Ginny rested her head on Harry’s shoulder, feeling his arm circle her waist comfortably as they stared out over the lake. He’d been hers for a month now. For one month, she had had the love of the one and only Harry Potter.

“I love the sunset with you,” he said quietly, pressing his lips against the top of her head.

She snuggled closer into him. “Why’s that?”

She felt him smile against her hair. “Cause your eyes always get so big, almost in awe, like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen anything like it. I love you like that, looking so innocent. I’ve never seen you so beautiful as when you look at the sunset.”

“Harry,” she whispered softly, looking up at him through wide eyes.

He flashed an easy smile and bent down to take her lips. Ginny surrendered to that embrace, leaning into the warmth of his body, and returned the kiss. It looked and sounded like a fairy tale. Here was Harry, the boy she’d admired from afar for years, speaking poetry to her and kissing her like he meant it.

But it didn’t feel like a fairy tale. She mostly tried to ignore that little voice, the one saying it was a bit of a disappointment. After all, it was only that she’d read too many muggle romance novels. Hermione’s mum kept sending them to her, but the girl proclaimed them trash and refused to read even one, passing them on to Ginny instead.

She’d always imagined kissing Harry Potter would be like in those books. There would be fire, and passion, and a loss of control. When the moment had finally come, it had turned out to be a bit of a let down.

Make no mistake, it had been pleasant. It excited her and made her feel happy…but that was it. She’d had that with all the other boys. There was nothing different from his touch.

Still, though, she tried not to let that bother her. Obviously, all that romance stuff was a lot of exaggeration. That’s why people liked it so much: it never really happened. And she knew it never happened, the frenzied passion, that is. Of course not, because if it didn’t happen with Harry, then it would happen with no one. Harry was the one; she’d always known he was the one. And now she finally had him, and he loved her and showered her with praise. What more could she want from real life?

His hand slid down from her neck to the small of her back, slipping beneath her shirt and sliding back up again. She caressed his hair as he laid her back a little, their mouths still locked in a warm kiss. Not fiery, or hot, but a kiss filled with adoration and sweet intent. It was a beautiful thing, his kisses. So why did she feel like she was missing out on something?

Really need to stop with the romance novels, she thought idly as he kneaded her sides gently. They bring my expectations above what can ever happen. That can’t be healthy…

Her mind started to wander a bit, thinking back on the day. Suddenly, she remembered some unfinished homework sitting on her bed and pushed Harry away. He gave her a look filled with concern and she smiled at him, feeling like her heart just might burst. God he was perfect. Mostly.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she whispered, wrapping his tie around her fingers and pulling him back for a short, sweet kiss. “I just remembered some homework.”

He exhaled slowly and nodded, a small smile on his lips. “Sorry,” he apologized earnestly. “I can just get so caught up in you…” he brought his hand up to twirl a strand of her straight hair around his finger.

She wondered if that were true; if he really got caught up in her. She got into the moment sometimes, yeah, but she still thought clearly. She understood when they started going too far and slowed them down, and remembered her responsibilities. Again, a stark difference to her romance novels, but she’d already established those were a compendium of exaggerations, half-truths, and outright lies.

She flashed him a bright smile. “Well I can’t really blame you there.”

He laughed and, sweeping her hair to the side, kissed her throat almost reverently. “You’re perfect,” he murmured.

She smiled and shoved him away playfully. “And you’re delusional. But it’s okay, I love you anyway.”

He chuckled and rose to his knees, pulling her up against him. “I love you too, you know. I love you so much it hurts sometimes.”

Ginny bit down on her lip to keep the tears gathering in her eyes from spilling down her cheek. “That’s cliché, you loser,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood. She hated when he got so serious. She loved him, yes, always had, but he just got so somber about it. It made her oddly uncomfortable.

He grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. “No pleasing you, is there?”

“Well…you can always keep trying,” she teased.

He laughed and hugged her tighter. She almost rolled her eyes when he grew serious once more. “I want to spend forever trying,” he said, no trace of humor in his voice.

God, why did he have to do this?! She wanted to have fun with him! One month, and here he was talking about forever. It was true, she’d already named the three children they would have and planned their entire wedding and honey moon, but that was different. That was good-natured daydreaming. He was so serious, always ruining her fun with such solemn declarations. She’d always had a playful nature, and she sometimes felt that he stifled that.

But she tried not to concern herself with that, either. Could she really complain that her boyfriend loved her so desperately? Some would say she’d been a tad obsessive, too, after all. She was just too picky for her own good, that was the problem.

“Are you going to go up?” he asked, gently shaking her from her contemplations.

“Why don’t you go first,” she suggested. “I sort of want to do a little thinking in private, first.”

He just nodded; her ‘thinking time’ was nothing new to him. Kissing her one last time, he whispered, “I love you” and left her to her musings.

Ginny lay flat on the ground and sighed a little.  The night closed around her as the sun sank beneath the horizon, and she breathed in the smell of it fondly. Nothing smelled quite like night.

She heard the rustle of grass and robes as someone sat beside her on the ground. Not opening her eyes, figuring Harry couldn’t resist leaving her, she smiled a little and said, “Who’s there?”

There was no response. Bringing her eyebrows together in confusion, she felt the smallest twinge of fear tug at her. Opening her eyes, she almost scrambled backwards to find Draco Malfoy sitting mere inches from her.

Managing to hide her surprise, she quickly sat up and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Sitting, it would seem,” he drawled sarcastically.

She narrowed her eyes and huffed a little in annoyance. “No. Why are you sitting by me?”

He shrugged. “Nothing better to do. No one else is out here this late.”

She glanced around quickly to see he was right. They were alone out here…at night. Feeling a stream of panic spread through her, she started inching away when he chuckled.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Weasley,” he assured her with his trademark smirk, his pale skin and white-blonde hair seeming to glow in the moonlight. He looked ethereal to her; she kept finding herself blinking, waiting for him to disappear when she opened her eyes.

“Then what do you want with me?” she asked cautiously, stopping her retreat.

He lay back in the grass, his arms folded behind his head. “That was pretty pathetic earlier,” he commented casually, side-stepping her question.

“What are you talking about?” she asked curiously.

“All that rubbish Potter was spouting,” he clarified.

A surge of anger rose up in her throat. “You were eavesdropping?”

His eyes rose to hers from his position on the ground. She’d never really noticed his eyes before, but in the reflection of the moon, they glinted a metallic silver as they regarded her. “Yes,” he answered without a trace of guilt or discomfort.

“You’re disgusting, Malfoy,” she spat. “That was a private moment.”

He chuckled. “No, that moment was just downright embarrassing. How do you put up with that?”

“If you didn’t know, Ferret,” she snapped, “girls like to hear that sort of thing.”

“Do they, then?” he asked, sounding amused. “If it were me, I wouldn’t be able to decide if I wanted to laugh outright or hex the person.”

“Yeah, well, your heart is also made of cold, black stone, isn’t it?”

He surprised her by answering seriously. “No, shockingly enough, it’s not. I just don’t appreciate pretty words that mean absolutely nothing.”

“They mean everything,” she whispered.

“You really believe that? Because I seem to remember even you telling him it was cliché. Don’t try to lie to me, Weasley. I saw your face. It sickened you too.”

“It didn’t sicken me,” she gritted out. “You read me all wrong. It wasn’t that at all. I just…you know what, I have no idea why I’m discussing this with you. I’m very much in love with him; he’s in love with me, end of story. Ta!”

“Afraid you’ll find out something you’d rather not examine?” Draco goaded with a smug look to his aristocratic features.

“No,” she bit out.

“Then tell me, what were you going to say? You just what?”

“Why do you care!” she cried, throwing her hands up.

He smiled a little. “I’m bored. But quit trying to change the subject. You just what?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m seriously not having this conversation with you, Malfoy.”

“Ah, so you are afraid…”

“I just wish he wouldn’t be so serious!” she cried, furious with him, needing to prove to him that Harry really was everything she’d ever wanted.

He smirked in satisfaction. “I thought you wanted to hear those serious things?”

“Well…yeah…I do…” she sighed. “I just want to have fun, too, you know? I want to live like a teen while I still am one. But I still love hearing him say those things. It’s nice to know the boy you love reciprocates the sentiment.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “You fancy yourself really in love with him, then?”

“Of course I do. I always have been, even before I knew what love was,” she insisted fervently.

“I think that’s your problem,” Draco announced with a resolute nod.

She made a noise of exasperation. “What are you on about now?”

“You formed this girlish crush on him as a child before you knew what love was. You told yourself he was love, and as a result, defined the indefinable, ever-elusive concept of it around him. So now, you can’t imagine you’re anything but madly in love with him because in your mind, he is love.”

“And you’re such an expert on love, are you?” she snapped. “Do you even know what love feels like, Malfoy?”

“Do you?” he returned without missing a beat.

“Of course I do. I’m telling you, whether you want to believe it or not, I have it with Harry.”

“I don’t think you do, not really.”

“Have you ever experienced love of any kind Malfoy? Not even just the romantic sort, any kind will do. Have you ever known that particular emotion?”

Draco just shrugged.

Ginny clicked her tongue derisively. “Well, I have. With my family, with my friends, and now with Harry. And I like it when he tells me he feels the same.”

“You don’t think it’s the least bit pathetic?” he asked, stretching languidly on the ground. “Don’t lie,” he added almost as an after thought.

She huffed. “Just because he’s a romantic person, unlike your man-whore of a personality, doesn’t mean he’s pathetic.”

Draco snorted. “That’s what you call romantic?”

“Yes,” she snapped defensively. “That is extremely romantic.”

He laughed.

“What?” she demanded, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

He raised his eyes, still dancing with amusement, to her face, taking in the angry flush. “Just thinking that if you ever were truly romanced, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.”

“I don’t see how you fancy yourself such an expert on romance.”

“I know more about romance than you do, Weaselette,” he assured her with his usual cool, confident arrogance all about him. “And romance is not near embarrassing declarations of imagined love.”

“Well, Monsieur Know-It-All, what, pray tell, is romance then?”

He raised his eyebrows, propping himself up on his elbow. He directed a lazy smile at her. “You want me to show you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked hesitantly, feeling like maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, getting into this with him.

He chuckled. “I can’t very well tell you, Weasley. But I can show you, if you want.”

She swallowed. “You’re full of it, Malfoy.”

“Is that a dare?” he asked softly, trailing a hand up her arm, his eyes watching the progress of his fingertips intently.

“It’s nothing of the sort,” she snapped. She cursed the slight tremor in her voice, but it was impossible to ignore the way his touch was making her insides clench nervously.

“But you must be curious,” he insisted, his voice like a velvet caress in the dark beneath the pale glow of the stars. His hand slid up behind her neck and he bore her gently back to the ground. He bent his mouth towards her, but stopped a breath away. “You must wonder sometimes,” he murmured softly.

“Wonder what?” She cringed at how high her voice came out. She should be running away, or slapping him, or something. But this felt different than anything ever had before. Her heart was fluttering against her ribcage so hard she wondered that it hadn’t burst through yet, and her stomach seemed to be performing acrobatics in there.

He smiled and the hand not cradling the back of her neck ran slowly from her collar bone down to her hips, brushing her breasts for the briefest of moments on its way down. It was almost like he was teasing her.

“What desire feels like.” His voice was low and compelling against her ear, his breath tickling her. She felt a helpless shiver run down her entire body and her eyes closed.

“I have…Harry…” she began weakly.

He chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling with his torso pressed so close to hers. “Potter doesn’t make you feel this way,” he said knowingly. “I watched you. You didn’t feel anything, or at least, not much.”

“And what makes you think you can do better?” she snapped, coming back to herself as her temper flared up.

She was just about to push him away when he suddenly moved fully on top of her, his weight bearing down on her, supported by his forearms at either side of her head. She felt one of his knees force itself between her legs and he brought his mouth down to her ear. For several tense seconds, he just breathed. Then his voice washed over her in an almost palpable wave as he murmured, “Because you’re shaking.”

And she was. Her whole body was shaking in fear and something else, something that felt vaguely like…anticipation?

“I haven’t even started yet,” he promised in a growl, shifting a little on top of her. Then his lips finally touched her skin, and she almost jumped from the shock of it. He pressed a soft, dry kiss against the juncture of her jaw and neck, and she couldn’t hold back her gasp. Merlin, this was nothing like with Harry. His mouth slid along her jaw.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked huskily.

No! No, no NO!  But the curiosity was blinding.  “Yes,” she whispered.

And he did. He took her lips with a passion she’d never known. Electricity jolted through her, from his mouth to hers and all the way down to her toes. Not realizing she did it, one of her feet slid up on the ground so that her leg was bent at the knee. Draco took advantage of the position, moving gracefully between her legs as he kissed her.

His tongue pried her lips open gently, teasing her tongue with his own. She felt a moan at the back of her throat and let it out, running her hands over his shoulders, wanting to feel as much of him as she could.

He pulled back, and Ginny opened her eyes to gaze at him. She couldn’t be sure in the darkness, but his eyes seemed darker, and she had no trouble seeing the fire that burned in them. Merlin it was making her hot. All over, her skin burned.

“Do you want to know what it’s like to lose control?” he hissed. His next kiss was rough and hungry, demanding submission. She moaned again and brought her knee up a little higher, her thigh pressing into his hip. She was beginning to feel a curious heat building inside of her, emanating a slight ache that made her squirm beneath him. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, something that she should be remembering, something that made what they were doing so wrong, but she was finding it impossible to figure out just what that was.

“That’s Potter’s problem,” he told her casually, as if discussing the weather. His hand slid up her back under her shirt and unhooked the clasp of her bra with a practiced ease. “He’s so terrified of making you feel scared that he doesn’t let you feel at all.” He kissed her hard for a moment while he pushed her shirt slowly up. “But we both know the fear is half the fun, isn’t that right?” he whispered.

He lifted her shirt all the way off and seemed to be contemplating the bra, unfastened but still covering her. “The uncertainty of what’s going to happen next,” he ran his palm from her stomach up to the bottom of the bra, “the apprehensiveness that always accompanies the loss of control that real passion brings,” he leaned down and nipped at the spot where her neck became shoulder, “it’s exciting; it makes you want more despite it all.”

His mouth, his tongue, even his teeth were mapping out every inch of skin from her throat to the line of her bra. One hand was rubbing lightly against her thigh, moving steadily upward, and Ginny understood what he meant about the fear.

He took her mouth one last time and murmured, his voice low, seeming to caress her, “Say my name, Weasley.”

It never occurred to her to deny him as she half-gasped, half-moaned, “Draco.”

He smirked and kissed her softly. Then, so abruptly Ginny felt disoriented for a moment, he got off of her and stood, dusting himself off.

“That, Weasley,” he announced in his usual drawl, “is romance. Not pretty words or flowery speeches, but unbridled passion under the stars, instinct and impulse ruling logic and rational.” He smirked a little at her incredulous stare. “That’s romance,” he repeated.

He turned to walk away, and quickly yanking her shirt over her still in place but unclasped bra, she yelled, “Why?”

He turned back for a moment, cocking his head to the side a moment as if considering that. “Maybe I thought it wasn’t fair that you’d never get to lose control. Maybe I was just that disgusted with Potter and his petty declarations. Maybe I just like the fact that now whenever he kisses you, you’ll think of me.” He shrugged. “Or maybe I was just bored. Take your pick.”

Then he turned once more and, hands thrust casually into his pockets, walked back to the orange yellow glow that was the castle.

Ginny stared after him for a long time, feeling sick with herself, that she’d let him do that to her. What had she been thinking?!

But she hadn’t been thinking, and that was the point. Slowly, mechanically, she reached back and re-hooked her bra. This done, her eyes closed, and she came to two fairly unsettling conclusions. One was that the passion recorded in romance novels really did exist after all, that it really was possible to completely forget everything and just surrender to the fire. The second was that she knew Malfoy was right: from now on, whenever she kissed Harry, she would be thinking of Draco…and she’d remember what romance really was.