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Treason!
by Sarea Okelani
Rating: Draco has a potty mouth and the implication of a sex life, but otherwise nothing too terrible.
Summary: Draco Malfoy learns that some mornings, he should just stay in bed.
~.~
When Draco woke in the morning, he was disgruntled to realize that he was alone. As a result, he was forced to spend several minutes in the warm little pocket he had made for himself careful not to move even an inch, for fear of the cold. Normally his bed warmer -- as he liked to call her, though for some reason she didn't like it so much -- would have been there, sharing her warmth, and he would have more freedom of movement. But she wasn't there.
As time ticked by, he wondered where she had gone and why she had left. Well, the 'why' wasn't a mystery; she was constantly complaining that she was going to get in trouble one of these days for never sleeping in her own dorm. But Draco was very good at cajoling her to stay; he knew exactly the look to give her to make her sigh and relent. The look didn't mean he was begging her to stay; no, he would never do such a thing. He was just coercing her using the most effective means possible: himself. After all, he was Draco Malfoy, and he had a large arsenal to choose from. That was why he was so irresistible, after all.
But the 'where' remained a mystery. It was Tuesday; she had a free period in the morning. She ought to have been here to kiss him awake and canoodle with him in the shower.
Perhaps she was still miffed about the semi-argument they'd had last night. She had wanted to know why he never told her he loved her, when she told him all the time. Was it because he didn't love her? If it was, that was all right, but she just wanted to know. Draco had disliked the entire conversation.
How was he supposed to know whether he loved her or not? The words stuck in his throat when he tried to say them -- was that because he didn't love her, or because expressing the unfamiliar sentiment made him feel awkward, and he hated feeling awkward? But he didn't want to tell her he didn't love her, because while she said it would be all right, he suspected it wouldn't be all right at all, and the one thing he did know was that doing anything that might cause him to lose her was not an option.
Don't you like it when I tell you that I love you? she had asked. And of course he'd had to admit that yes, he liked it very much. He hadn't done more than acknowledge that he liked it, but if forced at wandpoint to elaborate he would have said that her profession of love made him feel small and big at the same time, made him a bit lightheaded, made him feel he could accomplish superhuman feats, made him want to kiss her and make her say it again and again. Well, I think I'd like it too, she'd said, this sad little smile crossing her face. He'd hated seeing it; hated to think he might be causing her unhappiness, so he'd kissed it away and made her forget about the 'discussion' … but perhaps she hadn't forgotten at all, and that was why she'd stolen away in the morning.
So, he showered alone and began to make his way to his first class -- which wasn't even a 'class' for him, really. He was acting as an assistant to Professor Bahdaire, the latest in a long string of one-term Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers Hogwarts had had in recent history. As the assistant to the normally very poorly coifed professor, Draco's main duties included snickering to himself when one of the clumsy Gryffindor or Hufflepuff third years did something stupid (which was inevitable, and on occasion required him to escort one of them to the Hospital Wing), demonstrating (over and over again) the proper wand movement for a difficult spell (and they all seemed difficult to those poor sods), and daydreaming about what he was going to do to Ginny Weasley when he had her alone again.
Draco was rarely challenged in an intellectual sense during this period, which was probably for the best since he wasn't a morning person and liked to use the hour to wake up. Take this morning, for instance. They were learning about boggarts. Boggarts! Possibly the least interesting or difficult topic DADA had to offer. Draco found himself nodding off in the middle of Professor Bahdaire's lecture, waking only when the noise level from the students changed and he realized they were about to confront a real boggart in a hands-on demonstration.
It was hilarious, especially when some of them turned into blubbering messes when faced with their boggart -- one even ran screaming from the room. Draco had had the unenviable task of going to retrieve the youth (who had fled to practically the farthest part of the castle). When Draco returned, Professor Bahdaire was dismissing the class, saying he had to step out a bit early for mumblemumble (Draco neither heard nor cared), and he wanted Draco to take care of putting things back in order.
The students were cheered by the possibility of having a few free minutes to themselves and stampeded out the door. Draco busied himself by straightening the papers strewn about the professor's desk, took up a stack of scrolls that he was supposed to help mark, and erased what Bahdaire had scrawled on the chalkboard. As he was doing this he thought he heard a noise, and hoping it was Ginny, he turned around quickly, only to find that he was still very much alone in the classroom.
She's made me daft, he thought, and began making his way to his next class, which was thankfully Potions.
The rest of the day proceeded as they all did; Draco didn't really expect to see Ginny between classes, as her being a year younger meant that they were constantly in different parts of the castle during the day. However, he was hoping to see her at lunchtime in the Great Hall, even if he couldn't actually talk to her. Their relationship was somewhat of a secret … but neither could tell if no one really suspected, or if people did suspect but simply ignored it, because the idea of the two of them together was too strange and if acknowledged, might spur the coming of the Apocalypse. In any case, Draco and Ginny did not openly behave as though they were anything but the average enemies-since-childhood adversaries.
But Ginny wasn't at lunch.
Now Draco was starting to be concerned. What if something had happened to her? Or worse, what if she were actually angry with him? He quickly told himself that that was not the case. After all, if Ginny were upset with him, she would let him know it; she didn't exactly have the most even of tempers. Then again, she was of that mysterious breed of human known as a girl … their minds worked in odd and devious ways. This might be her form of punishing him. But on the off chance that she wasn't doing this to deliberately antagonize him and something had happened to her, how would he be able to find out? He couldn't very well ask Scarhead or her moronic brother. Though … surely if she were in trouble or hurt, they wouldn't be chatting and laughing like loons, their mouths still full of food. Disgusting.
Draco was on his way to the pitch for Quidditch practice when he was confronted with a ghastly sight. There was Ginny, her long red hair being whipped around by the wind, and she was entwined in the arms of someone, a boy with dark hair, and the two of them were kissing.
A feeling Draco had never known before swelled in his chest, making his stomach roil and red dots explode in front of his eyes. The kissing couple, rather far off in the distance, seemed to loom in Draco's vision, blocking out everything else. Though he wanted to race toward them and pummel the other boy senseless before taking Ginny away to some obscure location and locking her in a tower -- no, dungeon, his dungeon, that would be best -- he remained rooted to the spot. Part of him could not believe what he was seeing … but as much as he wanted to deny it, there was no mistaking that the girl was Ginny. He would recognize her anywhere.
What he wanted most of all (after disposing of her unknown lover) was to demand what the hell she thought she was doing. How could she kiss someone else? How could she allow someone else to kiss her? How dare she be unfaithful to him, when he had never been unfaithful to her, and yet he was the one in Slytherin? Draco wanted to know how long this treason had been going on. No, he didn't; he couldn't bear to know. Yet, he did want to know. No, he didn't. Yes, he did.
Outrage and something else propelled him forward. He would confront them, even if it was against his better judgment. Intellectually, he knew that what he ought to do was cut his losses -- walk away and forget that Ginny Weasley ever existed. But somehow, he didn't think he'd be able to do that. Justice would not be served, and he would derive so much more satisfaction from a bit of violence.
As he got closer to the snogging couple, Draco had another upsetting realization. The boy was Potter. Harry fucking Potter. Ginny had her fingers buried in Potter's hair -- the way she always does with yours, he masochistically pointed out to himself -- and Potter's hand was under her shirt, touching the skin of her back. Draco wanted to retch copiously, but steeled himself to at least wait until he could do it on Potter's shoes.
When they were within shouting distance, however, they disappeared.
Draco stopped short, breathing heavily, jerking his head from side to side. Where the bloody hell had they gone? Had they seen him coming, and made a swift retreat? Certainly he could not blame them, if that were the case -- the way he was feeling right now, he could have easily killed one of them. He ran to where he'd seen them last, but there was no trace that anyone had been there. Were they hiding behind the Quidditch stands? He began looking in all the nooks and crannies like a madman, but couldn't find any hints as to their whereabouts. A check of the changing room only revealed his bewildered teammates.
"Malfoy…?" one of them ventured. "What's wrong? You look -- er…"
"Shut up!"
Draco changed into his Quidditch clothes, throwing his gear around so aggressively that his teammates made tracks as fast as they could. On the way out, one of them muttered, "Great. So it's going to be one of those practices."
Despite his yelling and pointing out his team's every mistake (real or imagined), it was Draco who was paying the least attention to practice. He couldn't seem to get his head in the game; all he saw in his mind's eye was Ginny. Ginny and Potter. Ginny kissing Potter. He didn't want to play fucking Quidditch. He wanted to find them -- find her -- and demand answers. And some goddamn fucking fidelity.
Obviously, what he should really do was break up with her. But to his complete disgust, he didn't want to do that. The idea of breaking up with her filled him with such feelings of aversion that he couldn't entertain the thought for more than a second. And that made him even more disgusted with himself. No, the only solution was to impress upon her that her behavior was unacceptable, and once she fully understood how grievously she had wronged him, he would allow her to try and make it up to him. Just in case, he might have to put a tracking charm on her, but only for a little while, just until he could deem her trustworthy again. And since by that point she would have realized how terrible and nearly unforgivable her actions had been, she would agree.
Even with such foolproof plans, Draco's stomach was twisted into knots as he went in to dinner. A second year ran by, crying about giant flying monkeys, but Draco barely noticed. What was he going to say to her? Had she seen him earlier, or would she pretend as though nothing had happened? Not, of course, that they could have a real conversation in the Great Hall. He'd have to communicate using only glares, knitted eyebrows, and a truly pissed-off aura. (Luckily, he'd had practice with this sort of thing.) He wasn't going to pretend he hadn't seen what he'd seen, and he'd be damned if he'd let her carry on with her deception. Who knew how long she'd been making a fool of him? Falsehearted bitch.
Hadn't he been a good secret boyfriend? Hadn't he given her everything she could ask for -- great sex, witty conversation, the sheer joy of being in his company? How could she throw that all away?
Potter probably tells her he loves her, came the unbidden thought. But those were only words! Meaningless. In the end, didn't action count more than mere lip service? You mean like the act of telling someone how much you care about them? Draco didn't understand why there was a throbbing feeling in his hand until a passing Ravenclaw said helpfully, "Hey, your hand's bleeding," and he realized he'd punched the wall in a fit. He'd punched a stone wall. In a fit. He could hardly credit such asinine behavior to himself.
"Shut up!"
He stomped to the infirmary and practiced his glares on Madam Pomfrey, who clucked around him like an overgrown hen and scowled right back as she fixed up his hand. She put some kind of strange-smelling ointment on it before wrapping it up securely. All the while, Draco pictured how Ginny would look on her knees, clinging to him, begging him not to break up with her, reassuring him that it had only happened the one time, that she'd been under Imperious, that she would do anything to make it up to him...
Draco nearly ran into her as he was exiting the infirmary. The unexpected sight of her almost made all the thoughts in his head fly away, just because he was glad to see her. And then he remembered. He opened his mouth to say something -- he didn't know what, because she beat him to it.
"I want to break up," she said, without any fanfare whatsoever. "I'm with Harry now, and I love him. Always have done, you know. Oh, also I'm pregnant, and it's not yours," she added.
Was she trying to kill him? Draco felt as though he'd been pole-axed. He could only stare at her -- hopefully disdainfully -- wondering if all the feeling leaving his body was because he was in a towering rage, or because he simply could not comprehend the words she had just said. Or maybe it was something else, something he couldn't identify, because he'd never felt it before.
"Are you joking?" he asked hoarsely, because it was the only thing he could think of to say -- the only thing he wanted to be true. But from the look of pity on her face, the utter lack of humor, he knew he was grasping at straws. The attempt to find some other explanation for what she'd said had only managed to reveal how hopeful he was when it came to her. Pathetic.
"Why would I joke about something like that?" Ginny stared at him, her big brown eyes wide and her beloved face, the one he had so enjoyed caressing and contemplating when she was asleep, looking puzzled. "I'm sorry, but this probably wouldn't have happened if I hadn't felt so insecure about you. I could just never tell whether you cared about me at all."
There was that feeling again -- he was going to vomit. It would just be the humiliation on top of all humiliations to do it in front of her. "I don't -- I have to --" He stumbled past her, and she stepped out of the way.
Draco's appetite had been obliterated. He was glad now that he'd injured himself, glad to have that distraction, that pain to focus on. Because the other pain, if he allowed himself to dwell on it for even a second, would probably render him senseless. Somehow he managed to make it to his room, though he couldn't remember getting there. Not for the first time, he was glad to be Head Boy, glad to have his own room, glad there would be no witnesses to the sight of him in complete and total misery.
Ginny's words played over and over again in his mind, almost as if she had conjured them from his worst nightmare. What he wouldn't give for it to be yesterday, or the day before, or any day when he'd been with her, stupidly happy, not knowing he was destroying their relationship little by little until she'd turned to someone else. He'd mucked it all up. How could he have let her slip away from him like that? Just last night she'd given him another chance, when they'd had that row about his never telling her that he loved her. Then they'd shared a spectacular shag -- had that simply been a pity shag? A farewell-it-was-nice-while-it-lasted shag? What else could it have been?
She hadn't even asked how he'd injured his hand.
Time passed as he lay in bed, staring at the canopy above. His thoughts were jumbled, swirling around in his head. He wondered when it had all gone wrong, when she had started seeing Potter, if it was too late to win her back. But of course it was too late; she was pregnant for Merlin's sake (remembering that nearly made Draco enter a catatonic state). She was with Potter, the boy she'd always loved and never thought she could have, the one she was meant to be with, the one everyone would nod at in approval when they discovered who she'd chosen. Of course Ginny Weasley should be with Harry Potter, not Draco Malfoy, son of a Death Eater, descendant of a family with a long and illustrious history of dark magic.
Was this what depression felt like? When the idea of staying in bed for the next forty or so years was the most attractive proposition he'd ever heard?
Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be. The clock next to his bed eventually began to chime.
It's just as boring as it sounds
Hurry up, time to do your rounds!
Feeling as though a bevy of weights were pressing on his chest, Draco reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and stared at himself in the mirror: wrinkled clothes, unkempt hair, hollow eyes. For possibly the first time in his life, he couldn't have cared less about his appearance, and left the room without changing.
His mood grew darker and darker as he patrolled the halls, getting even more satisfaction than usual from reprimanding other students and taking away house points. No one had immunity from his wrath, not even his fellow Slytherins; he took fifteen points from Blaise Zabini for snogging a redheaded girl behind the statue of Goric the Brave for the Most Part. Draco's earlier melancholy was slowly being replaced by a sense of outrage, indignation, anger. He was in a strop and he didn't care who knew it.
And then he saw them.
Ginny and Potter, kissing just as they had done earlier that day near the Quidditch pitch. They weren't even trying to hide it! It made Draco absolutely furious -- not hurt, not at all -- to see them. How dare she toss him over for that ridiculous prat? How dare she not appreciate him and all the things he gave her, like his shirt to wear when she didn't have pyjamas, or his best jokes, which he always delighted in telling to make her smile, or all the hot sex she could ever want? Hmm. Perhaps there had been a bit too much of that; he couldn't ever seem to not want her. She'd often joked -- or at least, he had thought she was joking -- that keeping him satisfied was a full-time responsibility. Possibly that was why she preferred Potter -- his sex drive was obviously nothing compared to Draco's. Well, if that was what she wanted, then she deserved the impotent berk.
Only he's not so impotent, is he?
At the reminder, Draco tightened his grip on his wand, prepared to hex the both of them into oblivion.
And that's when Ginny Weasley came around the corner. "Hello!" she chirped. "There you are. Do you realize how long I've been looking for you, you idiot?" She lowered her voice furtively before continuing, "I forgot you had rounds tonight and was waiting for you in your room." She pouted. "I was wearing your favorite outfit, you know."
'Confused' didn't even begin to describe Draco's state of mind. He looked from the Ginny addressing him to the Ginny who was currently sticking her tongue down Potter's throat, and tried to make sense of it. They both looked exactly like her.
Obviously, he had gone mad. She'd driven him to it.
"What's the matter with you?" the second Ginny asked. "What are you -- oh. Oh my," she said, following the direction of his gaze. "Well, that's odd."
Recovering slightly, Draco seized Ginny by her upper arms and hauled her toward him, snarling, "Explain yourself!" and shaking her a bit. She tried to swat his hands away, but his grip was too tight and she finally gave up.
"What do you mean, explain myself? I haven't done anything, you maniac!"
"Then what's that?" he hissed, inclining his head in the direction where the other Ginny and Potter were still snogging as if there were no tomorrow. Now that he had something better to focus on, he refused to look directly upon the repulsive sight.
"How the bloody hell should I know?" Ginny retorted, and it infuriated him that she was not showing the least amount of regret, nor did it appear that an apology for having grossly betrayed him was forthcoming. "Why don't you give some thought to what might be going on? What did you do today? I've been hearing rumors--"
"The question is not what I did today! The question is what you did! Where were you this morning?" he demanded.
Ginny gave him an annoyed look, which he really felt he did not deserve. It put him on the defensive -- how galling. Shouldn't she be the one feeling defensive, all things considered? "If you ever listened to a word I said, you'd know! I told you days ago that I was going to be visiting my brother today!"
Draco vaguely recalled her saying something of the sort, but it wasn't his fault that when she'd told him, she'd been wearing a really tight shirt, was it? No, obviously that was her fault. Still, he decided not to point this out, since a small flare of hope had ignited in his chest. "So you haven't been at Hogwarts all day? You've been with Will?"
His hold on her relaxed, and she pulled away and crossed her arms. That never boded well. If anything, the brassed-off look on her face had intensified. "Yes, though his name is -- hang on. Are you telling me you've been seeing that" -- she pointed without looking -- "all day?"
"Yes," Draco said, almost not daring to believe that there might actually be another explanation for the encounters he'd had with Ginny that day. Or maybe this was the hallucination. But if so, he preferred it to the other. "Though obviously, I never really believed you'd prefer Potter to me."
Ginny narrowed her eyes, examining his face so closely that it was all Draco could do to remain impassive and not squirm. "You did," she exclaimed. "You did think that was me, and that I've been snogging Harry! And you were worried!"
"I wasn't!" Draco denied. "Or if I was, it was only because I was concerned for your lack of taste."
"Oh, come off it, Malfoy, it's written all over you," Ginny said, smirking. "You were jealous! It's kind of sweet, actually."
He spluttered but could not find anything to say to this outrageous remark. Instead, he pulled her close, and instead of shaking her this time, he kissed her. It felt so good, so right with her in his arms, that if she wasn't the real Ginny he could just about live with it. Abstractedly, he sensed that she was struggling against him, but it wasn't until she gave him a good hard shove that he allowed his lips to disconnect from hers.
"What's the idea?" he asked reasonably.
"Don't you take that tone with me! You thought I was cheating on you? That I'm capable of being so two-faced?"
Draco pondered this new turn of events and what his tactics were in order to proceed. "I thought you said it was sweet."
"Yes, well, now I've had some time to think on it more," Ginny replied. "Now I think you've insulted me."
"Insulted you! What about me? What about all the terrible things I've had to put up with all day? I think we should be sympathizing with me and what I had to go through!"
At this, Ginny seemed to relax a bit, and a hint of a smile appeared on her face. "Seeing me kiss Harry was that bad?"
"Well, it put me right off my dinner, I'll tell you that," Draco said. "But it wasn't just the disgusting snogging. You also told me that you loved him and wanted to be with him, and that you were … pregnant! And it wasn't even mine!"
To his surprise, and great irritation, Ginny's response was not the sympathy he'd been looking for. Instead, she began to laugh. "She -- it -- whatever -- told you I was pregnant? Hahahaha!"
"You look like a hyena when you do that, you know," Draco said sullenly. All right, so it all seemed a bit ridiculous and far fetched now that he was saying it out loud. But it had felt real! And if it wasn't real, then what the hell was going on? He could still see the other Ginny and Potter, who had not once come up for air.
"It knew just how to get to you, didn't it?" Ginny said, grinning and wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Well, I know for a fact it isn't me over there, and I saw Harry in the common room before coming to look for you. He was about to head off to bed, so I don't think that's really Harry, either."
It knew just how to get to you. Who would know him that well? What magic had been used to torture him all day? Who even knew that he and Ginny were together, much less to use her and Potter as the best way to get under his skin?
And suddenly, the answer came to him. "Me," he said in realization.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Can't we get off your favorite topic for one second?"
Draco shot her a quelling look, then began to stalk toward the furiously snogging couple. Ginny followed right on his heels. When he was about ten feet away, the other Ginny looked up, her lips swollen. Potter had a smug look on his face. Despite knowing it wasn't real, Draco couldn't help but close the distance between them to connect his fist with not-Potter's face. Both Ginnys gaped at him.
"Might have known you'd do that," not-Potter said. "But it doesn't change anything. Ginny loves me and always has." He placed a hand on her abdomen. "And we're going to be a family."
Draco's hand tightened convulsively on his wand. Not-Potter's words made something fierce and terrible throb in his head. Maybe, no matter what Ginny said, she really did prefer the other boy. Maybe she was only settling for Draco because she couldn't have Potter.
"It's not real," came her voice in his ear. "Don't be an idiot, you know perfectly well that I love you."
Draco felt something primal move in him, and before he knew what he was about, lifted his wand and shouted, "Riddikulus!"
Immediately, not-Ginny kneed not-Potter in the stones and gave him a wallop with her right hook, for good measure. Not-Potter writhed in pain on the ground for a moment, and as Draco began to laugh, the two of them vanished.
"Well done," Ginny said. "Of course, the fact that it took the Head Boy this long to figure out a third-year DADA scenario is a bit of a concern..."
"It wasn't real," Draco said to himself. Relief like nothing he'd known was making the blood sing in his veins.
"It wasn't real," Ginny agreed. "Though you'll have to tell Professor Bahdaire there's a boggart on the loose."
Impulsively, Draco placed his hands on her shoulders, making sure she was paying attention to what he said next. "Ginny, I … care about you a lot," he blurted. "You see, during the day, if something memorable happens, or even if it's not memorable at all, all I can think about is when I can see you to share it with you. I wonder what you might say, or if you'll laugh. I think about you all the time. When you're not with me I want you with me, and when you are with me, I want you closer to me than my own skin. And it's not just the shagging," he added, in case she misunderstood. "Though I do really like that part."
"Oh, Draco," said Ginny, sighing and looking at him in a way that made him wish he'd shared these ridiculous lovelorn sentiments far earlier. "Thank you." She kissed his cheek. "Now, about the boggart? We should probably alert a professor about it…"
"It's been loose all day," Draco replied, twining her fingers with his. "It can wait until the morning."
"You're so responsible," she chided, but was smiling.
He grinned wickedly and tugged her close. "I have other responsibilities. Now what's that you were saying earlier about wearing my favorite outfit? You meant nothing at all, right?" he asked hopefully.
"I meant nothing at all," Ginny agreed, purring into his ear and making him shiver all over. "Will you return the favor?"
"I'll do a lot more than that," Draco promised, urging her in the direction of his room.
But she wouldn't budge, for some reason. "Hey," she said, concern in her eyes. "What happened to your hand?" Ginny grabbed his wrist and gently ran her fingers over the injury site, as if she could somehow heal him by her touch alone.
Draco grabbed her to him fiercely. "Nothing," he said, giving her a hard kiss, "but thank you for noticing."
= the end =
Notes: So did you guess what was going on? Were you more clued in than poor Draco? He had a really trying day.
by Sarea Okelani
Rating: Draco has a potty mouth and the implication of a sex life, but otherwise nothing too terrible.
Summary: Draco Malfoy learns that some mornings, he should just stay in bed.
~.~
When Draco woke in the morning, he was disgruntled to realize that he was alone. As a result, he was forced to spend several minutes in the warm little pocket he had made for himself careful not to move even an inch, for fear of the cold. Normally his bed warmer -- as he liked to call her, though for some reason she didn't like it so much -- would have been there, sharing her warmth, and he would have more freedom of movement. But she wasn't there.
As time ticked by, he wondered where she had gone and why she had left. Well, the 'why' wasn't a mystery; she was constantly complaining that she was going to get in trouble one of these days for never sleeping in her own dorm. But Draco was very good at cajoling her to stay; he knew exactly the look to give her to make her sigh and relent. The look didn't mean he was begging her to stay; no, he would never do such a thing. He was just coercing her using the most effective means possible: himself. After all, he was Draco Malfoy, and he had a large arsenal to choose from. That was why he was so irresistible, after all.
But the 'where' remained a mystery. It was Tuesday; she had a free period in the morning. She ought to have been here to kiss him awake and canoodle with him in the shower.
Perhaps she was still miffed about the semi-argument they'd had last night. She had wanted to know why he never told her he loved her, when she told him all the time. Was it because he didn't love her? If it was, that was all right, but she just wanted to know. Draco had disliked the entire conversation.
How was he supposed to know whether he loved her or not? The words stuck in his throat when he tried to say them -- was that because he didn't love her, or because expressing the unfamiliar sentiment made him feel awkward, and he hated feeling awkward? But he didn't want to tell her he didn't love her, because while she said it would be all right, he suspected it wouldn't be all right at all, and the one thing he did know was that doing anything that might cause him to lose her was not an option.
Don't you like it when I tell you that I love you? she had asked. And of course he'd had to admit that yes, he liked it very much. He hadn't done more than acknowledge that he liked it, but if forced at wandpoint to elaborate he would have said that her profession of love made him feel small and big at the same time, made him a bit lightheaded, made him feel he could accomplish superhuman feats, made him want to kiss her and make her say it again and again. Well, I think I'd like it too, she'd said, this sad little smile crossing her face. He'd hated seeing it; hated to think he might be causing her unhappiness, so he'd kissed it away and made her forget about the 'discussion' … but perhaps she hadn't forgotten at all, and that was why she'd stolen away in the morning.
So, he showered alone and began to make his way to his first class -- which wasn't even a 'class' for him, really. He was acting as an assistant to Professor Bahdaire, the latest in a long string of one-term Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers Hogwarts had had in recent history. As the assistant to the normally very poorly coifed professor, Draco's main duties included snickering to himself when one of the clumsy Gryffindor or Hufflepuff third years did something stupid (which was inevitable, and on occasion required him to escort one of them to the Hospital Wing), demonstrating (over and over again) the proper wand movement for a difficult spell (and they all seemed difficult to those poor sods), and daydreaming about what he was going to do to Ginny Weasley when he had her alone again.
Draco was rarely challenged in an intellectual sense during this period, which was probably for the best since he wasn't a morning person and liked to use the hour to wake up. Take this morning, for instance. They were learning about boggarts. Boggarts! Possibly the least interesting or difficult topic DADA had to offer. Draco found himself nodding off in the middle of Professor Bahdaire's lecture, waking only when the noise level from the students changed and he realized they were about to confront a real boggart in a hands-on demonstration.
It was hilarious, especially when some of them turned into blubbering messes when faced with their boggart -- one even ran screaming from the room. Draco had had the unenviable task of going to retrieve the youth (who had fled to practically the farthest part of the castle). When Draco returned, Professor Bahdaire was dismissing the class, saying he had to step out a bit early for mumblemumble (Draco neither heard nor cared), and he wanted Draco to take care of putting things back in order.
The students were cheered by the possibility of having a few free minutes to themselves and stampeded out the door. Draco busied himself by straightening the papers strewn about the professor's desk, took up a stack of scrolls that he was supposed to help mark, and erased what Bahdaire had scrawled on the chalkboard. As he was doing this he thought he heard a noise, and hoping it was Ginny, he turned around quickly, only to find that he was still very much alone in the classroom.
She's made me daft, he thought, and began making his way to his next class, which was thankfully Potions.
The rest of the day proceeded as they all did; Draco didn't really expect to see Ginny between classes, as her being a year younger meant that they were constantly in different parts of the castle during the day. However, he was hoping to see her at lunchtime in the Great Hall, even if he couldn't actually talk to her. Their relationship was somewhat of a secret … but neither could tell if no one really suspected, or if people did suspect but simply ignored it, because the idea of the two of them together was too strange and if acknowledged, might spur the coming of the Apocalypse. In any case, Draco and Ginny did not openly behave as though they were anything but the average enemies-since-childhood adversaries.
But Ginny wasn't at lunch.
Now Draco was starting to be concerned. What if something had happened to her? Or worse, what if she were actually angry with him? He quickly told himself that that was not the case. After all, if Ginny were upset with him, she would let him know it; she didn't exactly have the most even of tempers. Then again, she was of that mysterious breed of human known as a girl … their minds worked in odd and devious ways. This might be her form of punishing him. But on the off chance that she wasn't doing this to deliberately antagonize him and something had happened to her, how would he be able to find out? He couldn't very well ask Scarhead or her moronic brother. Though … surely if she were in trouble or hurt, they wouldn't be chatting and laughing like loons, their mouths still full of food. Disgusting.
Draco was on his way to the pitch for Quidditch practice when he was confronted with a ghastly sight. There was Ginny, her long red hair being whipped around by the wind, and she was entwined in the arms of someone, a boy with dark hair, and the two of them were kissing.
A feeling Draco had never known before swelled in his chest, making his stomach roil and red dots explode in front of his eyes. The kissing couple, rather far off in the distance, seemed to loom in Draco's vision, blocking out everything else. Though he wanted to race toward them and pummel the other boy senseless before taking Ginny away to some obscure location and locking her in a tower -- no, dungeon, his dungeon, that would be best -- he remained rooted to the spot. Part of him could not believe what he was seeing … but as much as he wanted to deny it, there was no mistaking that the girl was Ginny. He would recognize her anywhere.
What he wanted most of all (after disposing of her unknown lover) was to demand what the hell she thought she was doing. How could she kiss someone else? How could she allow someone else to kiss her? How dare she be unfaithful to him, when he had never been unfaithful to her, and yet he was the one in Slytherin? Draco wanted to know how long this treason had been going on. No, he didn't; he couldn't bear to know. Yet, he did want to know. No, he didn't. Yes, he did.
Outrage and something else propelled him forward. He would confront them, even if it was against his better judgment. Intellectually, he knew that what he ought to do was cut his losses -- walk away and forget that Ginny Weasley ever existed. But somehow, he didn't think he'd be able to do that. Justice would not be served, and he would derive so much more satisfaction from a bit of violence.
As he got closer to the snogging couple, Draco had another upsetting realization. The boy was Potter. Harry fucking Potter. Ginny had her fingers buried in Potter's hair -- the way she always does with yours, he masochistically pointed out to himself -- and Potter's hand was under her shirt, touching the skin of her back. Draco wanted to retch copiously, but steeled himself to at least wait until he could do it on Potter's shoes.
When they were within shouting distance, however, they disappeared.
Draco stopped short, breathing heavily, jerking his head from side to side. Where the bloody hell had they gone? Had they seen him coming, and made a swift retreat? Certainly he could not blame them, if that were the case -- the way he was feeling right now, he could have easily killed one of them. He ran to where he'd seen them last, but there was no trace that anyone had been there. Were they hiding behind the Quidditch stands? He began looking in all the nooks and crannies like a madman, but couldn't find any hints as to their whereabouts. A check of the changing room only revealed his bewildered teammates.
"Malfoy…?" one of them ventured. "What's wrong? You look -- er…"
"Shut up!"
Draco changed into his Quidditch clothes, throwing his gear around so aggressively that his teammates made tracks as fast as they could. On the way out, one of them muttered, "Great. So it's going to be one of those practices."
Despite his yelling and pointing out his team's every mistake (real or imagined), it was Draco who was paying the least attention to practice. He couldn't seem to get his head in the game; all he saw in his mind's eye was Ginny. Ginny and Potter. Ginny kissing Potter. He didn't want to play fucking Quidditch. He wanted to find them -- find her -- and demand answers. And some goddamn fucking fidelity.
Obviously, what he should really do was break up with her. But to his complete disgust, he didn't want to do that. The idea of breaking up with her filled him with such feelings of aversion that he couldn't entertain the thought for more than a second. And that made him even more disgusted with himself. No, the only solution was to impress upon her that her behavior was unacceptable, and once she fully understood how grievously she had wronged him, he would allow her to try and make it up to him. Just in case, he might have to put a tracking charm on her, but only for a little while, just until he could deem her trustworthy again. And since by that point she would have realized how terrible and nearly unforgivable her actions had been, she would agree.
Even with such foolproof plans, Draco's stomach was twisted into knots as he went in to dinner. A second year ran by, crying about giant flying monkeys, but Draco barely noticed. What was he going to say to her? Had she seen him earlier, or would she pretend as though nothing had happened? Not, of course, that they could have a real conversation in the Great Hall. He'd have to communicate using only glares, knitted eyebrows, and a truly pissed-off aura. (Luckily, he'd had practice with this sort of thing.) He wasn't going to pretend he hadn't seen what he'd seen, and he'd be damned if he'd let her carry on with her deception. Who knew how long she'd been making a fool of him? Falsehearted bitch.
Hadn't he been a good secret boyfriend? Hadn't he given her everything she could ask for -- great sex, witty conversation, the sheer joy of being in his company? How could she throw that all away?
Potter probably tells her he loves her, came the unbidden thought. But those were only words! Meaningless. In the end, didn't action count more than mere lip service? You mean like the act of telling someone how much you care about them? Draco didn't understand why there was a throbbing feeling in his hand until a passing Ravenclaw said helpfully, "Hey, your hand's bleeding," and he realized he'd punched the wall in a fit. He'd punched a stone wall. In a fit. He could hardly credit such asinine behavior to himself.
"Shut up!"
He stomped to the infirmary and practiced his glares on Madam Pomfrey, who clucked around him like an overgrown hen and scowled right back as she fixed up his hand. She put some kind of strange-smelling ointment on it before wrapping it up securely. All the while, Draco pictured how Ginny would look on her knees, clinging to him, begging him not to break up with her, reassuring him that it had only happened the one time, that she'd been under Imperious, that she would do anything to make it up to him...
Draco nearly ran into her as he was exiting the infirmary. The unexpected sight of her almost made all the thoughts in his head fly away, just because he was glad to see her. And then he remembered. He opened his mouth to say something -- he didn't know what, because she beat him to it.
"I want to break up," she said, without any fanfare whatsoever. "I'm with Harry now, and I love him. Always have done, you know. Oh, also I'm pregnant, and it's not yours," she added.
Was she trying to kill him? Draco felt as though he'd been pole-axed. He could only stare at her -- hopefully disdainfully -- wondering if all the feeling leaving his body was because he was in a towering rage, or because he simply could not comprehend the words she had just said. Or maybe it was something else, something he couldn't identify, because he'd never felt it before.
"Are you joking?" he asked hoarsely, because it was the only thing he could think of to say -- the only thing he wanted to be true. But from the look of pity on her face, the utter lack of humor, he knew he was grasping at straws. The attempt to find some other explanation for what she'd said had only managed to reveal how hopeful he was when it came to her. Pathetic.
"Why would I joke about something like that?" Ginny stared at him, her big brown eyes wide and her beloved face, the one he had so enjoyed caressing and contemplating when she was asleep, looking puzzled. "I'm sorry, but this probably wouldn't have happened if I hadn't felt so insecure about you. I could just never tell whether you cared about me at all."
There was that feeling again -- he was going to vomit. It would just be the humiliation on top of all humiliations to do it in front of her. "I don't -- I have to --" He stumbled past her, and she stepped out of the way.
Draco's appetite had been obliterated. He was glad now that he'd injured himself, glad to have that distraction, that pain to focus on. Because the other pain, if he allowed himself to dwell on it for even a second, would probably render him senseless. Somehow he managed to make it to his room, though he couldn't remember getting there. Not for the first time, he was glad to be Head Boy, glad to have his own room, glad there would be no witnesses to the sight of him in complete and total misery.
Ginny's words played over and over again in his mind, almost as if she had conjured them from his worst nightmare. What he wouldn't give for it to be yesterday, or the day before, or any day when he'd been with her, stupidly happy, not knowing he was destroying their relationship little by little until she'd turned to someone else. He'd mucked it all up. How could he have let her slip away from him like that? Just last night she'd given him another chance, when they'd had that row about his never telling her that he loved her. Then they'd shared a spectacular shag -- had that simply been a pity shag? A farewell-it-was-nice-while-it-lasted shag? What else could it have been?
She hadn't even asked how he'd injured his hand.
Time passed as he lay in bed, staring at the canopy above. His thoughts were jumbled, swirling around in his head. He wondered when it had all gone wrong, when she had started seeing Potter, if it was too late to win her back. But of course it was too late; she was pregnant for Merlin's sake (remembering that nearly made Draco enter a catatonic state). She was with Potter, the boy she'd always loved and never thought she could have, the one she was meant to be with, the one everyone would nod at in approval when they discovered who she'd chosen. Of course Ginny Weasley should be with Harry Potter, not Draco Malfoy, son of a Death Eater, descendant of a family with a long and illustrious history of dark magic.
Was this what depression felt like? When the idea of staying in bed for the next forty or so years was the most attractive proposition he'd ever heard?
Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be. The clock next to his bed eventually began to chime.
It's just as boring as it sounds
Hurry up, time to do your rounds!
Feeling as though a bevy of weights were pressing on his chest, Draco reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and stared at himself in the mirror: wrinkled clothes, unkempt hair, hollow eyes. For possibly the first time in his life, he couldn't have cared less about his appearance, and left the room without changing.
His mood grew darker and darker as he patrolled the halls, getting even more satisfaction than usual from reprimanding other students and taking away house points. No one had immunity from his wrath, not even his fellow Slytherins; he took fifteen points from Blaise Zabini for snogging a redheaded girl behind the statue of Goric the Brave for the Most Part. Draco's earlier melancholy was slowly being replaced by a sense of outrage, indignation, anger. He was in a strop and he didn't care who knew it.
And then he saw them.
Ginny and Potter, kissing just as they had done earlier that day near the Quidditch pitch. They weren't even trying to hide it! It made Draco absolutely furious -- not hurt, not at all -- to see them. How dare she toss him over for that ridiculous prat? How dare she not appreciate him and all the things he gave her, like his shirt to wear when she didn't have pyjamas, or his best jokes, which he always delighted in telling to make her smile, or all the hot sex she could ever want? Hmm. Perhaps there had been a bit too much of that; he couldn't ever seem to not want her. She'd often joked -- or at least, he had thought she was joking -- that keeping him satisfied was a full-time responsibility. Possibly that was why she preferred Potter -- his sex drive was obviously nothing compared to Draco's. Well, if that was what she wanted, then she deserved the impotent berk.
Only he's not so impotent, is he?
At the reminder, Draco tightened his grip on his wand, prepared to hex the both of them into oblivion.
And that's when Ginny Weasley came around the corner. "Hello!" she chirped. "There you are. Do you realize how long I've been looking for you, you idiot?" She lowered her voice furtively before continuing, "I forgot you had rounds tonight and was waiting for you in your room." She pouted. "I was wearing your favorite outfit, you know."
'Confused' didn't even begin to describe Draco's state of mind. He looked from the Ginny addressing him to the Ginny who was currently sticking her tongue down Potter's throat, and tried to make sense of it. They both looked exactly like her.
Obviously, he had gone mad. She'd driven him to it.
"What's the matter with you?" the second Ginny asked. "What are you -- oh. Oh my," she said, following the direction of his gaze. "Well, that's odd."
Recovering slightly, Draco seized Ginny by her upper arms and hauled her toward him, snarling, "Explain yourself!" and shaking her a bit. She tried to swat his hands away, but his grip was too tight and she finally gave up.
"What do you mean, explain myself? I haven't done anything, you maniac!"
"Then what's that?" he hissed, inclining his head in the direction where the other Ginny and Potter were still snogging as if there were no tomorrow. Now that he had something better to focus on, he refused to look directly upon the repulsive sight.
"How the bloody hell should I know?" Ginny retorted, and it infuriated him that she was not showing the least amount of regret, nor did it appear that an apology for having grossly betrayed him was forthcoming. "Why don't you give some thought to what might be going on? What did you do today? I've been hearing rumors--"
"The question is not what I did today! The question is what you did! Where were you this morning?" he demanded.
Ginny gave him an annoyed look, which he really felt he did not deserve. It put him on the defensive -- how galling. Shouldn't she be the one feeling defensive, all things considered? "If you ever listened to a word I said, you'd know! I told you days ago that I was going to be visiting my brother today!"
Draco vaguely recalled her saying something of the sort, but it wasn't his fault that when she'd told him, she'd been wearing a really tight shirt, was it? No, obviously that was her fault. Still, he decided not to point this out, since a small flare of hope had ignited in his chest. "So you haven't been at Hogwarts all day? You've been with Will?"
His hold on her relaxed, and she pulled away and crossed her arms. That never boded well. If anything, the brassed-off look on her face had intensified. "Yes, though his name is -- hang on. Are you telling me you've been seeing that" -- she pointed without looking -- "all day?"
"Yes," Draco said, almost not daring to believe that there might actually be another explanation for the encounters he'd had with Ginny that day. Or maybe this was the hallucination. But if so, he preferred it to the other. "Though obviously, I never really believed you'd prefer Potter to me."
Ginny narrowed her eyes, examining his face so closely that it was all Draco could do to remain impassive and not squirm. "You did," she exclaimed. "You did think that was me, and that I've been snogging Harry! And you were worried!"
"I wasn't!" Draco denied. "Or if I was, it was only because I was concerned for your lack of taste."
"Oh, come off it, Malfoy, it's written all over you," Ginny said, smirking. "You were jealous! It's kind of sweet, actually."
He spluttered but could not find anything to say to this outrageous remark. Instead, he pulled her close, and instead of shaking her this time, he kissed her. It felt so good, so right with her in his arms, that if she wasn't the real Ginny he could just about live with it. Abstractedly, he sensed that she was struggling against him, but it wasn't until she gave him a good hard shove that he allowed his lips to disconnect from hers.
"What's the idea?" he asked reasonably.
"Don't you take that tone with me! You thought I was cheating on you? That I'm capable of being so two-faced?"
Draco pondered this new turn of events and what his tactics were in order to proceed. "I thought you said it was sweet."
"Yes, well, now I've had some time to think on it more," Ginny replied. "Now I think you've insulted me."
"Insulted you! What about me? What about all the terrible things I've had to put up with all day? I think we should be sympathizing with me and what I had to go through!"
At this, Ginny seemed to relax a bit, and a hint of a smile appeared on her face. "Seeing me kiss Harry was that bad?"
"Well, it put me right off my dinner, I'll tell you that," Draco said. "But it wasn't just the disgusting snogging. You also told me that you loved him and wanted to be with him, and that you were … pregnant! And it wasn't even mine!"
To his surprise, and great irritation, Ginny's response was not the sympathy he'd been looking for. Instead, she began to laugh. "She -- it -- whatever -- told you I was pregnant? Hahahaha!"
"You look like a hyena when you do that, you know," Draco said sullenly. All right, so it all seemed a bit ridiculous and far fetched now that he was saying it out loud. But it had felt real! And if it wasn't real, then what the hell was going on? He could still see the other Ginny and Potter, who had not once come up for air.
"It knew just how to get to you, didn't it?" Ginny said, grinning and wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Well, I know for a fact it isn't me over there, and I saw Harry in the common room before coming to look for you. He was about to head off to bed, so I don't think that's really Harry, either."
It knew just how to get to you. Who would know him that well? What magic had been used to torture him all day? Who even knew that he and Ginny were together, much less to use her and Potter as the best way to get under his skin?
And suddenly, the answer came to him. "Me," he said in realization.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Can't we get off your favorite topic for one second?"
Draco shot her a quelling look, then began to stalk toward the furiously snogging couple. Ginny followed right on his heels. When he was about ten feet away, the other Ginny looked up, her lips swollen. Potter had a smug look on his face. Despite knowing it wasn't real, Draco couldn't help but close the distance between them to connect his fist with not-Potter's face. Both Ginnys gaped at him.
"Might have known you'd do that," not-Potter said. "But it doesn't change anything. Ginny loves me and always has." He placed a hand on her abdomen. "And we're going to be a family."
Draco's hand tightened convulsively on his wand. Not-Potter's words made something fierce and terrible throb in his head. Maybe, no matter what Ginny said, she really did prefer the other boy. Maybe she was only settling for Draco because she couldn't have Potter.
"It's not real," came her voice in his ear. "Don't be an idiot, you know perfectly well that I love you."
Draco felt something primal move in him, and before he knew what he was about, lifted his wand and shouted, "Riddikulus!"
Immediately, not-Ginny kneed not-Potter in the stones and gave him a wallop with her right hook, for good measure. Not-Potter writhed in pain on the ground for a moment, and as Draco began to laugh, the two of them vanished.
"Well done," Ginny said. "Of course, the fact that it took the Head Boy this long to figure out a third-year DADA scenario is a bit of a concern..."
"It wasn't real," Draco said to himself. Relief like nothing he'd known was making the blood sing in his veins.
"It wasn't real," Ginny agreed. "Though you'll have to tell Professor Bahdaire there's a boggart on the loose."
Impulsively, Draco placed his hands on her shoulders, making sure she was paying attention to what he said next. "Ginny, I … care about you a lot," he blurted. "You see, during the day, if something memorable happens, or even if it's not memorable at all, all I can think about is when I can see you to share it with you. I wonder what you might say, or if you'll laugh. I think about you all the time. When you're not with me I want you with me, and when you are with me, I want you closer to me than my own skin. And it's not just the shagging," he added, in case she misunderstood. "Though I do really like that part."
"Oh, Draco," said Ginny, sighing and looking at him in a way that made him wish he'd shared these ridiculous lovelorn sentiments far earlier. "Thank you." She kissed his cheek. "Now, about the boggart? We should probably alert a professor about it…"
"It's been loose all day," Draco replied, twining her fingers with his. "It can wait until the morning."
"You're so responsible," she chided, but was smiling.
He grinned wickedly and tugged her close. "I have other responsibilities. Now what's that you were saying earlier about wearing my favorite outfit? You meant nothing at all, right?" he asked hopefully.
"I meant nothing at all," Ginny agreed, purring into his ear and making him shiver all over. "Will you return the favor?"
"I'll do a lot more than that," Draco promised, urging her in the direction of his room.
But she wouldn't budge, for some reason. "Hey," she said, concern in her eyes. "What happened to your hand?" Ginny grabbed his wrist and gently ran her fingers over the injury site, as if she could somehow heal him by her touch alone.
Draco grabbed her to him fiercely. "Nothing," he said, giving her a hard kiss, "but thank you for noticing."
= the end =
Notes: So did you guess what was going on? Were you more clued in than poor Draco? He had a really trying day.
The End.
Sarea Okelani is the author of 8 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 65 members. Members who liked Treason! also liked 1579 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 65 members. Members who liked Treason! also liked 1579 other stories.
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