Ginny's disappointment was keen as she hurried down the corridor after Euan Abercrombie. Of course she hadn't expected Draco to sling his arm around her shoulders and kiss her cheek, but she'd thought they'd at least moved beyond the public insults. The way he'd looked at her, kissed her, had let her hope.
Clearly, Draco still needed the pretense as a buffer, if it even was pretense. Ginny wondered what, exactly, had changed for him today. She could guess at what she'd seen pass through those fathomless grey eyes and try to deduce what he might be feeling, but the thought of it was tiring. And after all, it had only been a day. A single afternoon, part of an evening – a small amount of time. Too small to change everything?
Dissecting their interaction could wait; she had other business to attend to. Her brown eyes narrowed and she quickened her pace, hurrying down the hallway until a small figure came into view.
For the second time that day, Ginny smirked. Poor Euan, she thought. He has no idea what he's gotten himself into. His Charms book, huh? How studious of him, considering that it's winter hols. Euan, Euan, Euan. Or should I say, Harry, Harry, Harry?
"Oh, Euan," she called sweetly. "Wait for me!"
He halted dutifully and smiled as Ginny approached. "Hi, Ginny!" he squeaked.
"I thought we could walk back to Gryffindor together," Ginny said, linking her arm through his companionably. "Oh, but … you're not ready to go back yet, are you?"
Euan's look of puzzlement was a beautiful thing.
"Your Charms book," Ginny prodded. "You forgot it, silly."
"My Charms book?" Euan repeated dumbly. "It's in my room. I ..." He gulped then, and his eyes were wide with realization as he stopped in his tracks.
"That's all right, Euan," Ginny said, adopting a helpful, innocent tone. "I know you weren't getting your Charms book. Someone asked you to come find me, didn't they?"
The second-year's head bobbed up and down in affirmation before he stopped and blurted a very unconvincing "No!"
Ginny continued her more-flies-with-honey approach and a few minutes later, Euan had shared a very enlightening tale in which Harry Potter gave him a Galleon to come check – 'spy' might be more accurate, Ginny thought furiously – on Ginny and report back on exactly what she might be doing with Malfoy.
Euan climbed through the portrait hole first when they reached Gryffindor, and a familiar shaggy head turned toward him, green eyes alight with curiosity behind his glasses.
"Well?" Harry asked impatiently. "What ..."
"Did he see?" Ginny finished as she entered the common room. "I think I can answer that best, Harry. Good night, Euan," she added pointedly, and he scampered up the stairs to the safety of his room.
The rapid thumping in her chest was distracting as Ginny walked slowly to where Harry was lounging – if his straight-backed posture and worried eyes could be described as lounging – and sat in a chair directly across from him.
"Why?" she asked simply, then continued without waiting for a reply. Her words spilled out in staccato bursts as her voice grew strident. "Why did you pay Euan to follow me, Harry? Why did you act as if you owned me when you saw me with Draco? Why did you assume that having feelings for me was the same as acting on them?"
As she began speaking, Harry had opened his mouth to answer her, but he had frozen at her verbal onslaught. When she finished, he was sitting there, still gaping at her.
Ginny’s sigh as she folded her arms across her chest was loud and exasperated. Then, a jumble of emotions flitting across his face, Harry began speaking.
"You want to know why, Gin?" he murmured quietly. "I almost don't know. I saw you with Malfoy ..." He grimaced as if saying his rival's name caused him physical pain, and Ginny nodded for him to go on.
"I saw you with him," Harry continued, "and I couldn't see straight. I couldn't see anything else but how he taunts your family, and I kept hearing him sing 'Weasley Is Our King.'"
Now it was Ginny's mouth that was open slightly, but her expression was that of realization, rather than shock. Something important had clicked into place for her with Harry's words, and she was now doubly certain that she would be right to reject him. Once he stopped talking, that is. Because Harry was still going on about Malfoy, but increasing in volume and intensity. What had begun as a simple explanation had built up steam as grievances were ticked off, and now Harry was raging on about every offense the Slytherin had committed, from his first insults on the train – five years ago! Ginny wanted to scream – to his blatant fouls on the Quidditch pitch.
Harry had not mentioned her name since he first started to answer her questions.
***
In the dungeons, Ginny's name was running nonstop through Draco's every thought as he tried to puzzle out her actions when they had parted. That brief smile and her complete lack of response when he had behaved as he normally would. The calmness in her voice as she bid him goodnight. He had been sure, been completely convinced, that she would be rattled. He would have felt better if she had been angry. He could have responded to her anger. It was her unanticipated composure that he could not cope with, and he realized with surprise that her lack of reaction was very familiar to him. It was a Slytherin trait.
Draco resolved to view the day from a proper Slytherin perspective, since his current review was bringing him nothing but frustration. He'd taunted Potter and gotten a decent – more than decent, bloody amazing if he was being honest – snog. A good day. It did not matter that the snog had come from a Weasley. A snog was a snog, and any witch with lips that soft ...
This way wasn't working, either.
He needed a plan. Not some ridiculous, Granger-like plan, with charts and arrows, just an idea of what to do the next time he saw his – yours? When did that happen? – little spitfire.
And then it came to him. They were playing a game, and it was definitely his move. Everything Ginny had done that day had surprised him. He'd thought, at first, that she was acting outrageously out of character, but Draco was coming to the conclusion that she was simply different than he might have expected, had he ever considered her.
"The element of surprise is a powerful thing when confronting an enemy." Shaking his head, Draco wondered briefly at the wisdom of using his father's advice. It was always a questionable venture to heed Lucius Malfoy's words, but to woo – ah, so we're wooing her now, are we? – a girl?
Maybe that snowball had hit him harder than he'd thought.
***
In Gryffindor, Harry's tirade had finally come to a merciful end, leaving Ginny searching for the best way to do what she'd been trying to do all day.
Tell Harry.
He was watching her, had been since he'd stopped talking. The fevered look of hate was slowly fading, and now he just looked tired. That made sense, Ginny thought – hate was an awfully draining emotion.
"Harry," Ginny said, knowing she had to start this before something else interrupted. "Thank you."
Both of them were surprised to hear those words come out of her mouth. Ginny had not planned to say them, but they sounded right as they slipped off her tongue.
"Thank you," she repeated, and when Harry looked ready to ask what she was thanking him for, she held up a hand to forestall him. "For explaining why. I think I understand now."
And she did understand. She understood Harry's motivation and knew that she was not it, and she understood her certainty that she and Harry would not – should not – be a couple. Ginny almost laughed at the look of relief that spread across Harry's face. Her newfound understanding was not the point in his favor he clearly thought it to be.
"We've been good friends, Harry," she continued. "And ... I've known for a while that's all we can be."
She met his gaze then, cringing slightly at the hurt she saw there. Go on, she told herself. Make him see.
"What I didn't know until just now was why. Think about how you explained things to me."
She sighed at his lack of comprehension. "It's not me you want. It's my family."
"Ginny ..." Harry's voice was a strangled plea, and he reached out for her.
"Can you tell me it's not true, Harry?" she asked gently. "Think about it – really think about it – and you'll know I'm right.
"And that's not fair. It's not what either of us need, and I'll be honest, Harry. I deserve more than that. I need – I deserve – someone who sees me. You don't," she finished simply, and her words echoed in the empty common room.
"And Malfoy does?" Harry's voice was sullen, and Ginny had to work very hard to keep herself from slapping that petulant frown off his face. How was it possible for one person to be this clueless? Was he even listening? All he could do was ask about Draco? Would he notice if she screamed in his face?
He has no right, she thought furiously.
"You have no right to ask that," Ginny snapped, her calm demeanor vanishing. "And I couldn't answer you if I wanted to. I don't know what Draco thinks when he looks at me; I don't know what he sees."
"But you want him to look at you," Harry muttered, and now his green eyes were glittering oddly as he looked at her. "That's original of you, Gin. You're brassed off, so you decide that going after Malfoy would be a good way to hurt me." At those words, the Weasley temper overtook Ginny.
She stood up, her eyes flashing with rage, and stalked toward the stairs. When she whipped around, the light playing in her hair, she looked like a goddess of fire, trembling from head to toe in furious indignation.
"It says everything, Harry, that your concern is not that I don't want you, but who I might want instead. You're not my father, you're not one of my brothers ..." She paused as a muscle in Harry's jaw jerked at those words. She knew they would hurt. But he needed to know that they were true, that he could not claim the right of a brother, much as he might want to. "Right now I'm not even sure you're my friend."
There were angry tears pooling in Ginny's eyes as she finished and stood there waiting for Harry's response. When it did not come, she turned again and walked slowly up the stairs.
Clearly, Draco still needed the pretense as a buffer, if it even was pretense. Ginny wondered what, exactly, had changed for him today. She could guess at what she'd seen pass through those fathomless grey eyes and try to deduce what he might be feeling, but the thought of it was tiring. And after all, it had only been a day. A single afternoon, part of an evening – a small amount of time. Too small to change everything?
Dissecting their interaction could wait; she had other business to attend to. Her brown eyes narrowed and she quickened her pace, hurrying down the hallway until a small figure came into view.
For the second time that day, Ginny smirked. Poor Euan, she thought. He has no idea what he's gotten himself into. His Charms book, huh? How studious of him, considering that it's winter hols. Euan, Euan, Euan. Or should I say, Harry, Harry, Harry?
"Oh, Euan," she called sweetly. "Wait for me!"
He halted dutifully and smiled as Ginny approached. "Hi, Ginny!" he squeaked.
"I thought we could walk back to Gryffindor together," Ginny said, linking her arm through his companionably. "Oh, but … you're not ready to go back yet, are you?"
Euan's look of puzzlement was a beautiful thing.
"Your Charms book," Ginny prodded. "You forgot it, silly."
"My Charms book?" Euan repeated dumbly. "It's in my room. I ..." He gulped then, and his eyes were wide with realization as he stopped in his tracks.
"That's all right, Euan," Ginny said, adopting a helpful, innocent tone. "I know you weren't getting your Charms book. Someone asked you to come find me, didn't they?"
The second-year's head bobbed up and down in affirmation before he stopped and blurted a very unconvincing "No!"
Ginny continued her more-flies-with-honey approach and a few minutes later, Euan had shared a very enlightening tale in which Harry Potter gave him a Galleon to come check – 'spy' might be more accurate, Ginny thought furiously – on Ginny and report back on exactly what she might be doing with Malfoy.
Euan climbed through the portrait hole first when they reached Gryffindor, and a familiar shaggy head turned toward him, green eyes alight with curiosity behind his glasses.
"Well?" Harry asked impatiently. "What ..."
"Did he see?" Ginny finished as she entered the common room. "I think I can answer that best, Harry. Good night, Euan," she added pointedly, and he scampered up the stairs to the safety of his room.
The rapid thumping in her chest was distracting as Ginny walked slowly to where Harry was lounging – if his straight-backed posture and worried eyes could be described as lounging – and sat in a chair directly across from him.
"Why?" she asked simply, then continued without waiting for a reply. Her words spilled out in staccato bursts as her voice grew strident. "Why did you pay Euan to follow me, Harry? Why did you act as if you owned me when you saw me with Draco? Why did you assume that having feelings for me was the same as acting on them?"
As she began speaking, Harry had opened his mouth to answer her, but he had frozen at her verbal onslaught. When she finished, he was sitting there, still gaping at her.
Ginny’s sigh as she folded her arms across her chest was loud and exasperated. Then, a jumble of emotions flitting across his face, Harry began speaking.
"You want to know why, Gin?" he murmured quietly. "I almost don't know. I saw you with Malfoy ..." He grimaced as if saying his rival's name caused him physical pain, and Ginny nodded for him to go on.
"I saw you with him," Harry continued, "and I couldn't see straight. I couldn't see anything else but how he taunts your family, and I kept hearing him sing 'Weasley Is Our King.'"
Now it was Ginny's mouth that was open slightly, but her expression was that of realization, rather than shock. Something important had clicked into place for her with Harry's words, and she was now doubly certain that she would be right to reject him. Once he stopped talking, that is. Because Harry was still going on about Malfoy, but increasing in volume and intensity. What had begun as a simple explanation had built up steam as grievances were ticked off, and now Harry was raging on about every offense the Slytherin had committed, from his first insults on the train – five years ago! Ginny wanted to scream – to his blatant fouls on the Quidditch pitch.
Harry had not mentioned her name since he first started to answer her questions.
***
In the dungeons, Ginny's name was running nonstop through Draco's every thought as he tried to puzzle out her actions when they had parted. That brief smile and her complete lack of response when he had behaved as he normally would. The calmness in her voice as she bid him goodnight. He had been sure, been completely convinced, that she would be rattled. He would have felt better if she had been angry. He could have responded to her anger. It was her unanticipated composure that he could not cope with, and he realized with surprise that her lack of reaction was very familiar to him. It was a Slytherin trait.
Draco resolved to view the day from a proper Slytherin perspective, since his current review was bringing him nothing but frustration. He'd taunted Potter and gotten a decent – more than decent, bloody amazing if he was being honest – snog. A good day. It did not matter that the snog had come from a Weasley. A snog was a snog, and any witch with lips that soft ...
This way wasn't working, either.
He needed a plan. Not some ridiculous, Granger-like plan, with charts and arrows, just an idea of what to do the next time he saw his – yours? When did that happen? – little spitfire.
And then it came to him. They were playing a game, and it was definitely his move. Everything Ginny had done that day had surprised him. He'd thought, at first, that she was acting outrageously out of character, but Draco was coming to the conclusion that she was simply different than he might have expected, had he ever considered her.
"The element of surprise is a powerful thing when confronting an enemy." Shaking his head, Draco wondered briefly at the wisdom of using his father's advice. It was always a questionable venture to heed Lucius Malfoy's words, but to woo – ah, so we're wooing her now, are we? – a girl?
Maybe that snowball had hit him harder than he'd thought.
***
In Gryffindor, Harry's tirade had finally come to a merciful end, leaving Ginny searching for the best way to do what she'd been trying to do all day.
Tell Harry.
He was watching her, had been since he'd stopped talking. The fevered look of hate was slowly fading, and now he just looked tired. That made sense, Ginny thought – hate was an awfully draining emotion.
"Harry," Ginny said, knowing she had to start this before something else interrupted. "Thank you."
Both of them were surprised to hear those words come out of her mouth. Ginny had not planned to say them, but they sounded right as they slipped off her tongue.
"Thank you," she repeated, and when Harry looked ready to ask what she was thanking him for, she held up a hand to forestall him. "For explaining why. I think I understand now."
And she did understand. She understood Harry's motivation and knew that she was not it, and she understood her certainty that she and Harry would not – should not – be a couple. Ginny almost laughed at the look of relief that spread across Harry's face. Her newfound understanding was not the point in his favor he clearly thought it to be.
"We've been good friends, Harry," she continued. "And ... I've known for a while that's all we can be."
She met his gaze then, cringing slightly at the hurt she saw there. Go on, she told herself. Make him see.
"What I didn't know until just now was why. Think about how you explained things to me."
She sighed at his lack of comprehension. "It's not me you want. It's my family."
"Ginny ..." Harry's voice was a strangled plea, and he reached out for her.
"Can you tell me it's not true, Harry?" she asked gently. "Think about it – really think about it – and you'll know I'm right.
"And that's not fair. It's not what either of us need, and I'll be honest, Harry. I deserve more than that. I need – I deserve – someone who sees me. You don't," she finished simply, and her words echoed in the empty common room.
"And Malfoy does?" Harry's voice was sullen, and Ginny had to work very hard to keep herself from slapping that petulant frown off his face. How was it possible for one person to be this clueless? Was he even listening? All he could do was ask about Draco? Would he notice if she screamed in his face?
He has no right, she thought furiously.
"You have no right to ask that," Ginny snapped, her calm demeanor vanishing. "And I couldn't answer you if I wanted to. I don't know what Draco thinks when he looks at me; I don't know what he sees."
"But you want him to look at you," Harry muttered, and now his green eyes were glittering oddly as he looked at her. "That's original of you, Gin. You're brassed off, so you decide that going after Malfoy would be a good way to hurt me." At those words, the Weasley temper overtook Ginny.
She stood up, her eyes flashing with rage, and stalked toward the stairs. When she whipped around, the light playing in her hair, she looked like a goddess of fire, trembling from head to toe in furious indignation.
"It says everything, Harry, that your concern is not that I don't want you, but who I might want instead. You're not my father, you're not one of my brothers ..." She paused as a muscle in Harry's jaw jerked at those words. She knew they would hurt. But he needed to know that they were true, that he could not claim the right of a brother, much as he might want to. "Right now I'm not even sure you're my friend."
There were angry tears pooling in Ginny's eyes as she finished and stood there waiting for Harry's response. When it did not come, she turned again and walked slowly up the stairs.
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