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A Summer to Remember
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A/N: Chapter two already! Hey, that didn’t take too long, did it? I’m quick little writer…that’s why they call me Speedy Gonzalez! Well, okay, it’s actually because I run fast, but I now see that particular nickname can be applied to more than just that.
Disclaimer: You know it’s not mine, save for that plot. All other credit duly given to J.K. Rowling.
Also, many, MANY thanks to my wonderful new beta Red (The Lovely Lioness)!
~*~-------------------------------------------~*~
Chapter 2: Confrontations
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Draco and Ginny were completely alone. They hadn’t moved since Snape had left (though that was only a moment ago), as they had no desire to lessen the distance between themselves. Ginny was watching Draco with a horrorstruck look on her face, while Draco stared unflinchingly back, his features contorted into an expression of revulsion. They stood in silence.
“…filthy Muggle-lovers, contaminating my noble house! Besmirching it, tainting it…”
Well, save for the ranting of Mrs. Black, who had yet to shut up.
The hallway door suddenly swung open to reveal Mrs. Weasley, her face as red as her hair. “What on earth is that ungodly noise?” she demanded angrily of Ginny. “You know full well that we are trying to have a meeting right now!”
“Oh, gee, you know, I actually forgot about that,” Ginny replied saccharinely. “It’s not like I go to those meetings; sometimes the scheduling slips my mind, you see,” she said in a tone that sounded equal parts flaky and insolent. “I’m so sorry to have disturbed you,” she apologized, or rather didn’t apologize, sending her mother a very fake, doe-eyed look of innocence.
But Mrs. Weasley was now surveying the disarray Ginny had thrown the room into, and she looked even angrier than she had when she first opened the door. “What have you done in here?!” she yelled, looking murderous.
The object of her rage ought to have been inspired with terror. Ginny, however, was a master at keeping her composure in that right. She could most definitely hold her own.
“Well, first I opened the curtains to Mrs. Black’s portrait – I wanted her to make a fuss, you see – and then, I think I headed for those shelves…yeah, and I wiped everything off of them, and kicked the stuff around a bit. And you see those shards of glass over there? It’s really unfortunate, I threw a vase against the wall and it broke! Who would’ve thought?”
Ginny felt a sinister pleasure in seeing that her mother looked deadly. It filled her with a sense of accomplishment.
“You will clean up this mess this instant, Ginevra Molly Weasley!” Mrs. Weasley shouted, using the dreaded full name. She advanced on her daughter, pointing an accusatory finger. “Oh, are you ever in trouble! You had better get to it right now, don’t just stand there! And what have you done with your shirt? Honestly, wear it decently…”
Ginny flinched, and suddenly was very aware of the fact that her midriff was quite naked. She didn’t untie her shirt, however, for Draco Malfoy was still there, and the pitiful hole the knot was hiding would only be more ammo for him.
Ugh, Malfoy…and she still had to give him “the tour,” didn’t she? Well, despite the fact that Snape had told her to, she hadn’t actually intended to. But now, with her mother seething not more than two centimeters away from her, the prospect had become much more appealing.
Ginny worried her lip between her teeth as she weighed her options. She’d have to face the ferret sooner or later, she figured, and decided it might as well be sooner, when she had things just as bad to face, than later.
So she grabbed Malfoy by the arm and dragged him along, saying, “As much as I’d love to clean this all up, Professor Snape told me I had to give Malfoy here the tour, and you know, I really must do that right now,” as she swept swiftly past her mother and out of the room.
Ginny steered them safely away down a darkened corridor, but they hadn’t gotten very far before Draco shoved her roughly away.
“Get your grubby hands off of me!” he spat, his detestation of her clearly written across his face. “Ugh, now I’ve got Weasley germs all over me,” he muttered disgustedly, maneuvering his arm so that he could inspect it.
“Oh, I’m sorry, have I besmirched your skin? Have I tainted it with the touch of my Muggle-loving hand?” she asked mockingly, borrowing a few of Mrs. Black’s favorite phrases.
“Why, yes, you have,” he sneered, “but look what else you managed to do!” He turned his arm so that she could clearly see the glaring red imprint her hand had left. Something about the way that each of her fingers was distinctly visible, and the way that the red mark contrasted with his pale skin almost made her feel guilty. Only almost, of course.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Ginny replied without conviction, rolling her eyes.
Draco’s glare intensified, and he opened his mouth to say something rude, no doubt, but Ginny cut him off.
“I wouldn’t figure you to go and throw a fit over a mark on your arm, though,” she remarked, looking pointedly at the spot she’d grabbed him…on his left arm, precisely where another mark would probably soon be appearing.
“Excuse me?” he snarled.
“I just don’t see the big deal,” she said undauntedly, shrugging. “That little spot’ll fade, for one thing. And besides, I was under the impression that you were planning to put a different, permanent mark there,” Ginny finished incisively.
A new look came into Draco’s eyes; they seemed to brighten from cloudy gray to lucid silver. It didn’t take Ginny long to figure out that this new look was anger. He advanced on her slowly, until she could actually feel his breath, soft and even, on her skin. It made the hair at the base of her neck prickle.
“If I am,” he said, his voice a deadly whisper, “I don’t think it’s any of your business.”
With this, it was quite obvious that the subject had best be closed, but Draco glared fiercely at Ginny, as though daring her to say something more. Ginny of course picked up on this, and being a Gryffindor and a Weasley, she was not the sort to back down from a challenge.
“Oh, but Malfoy, we’re housemates!” she said, her words full of mock enthusiasm. “And there are no secrets in the house.”
Draco gave a derisive snort. “Aren’t there?” he asked, sounding amused. “Remind me then…why exactly were you destroying that room just now?”
Ginny’s face fell abruptly. “Okay, so maybe there are secrets in the house,” she said darkly. “My mum won’t tell me a bloody thing about…well, a bloody thing…but from the sound of it you’re in the same boat, so don’t get cheeky with me about it.”
Draco decided to comply, and not be cheeky about the matter. Instead, he thought he would be cheeky about (one of his favorite subjects to insult) Ginny’s mother in general. “Speaking of your mum, you know, I knew she was rather…rotund,” here he paused to let out a sharp, derisive laugh, “but every time I see her she looks even dumpier.” Ginny looked nearly unmoved (she had only flushed a bit pink), so he plowed ahead, searching for a more painful barb. “And what in the name of Merlin was she wearing? What did she do…knit together what was left over after your litter of brothers was done with their robes?”
“No,” Ginny snapped, her fists clenched tightly at her side, “I got those.”
“Did you?” Draco asked softly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “And what about the rags you’ve got on now? Must be hard having all your clothing come from a load of boys…it clearly doesn’t fit you properly.” He moved even closer, and Ginny felt a surge of discomfort course through her veins. “Love what you’ve managed to do with it, though,” he breathed sardonically, as he reached one pale hand forward and grasped the knot Ginny had made, his cool knuckles brushing against her bare stomach.
Ginny recoiled at the touch and backed quickly away. “Do you have a problem with respecting personal space?” she hissed.
“No,” he drawled musingly, “but I do have a problem with respect. I have a lack of it…in particular, for you.”
“How touching. You’ll be glad to know that I haven’t a shred of respect for you, either,” Ginny spat viciously.
“Yes, well, your opinion isn’t really worth much, is it, Weasley?” Draco’s eyes locked directly with hers, cold and calculating. “As for me, on the other hand…the name Malfoy commands respect in the wizarding world. From those in a decent position, of course…dirt poor, ridiculously large, Muggle-loving families like yours, I’m afraid, are quite insignificant.”
Ginny’s face had turned a furious red, which quite matched her furious demeanor. “For your information, Malfoy,” she growled, nearly foaming at the mouth, “families like mine have a lot more power and a lot more sway than you might realize. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve got a war going on at the moment, and here on the other side the name Weasley is very prominent. And as for the name of Malfoy…well, I think that it was suitably sullied not too long ago. You know, when news of your father’s recent trip to Azkaban was published,” she bit out scathingly.
“When I say the name Malfoy is foremost in the right places, I’m not necessarily including the Ministry and all that rubbish, though I daresay our reputation there hasn’t faded too much,” Draco sneered with such chilling certainty that it sent shivers down Ginny’s spine. “What I mean is that when this war is over, the prestige of the Malfoys is going to soar to even greater heights. You know why? Because once this war is over, Weasley, we’ll have won.”
“Oh, decided to renounce the Dark Lord, have you?” Ginny asked flippantly, quickly dispelling the fear that had suddenly crept into her mind: the fear that Malfoy might actually be right.
“Very funny, Weasley,” Draco remarked dryly, and laughed, a hollow, bitter laugh. “No, you know very well where my loyalties lie. But you know what, I’ll tell you what I told Potter,” he drawled, drawing in a hissing breath between his teeth, “you’ve chosen the losing side. It was only by luck that the Dark Lord was defeated last time, and now he’s stronger than ever. You’ve got no chance.”
Ginny forced herself to swallow in spite of the lump that had formed in her throat. “There’s always a chance,” she said bravely, feeling more hopeless in that moment than she ought to have, since she knew perfectly well the side she was on had quite a good chance.
Draco wrinkled his nose disgustedly at her words. “You’re such a Gryffindor,” he said contemptuously, as though that were supposed to be a bad thing. “You always think you’re so noble, so right…”
“You’re such a Slytherin!” Ginny shot back heatedly. “You don’t even stop to consider what is right!”
Draco fixed his eyes on her, studying her coolly. “There’s nothing to consider,” he said simply, calmly.
It was the kind of reaction Ginny would have imagined, but upon hearing those words she couldn’t keep her eyes from bugging out in surprise. “Nothing to consider?!” she repeated loudly and incredulously, taken aback. “How can you not even think about something so important? Ugh, it’s what I’d expect from you, though…can’t even think for yourself, that’s clear enough! ‘Father says’ this, ‘father says’ that; you’re just like him!” Ginny seethed venomously. After the words had left her mouth, however, she couldn’t help but feel like what she’d just said would seem a compliment to him.
Oddly enough, Draco actually looked –could it be? – offended! “You don’t know the first thing about me or my father,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “He may be one of the few people I actually have a high regard for, but I am not my father.”
Ginny looked at him quizzically. Merlin, who did the boy think he was kidding? Yet funnily enough she almost felt like she could relate to him in that respect; having six brothers, she knew quite well the symptoms of an identity crisis. This didn’t soften her feelings toward him one bit, though. “Open your eyes, Malfoy!” she retorted scornfully. “Your father is directly responsible for every bit of who you are. And,” she pointed out virulently, “believe me, I know exactly what kind of a person your father is. He’s a ruthless, heartless, evil person; a pitiful excuse for a wizard and a worthless human being, that’s what he is!”
Draco fixed her with yet another hard look; he seemed to be considering her. “Do you hate him?” he asked suddenly.
“Yes,” Ginny snarled with startling intensity.
In response Draco raised his pale eyebrows and allowed his smirk to become more pronounced. “Hate is a strong word, Weasley,” he said quietly.
“It’s no less than what he deserves!” Ginny cried. “And, really, don’t you think that hate is something that your dear father is oh, I dunno, intimately familiar with? It’s the driving force behind him; it’s what carries him through the day and gets him through the night, I bet! Only people who don’t know about anything but hate can be like him…and you, too!”
“Clearly there’s more to whatever it is you’re going on about than I know,” Draco said sneeringly, “and certainly I don’t have anything to do with it.”
“Don’t play dumb, Malfoy,” Ginny snapped. “Everyone at Hogwarts knows about what happened to me in first year, and I’d wager you’d know more, what with your father’s involvement in it.” Drawing in a shaky breath she continued, “And don’t tell me you weren’t disappointed to find that I survived that whole ordeal! That’s why you’re nothing more than a spiteful, hateful monster, nothing more than your father! Because you just live on hate, and find joy in other people’s pain, and think it’d have been better if I was lying dead, rotting in the Chamber, because wasn’t that the plan?”
Without another word, Ginny stormed out of the room, feeling that she’d left him with something to think about. She had, of course, but that didn’t mean that Draco would so much as consider what she’d said. Numerous people had rationally contradicted his beliefs before, but Draco wasn’t about to let logic interfere with his way of thinking. He was so sure of his values; he felt their truth right to his very core! Never had he questioned them or doubted them, not even for a fleeting instant.
What Draco Malfoy believed had been thoroughly ingrained in him by his father, formed into a solid, indestructible wall that mere words wouldn’t even scratch the surface of. So yes, Ginny Weasley had left him with something to think about. But he wouldn’t think about it. He would, instead, tuck her comments away in the deepest recesses of his mind, deliberately ignoring them.
It would take a much stronger catlyst than the angry, passionate, truthful insults Ginny hurled to make Draco Malfoy reconsider his standards. After all, Draco Malfoy never reconsidered anything at all.
~*~-------------------------------------------~*~
Sorry about all the fighting…but it was kind of unavoidable. I really wanted them to have a civilized conversation, but at this stage I know it’s not even a possibility. They really needed to have a good go at each other, not only to clear things up but also because they hate each other and weren’t about to have a pleasant little chat. Besides, Ginny was already in a fighting mood…but after a bit things will start to calm down.
Anyhow, there’s chapter two, so you know what to do: review! (That all kind of rhymed, didn’t it? Amazing.)
A Summer to Remember
~*~-------------------------------------------~*~
A/N: Chapter two already! Hey, that didn’t take too long, did it? I’m quick little writer…that’s why they call me Speedy Gonzalez! Well, okay, it’s actually because I run fast, but I now see that particular nickname can be applied to more than just that.
Disclaimer: You know it’s not mine, save for that plot. All other credit duly given to J.K. Rowling.
Also, many, MANY thanks to my wonderful new beta Red (The Lovely Lioness)!
~*~-------------------------------------------~*~
Chapter 2: Confrontations
---------------------------------------------------
Draco and Ginny were completely alone. They hadn’t moved since Snape had left (though that was only a moment ago), as they had no desire to lessen the distance between themselves. Ginny was watching Draco with a horrorstruck look on her face, while Draco stared unflinchingly back, his features contorted into an expression of revulsion. They stood in silence.
“…filthy Muggle-lovers, contaminating my noble house! Besmirching it, tainting it…”
Well, save for the ranting of Mrs. Black, who had yet to shut up.
The hallway door suddenly swung open to reveal Mrs. Weasley, her face as red as her hair. “What on earth is that ungodly noise?” she demanded angrily of Ginny. “You know full well that we are trying to have a meeting right now!”
“Oh, gee, you know, I actually forgot about that,” Ginny replied saccharinely. “It’s not like I go to those meetings; sometimes the scheduling slips my mind, you see,” she said in a tone that sounded equal parts flaky and insolent. “I’m so sorry to have disturbed you,” she apologized, or rather didn’t apologize, sending her mother a very fake, doe-eyed look of innocence.
But Mrs. Weasley was now surveying the disarray Ginny had thrown the room into, and she looked even angrier than she had when she first opened the door. “What have you done in here?!” she yelled, looking murderous.
The object of her rage ought to have been inspired with terror. Ginny, however, was a master at keeping her composure in that right. She could most definitely hold her own.
“Well, first I opened the curtains to Mrs. Black’s portrait – I wanted her to make a fuss, you see – and then, I think I headed for those shelves…yeah, and I wiped everything off of them, and kicked the stuff around a bit. And you see those shards of glass over there? It’s really unfortunate, I threw a vase against the wall and it broke! Who would’ve thought?”
Ginny felt a sinister pleasure in seeing that her mother looked deadly. It filled her with a sense of accomplishment.
“You will clean up this mess this instant, Ginevra Molly Weasley!” Mrs. Weasley shouted, using the dreaded full name. She advanced on her daughter, pointing an accusatory finger. “Oh, are you ever in trouble! You had better get to it right now, don’t just stand there! And what have you done with your shirt? Honestly, wear it decently…”
Ginny flinched, and suddenly was very aware of the fact that her midriff was quite naked. She didn’t untie her shirt, however, for Draco Malfoy was still there, and the pitiful hole the knot was hiding would only be more ammo for him.
Ugh, Malfoy…and she still had to give him “the tour,” didn’t she? Well, despite the fact that Snape had told her to, she hadn’t actually intended to. But now, with her mother seething not more than two centimeters away from her, the prospect had become much more appealing.
Ginny worried her lip between her teeth as she weighed her options. She’d have to face the ferret sooner or later, she figured, and decided it might as well be sooner, when she had things just as bad to face, than later.
So she grabbed Malfoy by the arm and dragged him along, saying, “As much as I’d love to clean this all up, Professor Snape told me I had to give Malfoy here the tour, and you know, I really must do that right now,” as she swept swiftly past her mother and out of the room.
Ginny steered them safely away down a darkened corridor, but they hadn’t gotten very far before Draco shoved her roughly away.
“Get your grubby hands off of me!” he spat, his detestation of her clearly written across his face. “Ugh, now I’ve got Weasley germs all over me,” he muttered disgustedly, maneuvering his arm so that he could inspect it.
“Oh, I’m sorry, have I besmirched your skin? Have I tainted it with the touch of my Muggle-loving hand?” she asked mockingly, borrowing a few of Mrs. Black’s favorite phrases.
“Why, yes, you have,” he sneered, “but look what else you managed to do!” He turned his arm so that she could clearly see the glaring red imprint her hand had left. Something about the way that each of her fingers was distinctly visible, and the way that the red mark contrasted with his pale skin almost made her feel guilty. Only almost, of course.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Ginny replied without conviction, rolling her eyes.
Draco’s glare intensified, and he opened his mouth to say something rude, no doubt, but Ginny cut him off.
“I wouldn’t figure you to go and throw a fit over a mark on your arm, though,” she remarked, looking pointedly at the spot she’d grabbed him…on his left arm, precisely where another mark would probably soon be appearing.
“Excuse me?” he snarled.
“I just don’t see the big deal,” she said undauntedly, shrugging. “That little spot’ll fade, for one thing. And besides, I was under the impression that you were planning to put a different, permanent mark there,” Ginny finished incisively.
A new look came into Draco’s eyes; they seemed to brighten from cloudy gray to lucid silver. It didn’t take Ginny long to figure out that this new look was anger. He advanced on her slowly, until she could actually feel his breath, soft and even, on her skin. It made the hair at the base of her neck prickle.
“If I am,” he said, his voice a deadly whisper, “I don’t think it’s any of your business.”
With this, it was quite obvious that the subject had best be closed, but Draco glared fiercely at Ginny, as though daring her to say something more. Ginny of course picked up on this, and being a Gryffindor and a Weasley, she was not the sort to back down from a challenge.
“Oh, but Malfoy, we’re housemates!” she said, her words full of mock enthusiasm. “And there are no secrets in the house.”
Draco gave a derisive snort. “Aren’t there?” he asked, sounding amused. “Remind me then…why exactly were you destroying that room just now?”
Ginny’s face fell abruptly. “Okay, so maybe there are secrets in the house,” she said darkly. “My mum won’t tell me a bloody thing about…well, a bloody thing…but from the sound of it you’re in the same boat, so don’t get cheeky with me about it.”
Draco decided to comply, and not be cheeky about the matter. Instead, he thought he would be cheeky about (one of his favorite subjects to insult) Ginny’s mother in general. “Speaking of your mum, you know, I knew she was rather…rotund,” here he paused to let out a sharp, derisive laugh, “but every time I see her she looks even dumpier.” Ginny looked nearly unmoved (she had only flushed a bit pink), so he plowed ahead, searching for a more painful barb. “And what in the name of Merlin was she wearing? What did she do…knit together what was left over after your litter of brothers was done with their robes?”
“No,” Ginny snapped, her fists clenched tightly at her side, “I got those.”
“Did you?” Draco asked softly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “And what about the rags you’ve got on now? Must be hard having all your clothing come from a load of boys…it clearly doesn’t fit you properly.” He moved even closer, and Ginny felt a surge of discomfort course through her veins. “Love what you’ve managed to do with it, though,” he breathed sardonically, as he reached one pale hand forward and grasped the knot Ginny had made, his cool knuckles brushing against her bare stomach.
Ginny recoiled at the touch and backed quickly away. “Do you have a problem with respecting personal space?” she hissed.
“No,” he drawled musingly, “but I do have a problem with respect. I have a lack of it…in particular, for you.”
“How touching. You’ll be glad to know that I haven’t a shred of respect for you, either,” Ginny spat viciously.
“Yes, well, your opinion isn’t really worth much, is it, Weasley?” Draco’s eyes locked directly with hers, cold and calculating. “As for me, on the other hand…the name Malfoy commands respect in the wizarding world. From those in a decent position, of course…dirt poor, ridiculously large, Muggle-loving families like yours, I’m afraid, are quite insignificant.”
Ginny’s face had turned a furious red, which quite matched her furious demeanor. “For your information, Malfoy,” she growled, nearly foaming at the mouth, “families like mine have a lot more power and a lot more sway than you might realize. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve got a war going on at the moment, and here on the other side the name Weasley is very prominent. And as for the name of Malfoy…well, I think that it was suitably sullied not too long ago. You know, when news of your father’s recent trip to Azkaban was published,” she bit out scathingly.
“When I say the name Malfoy is foremost in the right places, I’m not necessarily including the Ministry and all that rubbish, though I daresay our reputation there hasn’t faded too much,” Draco sneered with such chilling certainty that it sent shivers down Ginny’s spine. “What I mean is that when this war is over, the prestige of the Malfoys is going to soar to even greater heights. You know why? Because once this war is over, Weasley, we’ll have won.”
“Oh, decided to renounce the Dark Lord, have you?” Ginny asked flippantly, quickly dispelling the fear that had suddenly crept into her mind: the fear that Malfoy might actually be right.
“Very funny, Weasley,” Draco remarked dryly, and laughed, a hollow, bitter laugh. “No, you know very well where my loyalties lie. But you know what, I’ll tell you what I told Potter,” he drawled, drawing in a hissing breath between his teeth, “you’ve chosen the losing side. It was only by luck that the Dark Lord was defeated last time, and now he’s stronger than ever. You’ve got no chance.”
Ginny forced herself to swallow in spite of the lump that had formed in her throat. “There’s always a chance,” she said bravely, feeling more hopeless in that moment than she ought to have, since she knew perfectly well the side she was on had quite a good chance.
Draco wrinkled his nose disgustedly at her words. “You’re such a Gryffindor,” he said contemptuously, as though that were supposed to be a bad thing. “You always think you’re so noble, so right…”
“You’re such a Slytherin!” Ginny shot back heatedly. “You don’t even stop to consider what is right!”
Draco fixed his eyes on her, studying her coolly. “There’s nothing to consider,” he said simply, calmly.
It was the kind of reaction Ginny would have imagined, but upon hearing those words she couldn’t keep her eyes from bugging out in surprise. “Nothing to consider?!” she repeated loudly and incredulously, taken aback. “How can you not even think about something so important? Ugh, it’s what I’d expect from you, though…can’t even think for yourself, that’s clear enough! ‘Father says’ this, ‘father says’ that; you’re just like him!” Ginny seethed venomously. After the words had left her mouth, however, she couldn’t help but feel like what she’d just said would seem a compliment to him.
Oddly enough, Draco actually looked –could it be? – offended! “You don’t know the first thing about me or my father,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “He may be one of the few people I actually have a high regard for, but I am not my father.”
Ginny looked at him quizzically. Merlin, who did the boy think he was kidding? Yet funnily enough she almost felt like she could relate to him in that respect; having six brothers, she knew quite well the symptoms of an identity crisis. This didn’t soften her feelings toward him one bit, though. “Open your eyes, Malfoy!” she retorted scornfully. “Your father is directly responsible for every bit of who you are. And,” she pointed out virulently, “believe me, I know exactly what kind of a person your father is. He’s a ruthless, heartless, evil person; a pitiful excuse for a wizard and a worthless human being, that’s what he is!”
Draco fixed her with yet another hard look; he seemed to be considering her. “Do you hate him?” he asked suddenly.
“Yes,” Ginny snarled with startling intensity.
In response Draco raised his pale eyebrows and allowed his smirk to become more pronounced. “Hate is a strong word, Weasley,” he said quietly.
“It’s no less than what he deserves!” Ginny cried. “And, really, don’t you think that hate is something that your dear father is oh, I dunno, intimately familiar with? It’s the driving force behind him; it’s what carries him through the day and gets him through the night, I bet! Only people who don’t know about anything but hate can be like him…and you, too!”
“Clearly there’s more to whatever it is you’re going on about than I know,” Draco said sneeringly, “and certainly I don’t have anything to do with it.”
“Don’t play dumb, Malfoy,” Ginny snapped. “Everyone at Hogwarts knows about what happened to me in first year, and I’d wager you’d know more, what with your father’s involvement in it.” Drawing in a shaky breath she continued, “And don’t tell me you weren’t disappointed to find that I survived that whole ordeal! That’s why you’re nothing more than a spiteful, hateful monster, nothing more than your father! Because you just live on hate, and find joy in other people’s pain, and think it’d have been better if I was lying dead, rotting in the Chamber, because wasn’t that the plan?”
Without another word, Ginny stormed out of the room, feeling that she’d left him with something to think about. She had, of course, but that didn’t mean that Draco would so much as consider what she’d said. Numerous people had rationally contradicted his beliefs before, but Draco wasn’t about to let logic interfere with his way of thinking. He was so sure of his values; he felt their truth right to his very core! Never had he questioned them or doubted them, not even for a fleeting instant.
What Draco Malfoy believed had been thoroughly ingrained in him by his father, formed into a solid, indestructible wall that mere words wouldn’t even scratch the surface of. So yes, Ginny Weasley had left him with something to think about. But he wouldn’t think about it. He would, instead, tuck her comments away in the deepest recesses of his mind, deliberately ignoring them.
It would take a much stronger catlyst than the angry, passionate, truthful insults Ginny hurled to make Draco Malfoy reconsider his standards. After all, Draco Malfoy never reconsidered anything at all.
~*~-------------------------------------------~*~
Sorry about all the fighting…but it was kind of unavoidable. I really wanted them to have a civilized conversation, but at this stage I know it’s not even a possibility. They really needed to have a good go at each other, not only to clear things up but also because they hate each other and weren’t about to have a pleasant little chat. Besides, Ginny was already in a fighting mood…but after a bit things will start to calm down.
Anyhow, there’s chapter two, so you know what to do: review! (That all kind of rhymed, didn’t it? Amazing.)
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