Draco couldn't be sure, later, how long he'd stood in the snow after Ginny – the Weasel girl, his brain corrected – had left to go to Potter. His cheeks were stinging with the aftereffects of the snowball, but still he stood.
"I wanted you to see me," she had told him. Mental agility was one of Draco’s strong points, but this statement had his brain performing a frenzied series of back flips. And she'd said it so … honestly. She had met his gaze unflinchingly and delivered those words without the slightest hint of amusement or hidden meaning.
She had meant what she said, he was sure of it. Now he was left to work out why, in bloody hell, Ginny Weasley would look twice at him. He began pacing a slow circle in the snow, thinking.
His looks and his money were most girls' downfall, but he grudgingly assigned the little snowball-flinging fireball more credit than those twits. She wasn't impressed by his status – she certainly hadn't hesitated to fling that Bat-Bogey Hex in his direction – and it wasn't as if they'd ever interacted enough for her to fall victim to his devastating wit. Everything she knew of him should, by all rights, make her run to Potter’s side and stay there, but when Potter had come for her, she had not wanted to go. She had wanted to stay with him.
The more Draco thought about it, the more agitated he became. She wanted him to see her, but what did she see in him?
***
After leaving Harry and his wounded-puppy stare outside in the snow, Ginny slipped into an alcove near the Transfiguration classroom and tried to get a grip.
Okay, she told herself. So you told him. Now what? Harry came along and nearly ruined the whole thing, but you don’t know what Draco would have said. And he would have said something. He would have! You definitely have his attention now; best to stay on the offensive while he’s still off-balance.
She snickered out loud at that, pleased with herself. Draco Malfoy was seldom flustered, but she was certain she’d managed to discompose him. He had no idea who he was dealing with, but if Ginny played her cards correctly – and she always did – he would soon find out.
"Miss Weasley!" A sharp voice interrupted Ginny's reverie, and her head jerked up to meet Professor McGonagall's gaze.
"Professor McGonagall," Ginny returned, trying to force a calm she didn't feel into her voice as she pasted on a dutiful smile. After all, it wasn't as if McGonagall could read her thoughts and know that she'd been musing on Draco Malfoy's ability to make snow look sexy.
"Are you ready for dinner, Miss Weasley?"
Dinner? Great Hall … other students … Draco. Ginny's smile was real now, if somewhat on the mischievous side, and she answered eagerly.
"Yes, Professor," she said, fighting to keep her lips from curving into an entirely inappropriate smirk. "I'm ready."
***
By the time he entered the Great Hall for dinner, Draco had his usual mask fixed firmly in place. He settled himself at the end of a long table, ignoring those around him until a flash of red caught his attention. He willed himself not to look. He made a conscious decision not to look. And then, of course, he looked.
And then he scowled deeply, because the third-year Hufflepuff boy with an unruly mass of carroty locks had seen him looking.
Before Draco returned his gaze to the still-empty plate in front of him, he saw Potter enter the Hall. The black-haired boy was scanning the room, looking ill at ease.
Looking for Ginny, Draco knew. Potter's search continued unsuccessfully, and then he saw Draco watching him.
The slightly worried expression slid immediately from Harry's face, and his eyes narrowed. Draco allowed more enmity than usual to show in his return glare. An annoying inner voice wondered at his motivation, as the two boys had had no contact for the past two days, and Harry Potter was slightly startled to see Draco Malfoy actually bare his perfect white teeth.
When Potter looked away, Draco let his face relax into a smirk, but that faded away into an unreadable expression when another flash of red caught his eye. This time, it was her, walking in with that bat McGonagall.
Potter had followed his eyes to see her entrance. His uneasy expression had returned when she met his eyes and the happy spark had faded from her own. She shook her head very slightly as Potter took a step toward her, and he stopped. Draco watched this, and he could not have explained why he felt so pleased to see Ginny – the Weasel!, his brain screamed – issue her silent rebuke.
Her eyes slid to the side as she took a seat directly in Draco's line of vision, and he saw that teasing glint reappear as she located him. Once she was sure he was watching her, Ginny winked once, very deliberately, and began to eat.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw – and also heard – Draco Malfoy drop his fork. Her glee was short-lived, however, because Harry Potter slid into the seat next to her. Here we go, she sighed mentally, taking an especially large bite of peas to buy herself some time.
"Ginny," Harry started tentatively, "is everything okay?"
She didn't even bother trying to stifle her exasperated sigh. He'd had at least thirty minutes to think of something to say to her. He'd approached her even after being warned off. Was it wholly unreasonable of her, she wondered, to expect something a little more suave than Harry's meekly delivered query?
The problem, she knew, was that she hadn't been clear with him. He thought she was angry because he was hiding things, when she was really just annoyed by his untimely interference.
She got a sudden flash of memory from the previous summer at the Burrow and remembered watching curiously as Hermione jerked a small, sticky piece of fabric off her scraped knee. "They're bandages," the bushy-haired girl had explained. "They protect wounds while they're healing, and once the wound is healed, it's best to rip them off as quickly as possible. It hurts much less that way."
Ginny had held off for fear of hurting Harry, feeling that she couldn't reject what hadn't been declared. But now that he seemed to be on the verge of that very declaration, she was determined to forestall it.
Do it quickly, she coached herself. Cruel to be kind.
She turned to Harry then.
"I'm okay," she said carefully, flinching at the smile that immediately leapt onto his face. "But … we do need to talk, Harry."
She would have done it right then, would have told Harry in no uncertain terms that as much as she valued his friendship, she just didn't feel that way about him. She would have done it if Peeves had chosen any other moment to swoop into the Great Hall and dump an enormous bucket of icy water on her head.
But as her hair was plastered to her face and her teeth were chattering, she decided with no small amount of bitterness that the conversation was best left for another time.
Soon, Ginny vowed. Right after she dried her hair and found a way to make Peeves die all over again.
"I wanted you to see me," she had told him. Mental agility was one of Draco’s strong points, but this statement had his brain performing a frenzied series of back flips. And she'd said it so … honestly. She had met his gaze unflinchingly and delivered those words without the slightest hint of amusement or hidden meaning.
She had meant what she said, he was sure of it. Now he was left to work out why, in bloody hell, Ginny Weasley would look twice at him. He began pacing a slow circle in the snow, thinking.
His looks and his money were most girls' downfall, but he grudgingly assigned the little snowball-flinging fireball more credit than those twits. She wasn't impressed by his status – she certainly hadn't hesitated to fling that Bat-Bogey Hex in his direction – and it wasn't as if they'd ever interacted enough for her to fall victim to his devastating wit. Everything she knew of him should, by all rights, make her run to Potter’s side and stay there, but when Potter had come for her, she had not wanted to go. She had wanted to stay with him.
The more Draco thought about it, the more agitated he became. She wanted him to see her, but what did she see in him?
***
After leaving Harry and his wounded-puppy stare outside in the snow, Ginny slipped into an alcove near the Transfiguration classroom and tried to get a grip.
Okay, she told herself. So you told him. Now what? Harry came along and nearly ruined the whole thing, but you don’t know what Draco would have said. And he would have said something. He would have! You definitely have his attention now; best to stay on the offensive while he’s still off-balance.
She snickered out loud at that, pleased with herself. Draco Malfoy was seldom flustered, but she was certain she’d managed to discompose him. He had no idea who he was dealing with, but if Ginny played her cards correctly – and she always did – he would soon find out.
"Miss Weasley!" A sharp voice interrupted Ginny's reverie, and her head jerked up to meet Professor McGonagall's gaze.
"Professor McGonagall," Ginny returned, trying to force a calm she didn't feel into her voice as she pasted on a dutiful smile. After all, it wasn't as if McGonagall could read her thoughts and know that she'd been musing on Draco Malfoy's ability to make snow look sexy.
"Are you ready for dinner, Miss Weasley?"
Dinner? Great Hall … other students … Draco. Ginny's smile was real now, if somewhat on the mischievous side, and she answered eagerly.
"Yes, Professor," she said, fighting to keep her lips from curving into an entirely inappropriate smirk. "I'm ready."
***
By the time he entered the Great Hall for dinner, Draco had his usual mask fixed firmly in place. He settled himself at the end of a long table, ignoring those around him until a flash of red caught his attention. He willed himself not to look. He made a conscious decision not to look. And then, of course, he looked.
And then he scowled deeply, because the third-year Hufflepuff boy with an unruly mass of carroty locks had seen him looking.
Before Draco returned his gaze to the still-empty plate in front of him, he saw Potter enter the Hall. The black-haired boy was scanning the room, looking ill at ease.
Looking for Ginny, Draco knew. Potter's search continued unsuccessfully, and then he saw Draco watching him.
The slightly worried expression slid immediately from Harry's face, and his eyes narrowed. Draco allowed more enmity than usual to show in his return glare. An annoying inner voice wondered at his motivation, as the two boys had had no contact for the past two days, and Harry Potter was slightly startled to see Draco Malfoy actually bare his perfect white teeth.
When Potter looked away, Draco let his face relax into a smirk, but that faded away into an unreadable expression when another flash of red caught his eye. This time, it was her, walking in with that bat McGonagall.
Potter had followed his eyes to see her entrance. His uneasy expression had returned when she met his eyes and the happy spark had faded from her own. She shook her head very slightly as Potter took a step toward her, and he stopped. Draco watched this, and he could not have explained why he felt so pleased to see Ginny – the Weasel!, his brain screamed – issue her silent rebuke.
Her eyes slid to the side as she took a seat directly in Draco's line of vision, and he saw that teasing glint reappear as she located him. Once she was sure he was watching her, Ginny winked once, very deliberately, and began to eat.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw – and also heard – Draco Malfoy drop his fork. Her glee was short-lived, however, because Harry Potter slid into the seat next to her. Here we go, she sighed mentally, taking an especially large bite of peas to buy herself some time.
"Ginny," Harry started tentatively, "is everything okay?"
She didn't even bother trying to stifle her exasperated sigh. He'd had at least thirty minutes to think of something to say to her. He'd approached her even after being warned off. Was it wholly unreasonable of her, she wondered, to expect something a little more suave than Harry's meekly delivered query?
The problem, she knew, was that she hadn't been clear with him. He thought she was angry because he was hiding things, when she was really just annoyed by his untimely interference.
She got a sudden flash of memory from the previous summer at the Burrow and remembered watching curiously as Hermione jerked a small, sticky piece of fabric off her scraped knee. "They're bandages," the bushy-haired girl had explained. "They protect wounds while they're healing, and once the wound is healed, it's best to rip them off as quickly as possible. It hurts much less that way."
Ginny had held off for fear of hurting Harry, feeling that she couldn't reject what hadn't been declared. But now that he seemed to be on the verge of that very declaration, she was determined to forestall it.
Do it quickly, she coached herself. Cruel to be kind.
She turned to Harry then.
"I'm okay," she said carefully, flinching at the smile that immediately leapt onto his face. "But … we do need to talk, Harry."
She would have done it right then, would have told Harry in no uncertain terms that as much as she valued his friendship, she just didn't feel that way about him. She would have done it if Peeves had chosen any other moment to swoop into the Great Hall and dump an enormous bucket of icy water on her head.
But as her hair was plastered to her face and her teeth were chattering, she decided with no small amount of bitterness that the conversation was best left for another time.
Soon, Ginny vowed. Right after she dried her hair and found a way to make Peeves die all over again.
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