Day 61 – 67
For the first time in many, many Tuesdays, Draco didn't meet Ginny to spend the day with her. He remained holed up in his dormitory, pacing furiously around the room in his pajamas, even though it was close to dinnertime now. The insanity that had begun to creep up on him before he and Ginny had started spending so much time together was creeping again. It had to be insanity. That was the only explanation.
He'd caught himself staring at her. Sure, the same way he would have stared at an extraterrestrial in a zoo, but still. Staring. There were some quiet times when they were together—for instance, the Tuesday night they had sat in front of the fire in the Slytherin common room—when Draco's eyes were drawn to her, all kinds of wordless questions clogging his brain and making his headache return. Philosophical wonderings about what it really meant to be a Weasley and if red hair, freckles, and lack of money were really character traits that should be abhorred.
Technically, they weren't character traits at all, but he had always treated them like they were. What if someone hated Draco on principle because his hair was too blond and he had a ton of money? That didn't really have anything to do with Draco, did it? But that was completely beside the point.
Draco hadn't left his room this Tuesday because he didn't want to face her. He may have been half asleep in front of that fire however many Tuesdays ago, but he had heard her when she'd mumbled his name with sleepiness. His own exhaustion hadn't stopped his stomach from jumping so violently inside him that it made his chest hurt. He could still feel the ache today, just imagining the sound of his name leaving her lips. And he didn't understand why he'd had such a reaction to it, why he still had that reaction every time he thought about it. It was embarrassing. Ginevra Weasley was so beneath him she might as well have been the dirt stuck to the dirt on his shoe.
But that didn't stop the ache in his chest. It was like his body didn't know what it meant to be a Malfoy, like it had absolutely no pride, no standards. He was convinced now that he was sick. Certainly that's all it was? A disease? A passing bug? He could be cured of it, right?
Draco rubbed his sternum and plopped back down on his bed, staring at the top of the canopy blindly, seeing something beyond it.
He would have taken the headache over this any day.
~*~*~*~*~
“I knew I'd find you out here,” she said, inching closer to him on her broom. She was being cautious, approaching the same way she would have approached an animal in pain.
“What do you want?” he asked, kicking his feet through the air. He could tell that he was making her nervous, but she had nothing to fear. Draco had a good grasp on the ring of the hoop. There was no way he could fall.
“I haven't seen you in a while. I was just wondering what you were up to,” she said casually.
Draco wished she had said something else, given some other reason to look for him. Maybe a reason that could appease the ache in his chest, which pounded against his ribs in a painful beat. He stared down at the ground, wondering what it would feel like to fall. His broom hung in the air beside the goalpost, waiting for him to mount it again, but Draco quite liked it up in the air with nothing but the rim of the hoop saving him from a fall. He wondered if a broken back would be able to block out the pounding in his chest.
“What are you doing?” Ginny asked carefully.
Draco shrugged. “Sitting.”
“Is... is it getting to you?” Her voice was soft so as not to spook him and make him fall to a possible death.
“Is what getting to me?”
“The time loop. It's getting to me, too, but you shouldn't...”
“What? Kill myself?”
The thought hadn't properly entered his mind until that moment, but suddenly it seemed like such a brilliant idea. His original plan had been to sit up in the golden hoop until he got the courage to fall, hopefully only breaking a few bones to drown out his ache. But if he jumped with the intention of dying... well, that would certainly get rid of the ache, and it would end the time loop. How could the day start over again if he was dead? It was a brilliant way to get rid of two irritations in his life.
But then Draco looked over at Ginny hovering in the air giving him a desperate look of... of something. He couldn't tell what it was. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to know that much about her. But a part of him did, the achy part of his chest. It didn't like the idea of never seeing her again, of never being able to do the things that it wanted Draco to do, like run his fingers through her hair and see if her skin was really as warm and soft as it looked.
Draco kind of agreed with his chest. He wanted to do those things too.
“I don't want to kill myself,” he said, not realizing he had said it out loud.
Ginny had heard him, apparently. “Then please get down from there,” she said, her voice rising in barely controlled alarm.
Draco kicked his feet harder and rocked back and forth a bit while he was at it.
“I can be convinced if you go out with me,” he said. The words tasted like sand in his mouth—he couldn't believe they were coming out at all, from him!—but they were right. Whether he liked it or not (which he certainly didn't) he wanted to spend time with Ginny, but not how they had been for the past five hundred Tuesdays. It didn't make any sense at all, but for some reason it was right.
“W-what?” she said, looking more nervous now than she had when she'd first found him on the goal post.
“I promise not to let go if you go out with me,” he repeated as he leaned back some more, eying the ground over his shoulder.
Was it a despicable move to blackmail her into going out with him by threatening to kill himself? Sure it was, but there was a reason he was a Slytherin, wasn't there?
“Stop being stupid and get down from there!” she yelled, substituting her nervousness of only moments ago with anger.
Draco felt his heart sink like it had literally dropped into his stomach. The thing about blackmail is that it was supposed to get him what he wanted, but it obviously wasn't working, and probably wasn't going to. He let go with his hands and heard Ginny scream as his body swung from the hoop, his legs the only part of him keeping him in the air.
“Malfoy! Get down! Please, get down!”
“Go out with me,” he called.
She was silent then. Draco waited several moments, but now he knew that she would never agree to go out with him. He closed his eyes to keep from seeing the ground rushing towards his face.
And then he unfolded his legs and let go.
He heard her scream his name, his first name, and he was glad it was the last thing he would hear. There was no point going on if she refused to be with him. He didn't want to live in a world of everlasting Tuesdays, and that's all the future had in store for him: Tuesdays and loneliness.
Suddenly, his world went black.
For the first time in many, many Tuesdays, Draco didn't meet Ginny to spend the day with her. He remained holed up in his dormitory, pacing furiously around the room in his pajamas, even though it was close to dinnertime now. The insanity that had begun to creep up on him before he and Ginny had started spending so much time together was creeping again. It had to be insanity. That was the only explanation.
He'd caught himself staring at her. Sure, the same way he would have stared at an extraterrestrial in a zoo, but still. Staring. There were some quiet times when they were together—for instance, the Tuesday night they had sat in front of the fire in the Slytherin common room—when Draco's eyes were drawn to her, all kinds of wordless questions clogging his brain and making his headache return. Philosophical wonderings about what it really meant to be a Weasley and if red hair, freckles, and lack of money were really character traits that should be abhorred.
Technically, they weren't character traits at all, but he had always treated them like they were. What if someone hated Draco on principle because his hair was too blond and he had a ton of money? That didn't really have anything to do with Draco, did it? But that was completely beside the point.
Draco hadn't left his room this Tuesday because he didn't want to face her. He may have been half asleep in front of that fire however many Tuesdays ago, but he had heard her when she'd mumbled his name with sleepiness. His own exhaustion hadn't stopped his stomach from jumping so violently inside him that it made his chest hurt. He could still feel the ache today, just imagining the sound of his name leaving her lips. And he didn't understand why he'd had such a reaction to it, why he still had that reaction every time he thought about it. It was embarrassing. Ginevra Weasley was so beneath him she might as well have been the dirt stuck to the dirt on his shoe.
But that didn't stop the ache in his chest. It was like his body didn't know what it meant to be a Malfoy, like it had absolutely no pride, no standards. He was convinced now that he was sick. Certainly that's all it was? A disease? A passing bug? He could be cured of it, right?
Draco rubbed his sternum and plopped back down on his bed, staring at the top of the canopy blindly, seeing something beyond it.
He would have taken the headache over this any day.
~*~*~*~*~
“I knew I'd find you out here,” she said, inching closer to him on her broom. She was being cautious, approaching the same way she would have approached an animal in pain.
“What do you want?” he asked, kicking his feet through the air. He could tell that he was making her nervous, but she had nothing to fear. Draco had a good grasp on the ring of the hoop. There was no way he could fall.
“I haven't seen you in a while. I was just wondering what you were up to,” she said casually.
Draco wished she had said something else, given some other reason to look for him. Maybe a reason that could appease the ache in his chest, which pounded against his ribs in a painful beat. He stared down at the ground, wondering what it would feel like to fall. His broom hung in the air beside the goalpost, waiting for him to mount it again, but Draco quite liked it up in the air with nothing but the rim of the hoop saving him from a fall. He wondered if a broken back would be able to block out the pounding in his chest.
“What are you doing?” Ginny asked carefully.
Draco shrugged. “Sitting.”
“Is... is it getting to you?” Her voice was soft so as not to spook him and make him fall to a possible death.
“Is what getting to me?”
“The time loop. It's getting to me, too, but you shouldn't...”
“What? Kill myself?”
The thought hadn't properly entered his mind until that moment, but suddenly it seemed like such a brilliant idea. His original plan had been to sit up in the golden hoop until he got the courage to fall, hopefully only breaking a few bones to drown out his ache. But if he jumped with the intention of dying... well, that would certainly get rid of the ache, and it would end the time loop. How could the day start over again if he was dead? It was a brilliant way to get rid of two irritations in his life.
But then Draco looked over at Ginny hovering in the air giving him a desperate look of... of something. He couldn't tell what it was. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to know that much about her. But a part of him did, the achy part of his chest. It didn't like the idea of never seeing her again, of never being able to do the things that it wanted Draco to do, like run his fingers through her hair and see if her skin was really as warm and soft as it looked.
Draco kind of agreed with his chest. He wanted to do those things too.
“I don't want to kill myself,” he said, not realizing he had said it out loud.
Ginny had heard him, apparently. “Then please get down from there,” she said, her voice rising in barely controlled alarm.
Draco kicked his feet harder and rocked back and forth a bit while he was at it.
“I can be convinced if you go out with me,” he said. The words tasted like sand in his mouth—he couldn't believe they were coming out at all, from him!—but they were right. Whether he liked it or not (which he certainly didn't) he wanted to spend time with Ginny, but not how they had been for the past five hundred Tuesdays. It didn't make any sense at all, but for some reason it was right.
“W-what?” she said, looking more nervous now than she had when she'd first found him on the goal post.
“I promise not to let go if you go out with me,” he repeated as he leaned back some more, eying the ground over his shoulder.
Was it a despicable move to blackmail her into going out with him by threatening to kill himself? Sure it was, but there was a reason he was a Slytherin, wasn't there?
“Stop being stupid and get down from there!” she yelled, substituting her nervousness of only moments ago with anger.
Draco felt his heart sink like it had literally dropped into his stomach. The thing about blackmail is that it was supposed to get him what he wanted, but it obviously wasn't working, and probably wasn't going to. He let go with his hands and heard Ginny scream as his body swung from the hoop, his legs the only part of him keeping him in the air.
“Malfoy! Get down! Please, get down!”
“Go out with me,” he called.
She was silent then. Draco waited several moments, but now he knew that she would never agree to go out with him. He closed his eyes to keep from seeing the ground rushing towards his face.
And then he unfolded his legs and let go.
He heard her scream his name, his first name, and he was glad it was the last thing he would hear. There was no point going on if she refused to be with him. He didn't want to live in a world of everlasting Tuesdays, and that's all the future had in store for him: Tuesdays and loneliness.
Suddenly, his world went black.
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