Warning: The Author's Notes at the end of this fic contain information regarding Draco's psychological state of mind. Please feel free to skive off if you are not interested or feel it will infere with your enjoyment of the fic. Thanks.
She caught sight of his black robes heading down to the dungeons, walking at a brisk pace. She flew down the stairs in hopes of catching him. The stray Slytherin or two, heading up the stairs for a late breakfast, cast an odd glance at the sight of the Gryffindor in enemy territory on a Saturday morning.
"Draco!" she called, rushing down the stairs. He stopped, tense and irritable, and swung around, silver glaring. Ginny Weasley was rushing towards him in a sea of red silk and freckles, a look of innocent anticipation on her face.
Will this fucking nightmare never end? How do those Gryffindors tolerate all this bravery and nobility and all the crap that goes with it?
"Weasel," he snapped, poised tight as a snake ready to strike, when she approached him. Ginny smiled, stopping a moment to catch her breath.
He saw her straining to breathe, those raspy, agonizing cries for air. Her fragile, limp body against his chest. Her blood was everywhere...
"Thank you for the other day." she started, brown eyes shining up into his deathly frozen steel greys. "If you hadn't - "
"No, thank you, Weasel." She looked up at him, confused. "For the goddamn month's worth of detention your little stunt landed me. Don't play if you can't keep up with the big boys." Her mouth fell open, eyes wide with surprise and hurt. He spun around and continued down the stairs.
Ginny turned and ran up the dungeon stairs, accidentally bumping into Pansy Parkinson on the way out, eyes downcast and upset. "Excuse me," she muttered and kept on running. Pansy's eyes followed the Gryffindor up the staircase.
The following Monday evening found the Slytherin stomping down the dungeon corridors to the Potions Laboratory to supervise Professor Snape's detention of a bunch of simpering first and second year nitwits. He threw open the large wooden door and strode to the front of the laboratory, glaring at the small group of students laying out their equipment and ingredients.
Draco said nothing, simply crossed his arms and leaned against a potions station, daring anyone to step out of line, ask a question, or drop a bottle of ingredients. Minutes later, a thin, wiry hand fell on his shoulder. Surprised, he looked up into the face of Professor Snape.
"Professor," he said, standing.
"Mr. Malfoy, it seems Miss Weasley has taken it upon herself to appeal your detention to Professor Dumbledore and myself. You are relieved of any further duties." Professor Snape then swept through the laboratory, looking at various potions, making cryptic comments here and there. Draco stood for a moment, dumbstruck, before composing himself, striding out of the laboratory and back to the Slytherin Common Room.
He sank into his chair in front of the fireplace, staring. Those huge brown eyes were staring back at him, surprised and injured. He stretched out his long legs, and put a hand to his head.
She was pale and limp, gasping... so small and fragile against his chest...
He closed his eyes, as if that would stop it. His heart was pounding. He felt his body break out in a sweat, and his breathing became short.
"Draco!" His head shot up.
"Pansy," he said irritably before looking down again.
"I thought you were supervising Professor Snape's detention tonight. It started at seven."
"I'm well aware of the time." He returned coolly. She sighed and sat down next to him, noting his odd posture, head bent in defeat.
"What's wrong?" she asked cautiously, watching his fallen face. She heard him sigh, slump further into his chair and throw his head back. He was staring at some unknown mark on the ceiling, his eyes distant. She watched and waited for a few long minutes before rising and moving on. He was in no mood for company tonight.
Why had she gone to Dumbledore and Professor Snape? He had struck at her, wounded her, and taken pleasure in it. He had enjoyed humiliating her. Why would she do such a thing for someone who loathed her, her entire family, their very existence? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
You saved her life, you incredibly stupid git.
Draco sucked in a deep breath, stood unsteadily, and walked out confused and cursing the day he ever decided to schedule that damn Quidditch practice session.
Ginny Weasley glanced over nervously at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall a week later at supper. She was just able to make out the top of his head, spotting those uniquely platinum blond locks. Unable to see more, she turned away and reached for the plate of mashed potatoes.
He had seen the little Weasel scamper into the Great Hall a few minutes earlier. She now sat, flanked on all sides by a horde of Gryffindors, including the infamous trio. From his vantage point, he could see her dressed in a horrid rag which passed for a school robe. Her torrent of red hair was swept into two braids on either side of her face, her pale white skin setting off a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
Yes, Draco Malfoy had begun watching Ginny Weasley, watching her closely with an intensity and scrutiny usually reserved for Potty or Weasel boy. He knew the tilt to her head, the heady laughter, the girlish whispering, the swish of her slim hips. Ginny Weasley had been consuming more of his time and attention than he cared to admit. However, little did he know, this was just the beginning of her consumption of him.
Author's Note: Draco is experiencing symptoms of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) as defined in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders DSM-IV-TR, that bible of psychiatric disorders. It is a syndrome in which a person who has been exposed to a traumatic event (one bloody, red-headed Witch on the verge of death) experiences the following triad of symptoms:
1) re-experiencing the trauma
2) avoidance and numbing
3) increased arousal (no, not that kind of arousal) - anger, irritability, difficulty sleeping, etc.
In this particular chapter, Draco's intrusive flashbacks, intense desire to avoid the little Weasel, as well as his heightened awareness of her are evidence of this. It does not, of course, explain his innate snarkiness, which is clearly not due to a psychiatric disorder but is more a statement of his temperment and personality. Psych 101 adjourned.