CHAPTER 3
Weeks passed without incident, and before Harry noticed how much time had passed, there were Halloween decorations all over the castle. He marveled at how time could sometimes move so slowly, thick and viscous, and other times fly by, and he had no idea where the days had gone, or what he'd been doing the entire time.
The decorations were, of course, marvelous. Carved pumpkins sat on every surface, and black garlands wrapped themselves around the banisters, criss-crossing through the Entrance Hall above the heads of students and teachers. Harry saw Peeves get tangled in them more than once.
There were decorative, but very real, cobwebs in corners and crannies, with very real, hairy spiders to match. Ron wasn't pleased.
As usual, the Halloween feast took place at 7pm. The feast was always memorable, and there was even more food than usual, which satisfied Ron.
Harry was looking out of the window as a large raven came flying in. He stared; any mail-delivery during the feast would have been strange, but this one was especially unusual. Hogwarts students did not usually receive post by raven.
He watched it fly over the tables, which were covered in black silk table-cloths and laid in silver. There were thousands of black, ornately carved candles in candelabras on the tables, which Harry thought looked like withered tendrils of some exotic plant; sepulchral yet weirdly captivating. The overall effect was nothing short of gloomy.
The raven landed on the Slytherin table in front of Draco Malfoy, gracefully avoiding the candles.
Well, well, thought Harry.
Looking at Malfoy, he marvelled at how well the pale boy fitted into the scene before him, and it occurred to him that this was probably what it looked like in Malfoy's house.
Only because Harry had been watching Malfoy did he notice the way he jumped upon reading the letter, and the ugly sneer that appeared on his face as he rolled it up and stuffed it into his pocket. Ron hadn't seen.
"Look at him being smug," he said to Harry.
"What?" Harry said distractedly.
"He's probably feeling vainglorious because his dad's got a tame raven."
"Vainglorious?" Hermione echoed.
"Well, yeah..."
"Do you even know what that word means, Ron?" she scoffed.
"Of course I know what it means!" he said, sounding hurt.
Hermione tactfully let the matter rest.
~*~
As it grew steadily colder, it also became dark much earlier, something that Harry wasn't very pleased about. The Quidditch season was steadily approaching, and the upcoming match against Slytherin was crowding out all other thoughts.
Gryffindor had never lost a game to Slytherin, but this was Harry's first game as Team Captain, and he was feeling apprehensive. He booked the pitch whenever he could, making his team play in every weather because, as he told them, they didn't know what the weather conditions would be during the match.
"Come on, Harry," Cassie complained, looking through the common-room window at the thunderstorm outside. "We're not going to be playing in an electrical storm! I can deal with rain. Yeah, playing in the rain is feasible, but you are not getting me onto the Quidditch field now! Look ? there?s lightning! Do you want us struck by lightning?"
"She's got a point you know," Ginny told him. "None of us are going to be much good to you during a game if we're buried in a Pigwidgeon-sized coffin."
Harry rolled his eyes, but he saw that he was fighting a losing battle. His team didn't usually refuse his orders, but when they did they were just as stubborn as he was. He knew they weren't going to give in.
They're right, I guess, he thought. Practicing Quidditch in an electrical storm wasn't actually a very sane idea.
Still, the thought of the match made him extremely nervous.
~*~
"Mornin' Harry. Good that you're awake, it's our big day, you know," Dean called in voice that sounded cheerful, but there wasn't a trace of a smile on his face.
Harry moaned and buried his head in his pillow; he felt as if he'd slept for seconds only. He had been so anxious about the match that he could hardly get to sleep the night before, and after he had finally dozed off, he had twisted and turned all night.
Dean threw a pillow at Harry, who extracted himself from his bedclothes under protest. Dean looked as anxious as he felt; this was important for all of them.
Slytherin used to be a loner-house, with all students in it keeping to their own, but as they grew older, the four houses had grown closer. There were a lot of inter-house friendships, but Gryffindor and Slytherin had never really warmed to each other. Even as Slytherin had become less aloof towards the other houses (though a lot of Slytherins still avoided friendship with Muggle-borns), the competition between the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams had grown more fierce.
There were no friendships between the members of the opposing teams.
Harry was dreading the match because of this, and because Slytherin were notoriously competitive, to the point of purposely cheating. Had they been playing football, Harry was sure they would have worn shoes with metal spikes and kicked everyone in the shins.
Harry wanted to win at almost every cost; what he was prepared to pay didn't extend to cheating and fouling.
Another reason he wasn't looking forward to playing Slytherin was the fact that Gryffindor hadn't lost a match to them as long as Harry had been on the team. The Slytherins were tetchy about it, and since Malfoy had been announced Team Captain, they had definitely gotten better. He had assembled people who could actually play; in contrast to the former captains, who had gone for size over skills. The team now consisted of Malfoy as seeker, Malcolm Baddock as keeper and Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass and Adrian Pucey as chasers. The only two that didn't fit the revised profile of capable, streamlined players were Crabbe and Goyle, who served as beaters. They were the last two gorillas on the team now, though Harry knew that as beaters, they weren't half bad. The thought sent chills down his spine.
He knew he?d be inconsolable if he lost this match, and no one outside his house would understand. It would all be put down to his arrogance, because Gryffindor could still win the House Cup if they lost to Slytherin. But that was not what rankled Harry; it was his dislike of the Slytherins in general, and Malfoy in particular, that made him want to win this match so much.
Ron interrupted Harry's train of thought by announcing that he was going to breakfast.
"If you're coming, hurry up, because if you plan on keeping up that tempo, I'm not waiting for you," he told Harry, referring to his getting dressed. He had been sitting on his bed in his boxer shorts with his trousers in his hands for about ten minutes.
"Uh, yeah, I'm coming," he said absently, as he fished for a clean shirt in his drawers.
He wasn't much more attentive at breakfast. He missed his mouth with his fork full of scrambled eggs, and Ron almost choked with laughter.
"Come on Harry, eat up. You're never going to find the snitch in your present state of mind ? it could fly up your nose and you won't even notice."
Harry glared at him.
"Oh come on, dry up for God's sake, or you're not going to tap your full potential. That's like giving Malfoy the snitch. On a golden platter."
"He's right, you know, and all this tension ? you're going to fall off your broom if you don't relax!" Nathalie said as she got up, stood behind him and started to massage his shoulders. "Anyway ? aren't you supposed to be giving us a pep talk? Not the other way around..."
"Alright already. Just let off of me!" he said, but he wasn't really angry and they knew it. He felt the tension in his shoulders uncoil a little, and breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't that he didn't work well under pressure; it was just that waiting for something bad to happen was worse than something bad actually happening. Usually, anyway.
~*~
After a short but quite effective pep talk (one of Harry's strengths), both teams walked out onto the pitch, names being called by Colin Creevey, who was now commentating instead of Lee Jordan. Harry thought McGonagall was more unhappy about Lee being gone than she let on: she didn't have to admonish Colin for colourful language, but he just didn't have Lee's vigour and enthusiasm.
Harry and Malfoy were standing in the middle of the pitch, Madam Hooch waiting for them to shake hands. Neither of them wanted to take the first step towards the other, their mutual hate showing in Harry's tense posture and Malfoy's cold attitude. Harry was feeling extremely small in the centre of the huge pitch, and it seemed to him as if the stands were comprised of people wearing green and silver. Malfoy, on the other hand seemed very much at ease, and it was finally him who took the first step. Harry also walked forward, reluctantly, and grasped Malfoy's hand, trying to break it. Lord, he's strong, Harry thought in shock.
Neither wanted to give in, and they only let go when Madam Hooch impatiently blew her whistle.
Fourteen players flew up into the air, and the apprehension was almost tangible. The fouling on the part of Slytherin started almost immediately, and grew worse as Gryffindor's lead solidified. The game was rapid, fast-paced, and quite brutal. Nathalie was almost hit in the face by Goyle's bat as he 'accidentally' missed the bludger in close proximity of her nose. Adrian Pucey went straight for the goal post Ron was guarding, and stopped only when Ron didn't budge one inch and took the end of Pucey's broomstick to the stomach.
Madam Hooch's whistle sounded loud and shrill over the frosty grounds.
"Mr. Pucey, a broomstick is not a battering-ram!" she screamed at him. "The Quaffle to Gryffindor!"
The game grew steadily more aggressive, but Gryffindor seemed to thrive on the action. They were leading 130 - 20 when Harry spotted the snitch. He started racing towards it, but Goyle cut across him, and he had to swerve into a nose-dive to avoid crashing headlong into him. When he came back up, panting, the snitch was gone. The only consolation was that Malfoy seemed to have lost it as well.
Harry knew that if Malfoy caught the snitch now, Slytherin would still win the game. He hoped Gryffindor would expand their lead a bit more before the snitch appeared again. He flew around the pitch, and almost screamed in frustration as Slytherin scored a goal. But Gryffindor didn't let down for long. Nathalie was in a rage like Harry had seldom seen her, and when she had the Quaffle; she deliberately rammed Goyle as she was flying towards the goal post. She was the better flier, and almost knocked him off his broom. She dodged Crabbe's bludger, and put the Quaffle through the golden goal-hoop.
Cassie and Ginny pushed harder as well, and Gryffindor was leading 180 - 30 when something golden caught Harry's eye. The snitch was hovering near Malfoy, who was looking in the other direction. Harry was about 20 feet from him.
He spurted towards Malfoy, but hadn't quite reached him, when the other boy turned around and saw Harry speeding towards him. Harry heard a faint cheering in the background, but didn't pay any attention to it as he saw Malfoy level his gaze at the snitch. He urged his broom to go faster, but Malfoy grabbed the snitch out of the air two seconds before Harry crashed into him.
"Potter! Watch it, you clumsy git." Malfoy said, detangling himself from Harry's cloak and looking very pleased with himself.
"Gryffindor wins!" Colin called out. Harry just barely registered it.
"What?" he mumbled, but was already encircled by his team, who crowded around him, beaming.
"Harry, we did it!" Ginny shouted. "I scored a goal like, two seconds before Malfoy got the snitch! We've won by ten points!"
Malfoy, still just behind Harry, looked as if he had been told that Christmas was cancelled. Harry started his descent, his team following his lead. Malfoy flew to the other end of the pitch, where the Slytherins were forming a huddle. Probably planning something nasty, Harry thought.
Hermione ran across the pitch to meet them, and fell around Ron's neck as soon as he was within grabbing-distance.
"I can't believe you did it, you did it, you did it!" she screeched. Her hair was turning frizzy and she was red in the face. Her excitement practically bordered on hysteria, and she clung to Ron's neck with a dangerously tight grip.
"Urgh, ?Moine, gerroff," Ron said, detangling himself and massaging his throat. "I've taken enough beating today. Anyway, thank Ginny ? she scored the winning goal. And don't pass out on me, you're even more excited than Harry is."
When they got back to the common-room, Dennis Creevey had already been to the kitchens and scrounged enough food for a small feast from the house elves. The Gryffindors celebrated all night, and didn't quiet down even after Professor McGonagall had come and gone three times. Sometime around 2 o'clock, she looked in once more, and muttered to herself as she left. She didn't appear again.
~*~
Hufflepuff played Ravenclaw in the last week of term, three days before the holidays. Ravenclaw won by twenty points, and the match marked the beginning of the holidays. The last two days of classes weren't taken seriously, and most teachers didn't give any homework. Both the outcome of the match and the lack of homework suited Ginny fine.
Molly and Arthur were visiting Fleur and Bill in Egypt, so she and Ron were staying at school over Christmas. So was Hermione; her parents were going skiing again, and she had decided that it definitely wasn't her kind of thing. She probably also wanted to start revising for her N.E.W.T.s, Ginny thought. That would be so like her. Harry, of course, put his name down on the list of students who were staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, like every year. Where else would he have gone?
They enjoyed the quiet of the castle and took advantage of the common-room being so empty: there was one first year she didn't know, and a couple of third years; other than that, they were the only Gryffindors left.
Ron and Ginny played a lot of chess, which she enjoyed, as they didn't often have time to do it when school was on. Harry often sat in front of the fire, not doing anything in particular, just staring.
"I think he needs a girlfriend," Ron said to Hermione, throwing Ginny what he obviously thought to be a covert look.
When Ron and Hermione went off to the Seventh Year?s girl?s dorm (which was now empty of occupants save Hermione, who had magicked the stairs so Ron could walk up them without being dumped back into the common-room, making it the perfect place for makeout sessions), Ginny usually went to the library.
The common-room was nice, but Ginny loved the library; she loved being surrounded by books (one of the few things she had in common with Hermione), and the heavy oak paneling and leather-bound volumes gave the place a very comfortable atmosphere. There was a cluster of armchairs and tables in a kind of clearing in the middle of the library, where she sometimes curled up for hours on end.
She was reading Gemstones: Facts and Folklore, and was so engrossed that she didn't notice someone enter the library and sit down at the other end of the cluster of armchairs. Only when she had finished the chapter did she look up, and jump.
Draco Malfoy was sitting in an armchair across from her, long legs crossed in front of him, a small book in his lap.
"I didn't think you'd be here over the holidays," she told him, in a kind of voice that indicated she hadn't been thinking about him at all, but he seemed unfazed by her tone.
"You think??
That stung.
"Only when it's necessary, which isn't usually the case around you!"
He didn't answer that, just returned to his book.
What is wrong with him? she wondered. She used to storm off to her room and cry for hours about some vicious remark he had made; now she usually had the last word. Does he let me win? Or does he simply think it's beneath him to keep an argument up? Then why does he keep starting them? I just don't get it.
Draco was reading again, and she returned to her book as well. She didn't notice him sneaking glances at her over the top of his book. Her hair looks like fire, he thought. He had often wondered about red hair; obviously it didn't repel girls like he thought it did. Ron Weasley had snatched more than one potential girlfriend from right under his, Draco Malfoy's, nose. But Ginny's hair was a different matter completely. It was several shades darker than Ron's, but more vivid. It looked more like red than orange, a colour that Draco despised. He thought her hair was captivating, cascading down her back like a river of lava; he wanted to run his fingers through it. A stray tendril fell into her face and when she brushed it away, he studied her hands; creamy white skin and long, painted nails. How does she play Quidditch with nails like that? But play she did; he remembered the little challenge all too well.
She had won, and he been preparing himself for verbal abuse. Nothing had happened. He had seen the Weasel watching him as Ginny was carried from the field, his expression one of hate, contempt and malicious joy. But unlike her brother, Ginny had not gloated at all. She hadn't come up to him to wallow in her victory and put him down in front of everyone. She hadn't even talked about it, or talked to him, unless he started some petty argument or dispute.
He had been trying to get a reaction from her since then, get her attention, but nothing he could say or do reached her, it just left her cold. He tried to get her hacked off at him; anything to have an excuse to talk to her, but she always bested him. And when he had nothing more to say, she walked off. Just like that. No putting him down or stomping around on his ego; sometimes he wondered if she was admirably self-restrained for not putting him down when she had the chance, or if she knew how her attitude towards him undid him. He was used to people not liking him, but being practically ignored gave him a weird feeling. He had found someone who equaled him in wit and self-composure, and it confused him.
He loved putting people down and watching them lose their cool, like Harry. He was so easy to provoke; it gave Draco satisfaction. But Ginny never lost her cool, and it caused a reaction in him he didn't know how to handle: his stomach knotted up and his palms became sweaty; no one had made him feel like that before.
Screw this, he thought. I'm leaving.
She had not heard him arrive, but she heard him leave. All his stealth had left him and he looked extremely ruffled. She was startled. What's gotten into him, I wonder?
Weeks passed without incident, and before Harry noticed how much time had passed, there were Halloween decorations all over the castle. He marveled at how time could sometimes move so slowly, thick and viscous, and other times fly by, and he had no idea where the days had gone, or what he'd been doing the entire time.
The decorations were, of course, marvelous. Carved pumpkins sat on every surface, and black garlands wrapped themselves around the banisters, criss-crossing through the Entrance Hall above the heads of students and teachers. Harry saw Peeves get tangled in them more than once.
There were decorative, but very real, cobwebs in corners and crannies, with very real, hairy spiders to match. Ron wasn't pleased.
As usual, the Halloween feast took place at 7pm. The feast was always memorable, and there was even more food than usual, which satisfied Ron.
Harry was looking out of the window as a large raven came flying in. He stared; any mail-delivery during the feast would have been strange, but this one was especially unusual. Hogwarts students did not usually receive post by raven.
He watched it fly over the tables, which were covered in black silk table-cloths and laid in silver. There were thousands of black, ornately carved candles in candelabras on the tables, which Harry thought looked like withered tendrils of some exotic plant; sepulchral yet weirdly captivating. The overall effect was nothing short of gloomy.
The raven landed on the Slytherin table in front of Draco Malfoy, gracefully avoiding the candles.
Well, well, thought Harry.
Looking at Malfoy, he marvelled at how well the pale boy fitted into the scene before him, and it occurred to him that this was probably what it looked like in Malfoy's house.
Only because Harry had been watching Malfoy did he notice the way he jumped upon reading the letter, and the ugly sneer that appeared on his face as he rolled it up and stuffed it into his pocket. Ron hadn't seen.
"Look at him being smug," he said to Harry.
"What?" Harry said distractedly.
"He's probably feeling vainglorious because his dad's got a tame raven."
"Vainglorious?" Hermione echoed.
"Well, yeah..."
"Do you even know what that word means, Ron?" she scoffed.
"Of course I know what it means!" he said, sounding hurt.
Hermione tactfully let the matter rest.
~*~
As it grew steadily colder, it also became dark much earlier, something that Harry wasn't very pleased about. The Quidditch season was steadily approaching, and the upcoming match against Slytherin was crowding out all other thoughts.
Gryffindor had never lost a game to Slytherin, but this was Harry's first game as Team Captain, and he was feeling apprehensive. He booked the pitch whenever he could, making his team play in every weather because, as he told them, they didn't know what the weather conditions would be during the match.
"Come on, Harry," Cassie complained, looking through the common-room window at the thunderstorm outside. "We're not going to be playing in an electrical storm! I can deal with rain. Yeah, playing in the rain is feasible, but you are not getting me onto the Quidditch field now! Look ? there?s lightning! Do you want us struck by lightning?"
"She's got a point you know," Ginny told him. "None of us are going to be much good to you during a game if we're buried in a Pigwidgeon-sized coffin."
Harry rolled his eyes, but he saw that he was fighting a losing battle. His team didn't usually refuse his orders, but when they did they were just as stubborn as he was. He knew they weren't going to give in.
They're right, I guess, he thought. Practicing Quidditch in an electrical storm wasn't actually a very sane idea.
Still, the thought of the match made him extremely nervous.
~*~
"Mornin' Harry. Good that you're awake, it's our big day, you know," Dean called in voice that sounded cheerful, but there wasn't a trace of a smile on his face.
Harry moaned and buried his head in his pillow; he felt as if he'd slept for seconds only. He had been so anxious about the match that he could hardly get to sleep the night before, and after he had finally dozed off, he had twisted and turned all night.
Dean threw a pillow at Harry, who extracted himself from his bedclothes under protest. Dean looked as anxious as he felt; this was important for all of them.
Slytherin used to be a loner-house, with all students in it keeping to their own, but as they grew older, the four houses had grown closer. There were a lot of inter-house friendships, but Gryffindor and Slytherin had never really warmed to each other. Even as Slytherin had become less aloof towards the other houses (though a lot of Slytherins still avoided friendship with Muggle-borns), the competition between the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams had grown more fierce.
There were no friendships between the members of the opposing teams.
Harry was dreading the match because of this, and because Slytherin were notoriously competitive, to the point of purposely cheating. Had they been playing football, Harry was sure they would have worn shoes with metal spikes and kicked everyone in the shins.
Harry wanted to win at almost every cost; what he was prepared to pay didn't extend to cheating and fouling.
Another reason he wasn't looking forward to playing Slytherin was the fact that Gryffindor hadn't lost a match to them as long as Harry had been on the team. The Slytherins were tetchy about it, and since Malfoy had been announced Team Captain, they had definitely gotten better. He had assembled people who could actually play; in contrast to the former captains, who had gone for size over skills. The team now consisted of Malfoy as seeker, Malcolm Baddock as keeper and Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass and Adrian Pucey as chasers. The only two that didn't fit the revised profile of capable, streamlined players were Crabbe and Goyle, who served as beaters. They were the last two gorillas on the team now, though Harry knew that as beaters, they weren't half bad. The thought sent chills down his spine.
He knew he?d be inconsolable if he lost this match, and no one outside his house would understand. It would all be put down to his arrogance, because Gryffindor could still win the House Cup if they lost to Slytherin. But that was not what rankled Harry; it was his dislike of the Slytherins in general, and Malfoy in particular, that made him want to win this match so much.
Ron interrupted Harry's train of thought by announcing that he was going to breakfast.
"If you're coming, hurry up, because if you plan on keeping up that tempo, I'm not waiting for you," he told Harry, referring to his getting dressed. He had been sitting on his bed in his boxer shorts with his trousers in his hands for about ten minutes.
"Uh, yeah, I'm coming," he said absently, as he fished for a clean shirt in his drawers.
He wasn't much more attentive at breakfast. He missed his mouth with his fork full of scrambled eggs, and Ron almost choked with laughter.
"Come on Harry, eat up. You're never going to find the snitch in your present state of mind ? it could fly up your nose and you won't even notice."
Harry glared at him.
"Oh come on, dry up for God's sake, or you're not going to tap your full potential. That's like giving Malfoy the snitch. On a golden platter."
"He's right, you know, and all this tension ? you're going to fall off your broom if you don't relax!" Nathalie said as she got up, stood behind him and started to massage his shoulders. "Anyway ? aren't you supposed to be giving us a pep talk? Not the other way around..."
"Alright already. Just let off of me!" he said, but he wasn't really angry and they knew it. He felt the tension in his shoulders uncoil a little, and breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't that he didn't work well under pressure; it was just that waiting for something bad to happen was worse than something bad actually happening. Usually, anyway.
~*~
After a short but quite effective pep talk (one of Harry's strengths), both teams walked out onto the pitch, names being called by Colin Creevey, who was now commentating instead of Lee Jordan. Harry thought McGonagall was more unhappy about Lee being gone than she let on: she didn't have to admonish Colin for colourful language, but he just didn't have Lee's vigour and enthusiasm.
Harry and Malfoy were standing in the middle of the pitch, Madam Hooch waiting for them to shake hands. Neither of them wanted to take the first step towards the other, their mutual hate showing in Harry's tense posture and Malfoy's cold attitude. Harry was feeling extremely small in the centre of the huge pitch, and it seemed to him as if the stands were comprised of people wearing green and silver. Malfoy, on the other hand seemed very much at ease, and it was finally him who took the first step. Harry also walked forward, reluctantly, and grasped Malfoy's hand, trying to break it. Lord, he's strong, Harry thought in shock.
Neither wanted to give in, and they only let go when Madam Hooch impatiently blew her whistle.
Fourteen players flew up into the air, and the apprehension was almost tangible. The fouling on the part of Slytherin started almost immediately, and grew worse as Gryffindor's lead solidified. The game was rapid, fast-paced, and quite brutal. Nathalie was almost hit in the face by Goyle's bat as he 'accidentally' missed the bludger in close proximity of her nose. Adrian Pucey went straight for the goal post Ron was guarding, and stopped only when Ron didn't budge one inch and took the end of Pucey's broomstick to the stomach.
Madam Hooch's whistle sounded loud and shrill over the frosty grounds.
"Mr. Pucey, a broomstick is not a battering-ram!" she screamed at him. "The Quaffle to Gryffindor!"
The game grew steadily more aggressive, but Gryffindor seemed to thrive on the action. They were leading 130 - 20 when Harry spotted the snitch. He started racing towards it, but Goyle cut across him, and he had to swerve into a nose-dive to avoid crashing headlong into him. When he came back up, panting, the snitch was gone. The only consolation was that Malfoy seemed to have lost it as well.
Harry knew that if Malfoy caught the snitch now, Slytherin would still win the game. He hoped Gryffindor would expand their lead a bit more before the snitch appeared again. He flew around the pitch, and almost screamed in frustration as Slytherin scored a goal. But Gryffindor didn't let down for long. Nathalie was in a rage like Harry had seldom seen her, and when she had the Quaffle; she deliberately rammed Goyle as she was flying towards the goal post. She was the better flier, and almost knocked him off his broom. She dodged Crabbe's bludger, and put the Quaffle through the golden goal-hoop.
Cassie and Ginny pushed harder as well, and Gryffindor was leading 180 - 30 when something golden caught Harry's eye. The snitch was hovering near Malfoy, who was looking in the other direction. Harry was about 20 feet from him.
He spurted towards Malfoy, but hadn't quite reached him, when the other boy turned around and saw Harry speeding towards him. Harry heard a faint cheering in the background, but didn't pay any attention to it as he saw Malfoy level his gaze at the snitch. He urged his broom to go faster, but Malfoy grabbed the snitch out of the air two seconds before Harry crashed into him.
"Potter! Watch it, you clumsy git." Malfoy said, detangling himself from Harry's cloak and looking very pleased with himself.
"Gryffindor wins!" Colin called out. Harry just barely registered it.
"What?" he mumbled, but was already encircled by his team, who crowded around him, beaming.
"Harry, we did it!" Ginny shouted. "I scored a goal like, two seconds before Malfoy got the snitch! We've won by ten points!"
Malfoy, still just behind Harry, looked as if he had been told that Christmas was cancelled. Harry started his descent, his team following his lead. Malfoy flew to the other end of the pitch, where the Slytherins were forming a huddle. Probably planning something nasty, Harry thought.
Hermione ran across the pitch to meet them, and fell around Ron's neck as soon as he was within grabbing-distance.
"I can't believe you did it, you did it, you did it!" she screeched. Her hair was turning frizzy and she was red in the face. Her excitement practically bordered on hysteria, and she clung to Ron's neck with a dangerously tight grip.
"Urgh, ?Moine, gerroff," Ron said, detangling himself and massaging his throat. "I've taken enough beating today. Anyway, thank Ginny ? she scored the winning goal. And don't pass out on me, you're even more excited than Harry is."
When they got back to the common-room, Dennis Creevey had already been to the kitchens and scrounged enough food for a small feast from the house elves. The Gryffindors celebrated all night, and didn't quiet down even after Professor McGonagall had come and gone three times. Sometime around 2 o'clock, she looked in once more, and muttered to herself as she left. She didn't appear again.
~*~
Hufflepuff played Ravenclaw in the last week of term, three days before the holidays. Ravenclaw won by twenty points, and the match marked the beginning of the holidays. The last two days of classes weren't taken seriously, and most teachers didn't give any homework. Both the outcome of the match and the lack of homework suited Ginny fine.
Molly and Arthur were visiting Fleur and Bill in Egypt, so she and Ron were staying at school over Christmas. So was Hermione; her parents were going skiing again, and she had decided that it definitely wasn't her kind of thing. She probably also wanted to start revising for her N.E.W.T.s, Ginny thought. That would be so like her. Harry, of course, put his name down on the list of students who were staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, like every year. Where else would he have gone?
They enjoyed the quiet of the castle and took advantage of the common-room being so empty: there was one first year she didn't know, and a couple of third years; other than that, they were the only Gryffindors left.
Ron and Ginny played a lot of chess, which she enjoyed, as they didn't often have time to do it when school was on. Harry often sat in front of the fire, not doing anything in particular, just staring.
"I think he needs a girlfriend," Ron said to Hermione, throwing Ginny what he obviously thought to be a covert look.
When Ron and Hermione went off to the Seventh Year?s girl?s dorm (which was now empty of occupants save Hermione, who had magicked the stairs so Ron could walk up them without being dumped back into the common-room, making it the perfect place for makeout sessions), Ginny usually went to the library.
The common-room was nice, but Ginny loved the library; she loved being surrounded by books (one of the few things she had in common with Hermione), and the heavy oak paneling and leather-bound volumes gave the place a very comfortable atmosphere. There was a cluster of armchairs and tables in a kind of clearing in the middle of the library, where she sometimes curled up for hours on end.
She was reading Gemstones: Facts and Folklore, and was so engrossed that she didn't notice someone enter the library and sit down at the other end of the cluster of armchairs. Only when she had finished the chapter did she look up, and jump.
Draco Malfoy was sitting in an armchair across from her, long legs crossed in front of him, a small book in his lap.
"I didn't think you'd be here over the holidays," she told him, in a kind of voice that indicated she hadn't been thinking about him at all, but he seemed unfazed by her tone.
"You think??
That stung.
"Only when it's necessary, which isn't usually the case around you!"
He didn't answer that, just returned to his book.
What is wrong with him? she wondered. She used to storm off to her room and cry for hours about some vicious remark he had made; now she usually had the last word. Does he let me win? Or does he simply think it's beneath him to keep an argument up? Then why does he keep starting them? I just don't get it.
Draco was reading again, and she returned to her book as well. She didn't notice him sneaking glances at her over the top of his book. Her hair looks like fire, he thought. He had often wondered about red hair; obviously it didn't repel girls like he thought it did. Ron Weasley had snatched more than one potential girlfriend from right under his, Draco Malfoy's, nose. But Ginny's hair was a different matter completely. It was several shades darker than Ron's, but more vivid. It looked more like red than orange, a colour that Draco despised. He thought her hair was captivating, cascading down her back like a river of lava; he wanted to run his fingers through it. A stray tendril fell into her face and when she brushed it away, he studied her hands; creamy white skin and long, painted nails. How does she play Quidditch with nails like that? But play she did; he remembered the little challenge all too well.
She had won, and he been preparing himself for verbal abuse. Nothing had happened. He had seen the Weasel watching him as Ginny was carried from the field, his expression one of hate, contempt and malicious joy. But unlike her brother, Ginny had not gloated at all. She hadn't come up to him to wallow in her victory and put him down in front of everyone. She hadn't even talked about it, or talked to him, unless he started some petty argument or dispute.
He had been trying to get a reaction from her since then, get her attention, but nothing he could say or do reached her, it just left her cold. He tried to get her hacked off at him; anything to have an excuse to talk to her, but she always bested him. And when he had nothing more to say, she walked off. Just like that. No putting him down or stomping around on his ego; sometimes he wondered if she was admirably self-restrained for not putting him down when she had the chance, or if she knew how her attitude towards him undid him. He was used to people not liking him, but being practically ignored gave him a weird feeling. He had found someone who equaled him in wit and self-composure, and it confused him.
He loved putting people down and watching them lose their cool, like Harry. He was so easy to provoke; it gave Draco satisfaction. But Ginny never lost her cool, and it caused a reaction in him he didn't know how to handle: his stomach knotted up and his palms became sweaty; no one had made him feel like that before.
Screw this, he thought. I'm leaving.
She had not heard him arrive, but she heard him leave. All his stealth had left him and he looked extremely ruffled. She was startled. What's gotten into him, I wonder?
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