which a goat was transfigured into a rather large, frilly umbrella. “Were you—did you—you tried to turn me into an umbrella!” he accused.

“Yes, but it didn’t work. Shame; I thought you’d have made an awfully pretty one. Are you any good at Transfiguration?”

The nerve of her! He opened his mouth, fully intending to tell her off, when she turned her large brown eyes on him. “Please, Malfoy? I’m sorry I tried to turn you into an umbrella.”

Draco snorted. She clearly wasn’t sorry in the least. Well, at least she was asking nicely. “The spell doesn’t work on humans. I’ve got a spider you can practise on,” he said gruffly, returning to his seat and pulling a small container out of his bag. He didn’t know why he was still trying to help her, after what she’d pulled.

Ginny seemed to be rooted to the spot, looking at him with barely concealed surprise.

“Weasley, I don’t have all day,” Draco said impatiently.

Ginny’s face broke into a smile, and she walked over. Draco placed the spider on the table. “You have to picture the spider in your mind, and imagine it slowly turning into an umbrella. Now watch.”

As Ginny leaned over him to look more closely, her hair brushed his face. It smelt like lavender and strawberries, and for a fleeting moment Draco imagined her in a tub, the water surface scattered with lavender petals and strawberries, her long red hair spread out like a fan…

Wait, what? His thoughts ground abruptly to a halt.

“Uh—Malfoy?” Ginny was staring at him strangely.

“Right. The spell.” Trying to get his rapidly beating heart under control, Draco took a deep breath and pointed his wand at the spider. “Verto! ”

The spider turned into a tiny cocktail umbrella.

“Wow,” Ginny said, impressed. She picked up the tiny umbrella and appraised it. “You’re actually pretty good, Malfoy. Thanks.”

Draco couldn’t fathom why, but a warm glow suddenly bloomed in his chest. Perhaps he ought to see Madam Pomfrey. He must be coming down with something.



~



The fourth time, the OWLs had ended and the library was considerably less crowded; only the sixth and seventh years still had exams. As Draco walked in with Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise, he subconsciously glanced towards the table by the window which he had been becoming increasingly familiar with. There was no red hair in sight. He felt a strange twinge of emptiness – perhaps he had not eaten enough at lunch.

Come to think of it, it was rather dim in the library and they needed some sunlight to study. He steered them towards the table beside the window. Just as he was about to place his book on the table, he noticed a single strand of long red hair – it was Weasley red, he was sure of it – curled innocently at the edge of his corner of the table. He paused, his book poised over the table. What was he to do?

He set his book down, carefully avoiding the strand of hair. He then picked it up gingerly, as if it were a very delicate flower, and let it fall to the floor. The gesture was not lost on Blaise, who snorted and then smirked at him. Draco refused to look at Blaise, who had spent the whole of last night making it abundantly clear that he thought Draco was ‘head over heels for the Weasley chit’ or some nonsense like that. Ha! As if! The exams had likely addled his brains; Blaise was out of his mind. Shaking his head, Draco took a seat. He noted that the seat was still slightly warm.



~



The fifth time, he had gone to the library with Pansy. As he stepped in, his eyes were immediately drawn to Weasley – it was her red hair, he reasoned. It was impossible to miss. She was sitting with the Terrible Trio. She glanced up, and he nodded curtly at her.

Pansy had already selected a table and was busy spreading out her various mindmaps and multi-coloured quills. Draco had to roll his eyes. No one would have guessed it from the way she usually acted, but Pansy Parkinson was actually quite the swot.

As he opened his Runes text and began reading, he couldn’t help but be distracted by Weasley and her stupid hair. Every time she moved, her hair seemed to call out for attention. Today she was wearing a deep green hair band which contrasted quite prettily with her red hair. Draco nearly choked on his thoughts. What on earth had possessed him to think that Weasley’s hair was pretty? Why was he even noticing? He noticed when she bent towards Granger, whispering, and when she accidentally dropped a quill. As she leant over to peer at a book that Harry was holding out to her, and laughed, her eyes catching Harry’s, Draco felt a strange lurch in the pit of his stomach. He ran his hand through his hair a few times and attempted to continue reading, but his blood was pounding in his ears. When he glanced over and saw that they were still laughing, he stood up abruptly. “I need to get a book,” he announced to the world at large.

Breathing deeply, Draco began walking towards a far corner of the library, refusing to look back. What in Merlin’s name was wrong with him today? Why had he suddenly felt the urge to hurl something at Potter’s head? – not, of course, that this was really anything out of the ordinary, but this time it was clearly unprovoked; even Draco could see that. He felt a bit foolish now.

He picked up a random book, and was just about to return to his seat, when a flash of red caught his eye. Why was Weasley forever skulking around? Scanning the titles on the shelves intently, she very nearly walked right into him. “Watch it,” Draco barked, before she made contact.

“Hello, Malfoy. Nice to see you so bright and chirpy today.”

“Nice to see you’re still annoying. Not off moping over the boy whose eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad?” Draco spat. He had no idea why he said that. It reeked of resentment and bitterness when, really, what did he have to be resentful or bitter about?

Ginny tossed her head loftily at him. “Please, Malfoy. That was five years ago. A lot has changed since then.”

“What, the toad’s no longer freshly pickled?”

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him, but otherwise ignored his comment. “What’s that you’re reading?” Without pausing, she plucked the book from his hand and brought it up to the light. “Famous Romances Brewed From Love Potions – the Good, the Bad and the Downright Juicy. Wow. Up for some light reading then?”

“I—I—that’s not mine!” Why, of all books, did he have to pick up this particular one?

“Clearly. I had no idea the library even carried such books.”

“I mean—Pansy wanted the book, so I got it for her.” Pansy was going to kill him.

“Really. Well, what a devoted boyfriend you are.” Ginny looked down, her hair a red curtain hiding her face.

“Pansy’s not my girlfriend!” Draco exclaimed, completely aghast. But he was curious. “What made you think she was, anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” Ginny said noncommittally. “This and that. Anyway, nice talking to you, Malfoy. See you around.”



~



The sixth time, Draco arrived at the library after lunch, and he had a good two hours of uninterrupted study time before a familiar redhead scrambled in, carrying a mountain of assorted books, rolls of parchment and quills.

She sat down at a random empty table – not her usual seat, Draco observed – and let her things spill haphazardly onto the table. She looked up and gave him a small, panicked smile, and hurriedly began flipping through her books.

Draco watched with fascination as she absently reached for a quill with fraying feathers and expertly twisted it through her hair, creating a messy, lopsided bun. She alternately glanced at her book and scribbled furiously, her forehead scrunched up. He bit back a laugh as she seemed to have written a hole into her parchment. Ginny, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so amused. She threw up her hands, cursing under her breath, pulled out another piece of parchment and began scribbling again. Draco watched the emotions flicker across the little Weaslette’s face. Clearly, she was stressed.

There was a twisting feeling in Draco’s stomach as he considered her. By this time, it had become perfectly, painfully clear to Draco what all these strange twinges in the pit of his stomach were. It seemed that he, Draco, had become rather taken with the Weaselette. Not that he understood why. Ginny Weasley was a Good Girl. Draco Malfoy most certainly did not like Good Girls. He liked Shallow and Insipid Girls Who Worshipped the Ground He Walked On. Moreover, she was a Weasley, and if he had a penny each time his father talked about ‘Weasley scum’, he would be able to buy a Firebolt by now (not that he needed another one).

As Draco watched, Ginny covered her face with her hands and let her head fall onto the table with a soft thump. Then she stood up and walked out of the library, her shoulders drooping, presumably to use the bathroom. Draco frowned. He did not like seeing her so distressed. A thought came to him.

He carefully ripped a page out from his notebook and drew a small, neat smiley face on it. On the pretext of talking to one of his housemates, he walked by her table and surreptitiously slid the folded page onto it.

The moment Draco got back to his table he regretted it, but it was too late. When out of the corner of his eye he saw her return to her table, he looked down, pretending to be studying intently. A moment later, a crumpled up piece of paper landed on his book. He turned to see Ginny walking past. He unfolded the note, which said - Was that meant to be a smiley face?

Draco frowned. Of course it was meant to be a smiley face! What else could it have been? He caught up with her and told her that. To his surprise, she laughed. “It looks like a squiggle!”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve had any practice drawing smiley faces!”

She seemed about to retort, but then paused and seemed to be considering him. “Well, I must say it’s not a bad first time smiley face. Thank you. How’d you know I needed one?”

Draco snorted. “Well, you look like hell, for one.” It wasn’t true.

Ginny sighed, reaching up to massage her nose bridge. “If you must know, I had an extremely tiring night. I meant to get up early to study but I overslept.”

“Extremely tiring night how?” Draco found he couldn’t stop himself from asking, couldn’t help the growing discomfort at the thought of what – and who – she could have been occupied with.

She looked at him strangely. “Patrolling, of course. Aren’t you the one who plans the schedule? Anyway, I ran into no less than six couples. Must have been full moon or something. One of them actually tried to hex me so I wouldn’t find out who they were, and—but you don’t want to hear all that.” She stopped abruptly.

“No, I do.” And Draco was surprised to find that he did.



~



The seventh time, it was a Saturday. The exams had mostly ended, and only the poor sods taking Advanced Potions had anything left to study. The library was completely empty except for Draco, who was ruing the day he had decided to take Advanced Potions. Trust Snape to schedule an exam the Monday after a Hogsmeade weekend. He was the best teacher at Hogwarts but he sure knew how to ruin the end of exams.

As he was memorising the different sets of alternative ingredients for calming draughts, he heard a chair being pulled out across him, and was pleasantly surprised as a familiar voice chirped, “Good morning, Malfoy. Mind if I sit here?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you’ve already made that decision. Not sitting in your favourite seat today?”

“No, I figured sitting in a dim, dank part of the library with a Slytherin would be more suitable for studying Potions.”

“Right. Well, in that case you’re permitted to bask in my presence. As long as you refrain from being your usual annoying self, that is.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and sat down. They studied in companionable silence for a while.

He studied her. Her hair was orange, to be sure, even in the dim light of this corner of the library. It was fine and shiny and curled slightly at the ends. It was kind of lovely, if he were honest with himself.

Without looking up, Ginny asked, “Why are you staring at me?”

“I most certainly am not!” Draco sniffed, affronted that she had caught him.

“Okay.” She seemed to be smiling.

“Weasley, don’t flatter yourself. I’m not staring at you; I’m staring at the large ink blot on your face.” He was lying; her face was perfect.

“What? Where?” Ginny swiped at her face, her hand still gripping her quill, resulting in a rather large ink mark being deposited on her left cheek.

Draco laughed.

“Where is it?” she demanded, walking over to where he sat.

Draco reached out a hand, and time seemed to stand still. The familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach was back.

“It’s right… here.” Cupping her face with his hand, Draco stroked his thumb across the mark. His heart thudded heavily in his chest as he realised that he was touching her. He could feel goosebumps rising on her neck as he ran his thumb repeatedly over her cheek. “There,” he said uncharacteristically softly, removing his hand hesitantly.

For the first time in her life, it seemed, the Weaselette was quiet. She seemed to be holding her breath, and her eyes glimmered with uncertainty and… was that hope?

Draco didn’t dare to let himself hope, but just so that he had an excuse to touch her again, he said, “And you’ve got something in your hair.” Standing up, he reached over and removed her hair clip, running a tentative finger down her hair to loosen it. He felt her shudder slightly beneath his fingertips, and he stiffened, wondering if she was repulsed by him.

Ginny’s eyes fluttered close momentarily, and when she opened them there was an indescribable look in them. “Draco, I—”

“What did you call me?” Hearing her name issue from her lips had given him a sudden, inexplicable burst of courage.

“I called you… Draco.”

“Ginny,” he whispered experimentally. Then he brought his lips down to hers, hesitating a moment to give her a chance to pull back. Although Draco had seen in her eyes the split second before his lips touched hers that she wanted it too, he was still taken by surprise when she let out a soft sigh and wrapped her arms around him, seeming to melt into the kiss.

Nothing, Draco thought, his mind in a haze, nothing in his life had prepared him for this. Sure, there were the numerous girls he had snogged – and gone further with – in the past few years since he’d begun dating. But it had been nothing like this. There had been the thrill of the chase, the teenage hormones on overdrive. But this—this was Ginny Weasley, with her bright red hair and her annoying habits and her impertinence, and kissing her was like nothing he had ever imagined to exist.

After a while, they broke apart, knees weak. “About time,” Ginny murmured before pulling him toward her for another kiss.

The seventh time, her red-orange-ginger-auburn hair was tangled in his fingers as the world fell away from them. Honestly? He didn’t care what colour it was.



~