Draco disappeared for three days; she didn’t see him in the halls or at meals, and she skipped the tutoring session they had planned.
But on Thursday, he was at breakfast, looking polished as he sat next to Pansy and ate his food. It was even stranger for him to be there than it was for her, and she cautiously studied him between sips of her tea.
She only stopped trying to catch his eye when she noticed her brother, Harry, and Hermione watching her strangely — their eyes darting away from hers as soon as she looked at them. Her weariness made her brush it aside as paranoia on her part, and she finished breakfast with a heavy heart before heading off to her first class: Potions.
Why is it that time never stops when you need it to? Ginny wondered. Life throws something so big at you and you know you can't handle it, but then you have to wake up in the morning. You have to eat, go to class, work. You can't forget, and you can't move away. But life cuts you no breaks. It throws your world into havoc, and then pretends like nothing happened. Time drudges on.
Ginny was just turning toward the dungeon, her head somewhere deep in the library, when someone grabbed her. A hand covered her mouth just in time to stop the shout, and she felt herself turned around, facing a very tense Draco.
“You know, if you walk that slowly, you’re going to be late to Potions,” he said evenly, his gaze both frustrated and understanding.
“Like pulling me into a–” she glanced around the empty space “–stairwell is going to help. …Where do these go?” she asked, curiosity overtaking everything else.
“My dorm,” he responded shortly, as she peered down the dark staircase. She was about to say ‘cool’ when she realized how close she was still standing next to him.
The feeling of his hands on her bared legs flooded her senses and she almost stepped forward.
He was silent and when she looked over, she noticed he was staring at the ceiling, his eyes closed, his jaw clenched.
“Did you want something?” she asked, finally settling on forced lightness.
He looked over at her sharply; “Yes, just shut up for a second.”
She crossed her arms but stayed quiet, waiting almost desperately. The longing came back full force, and she briefly wondered what he would say if she told him what she wanted. She shook her head — no good could come of that.
“I want–” he started, pausing to sigh, “I need to apologize.”
Ginny’s jaw dropped, and she stared at him incredulously. Of all the things she had expected him to say, that was perhaps the absolute last.
He turned to look at her, and she could sense his desire to smirk at the look on her face. For whatever reason though, he didn’t.
“I was so angry the other day, having my father thrown in my face like that–” Ginny remembered Thomas’s guilty fear “–I was looking for something to hurt. But I shouldn’t have–”
She held up her hand to stop him, unwilling to watch him prostrate himself, even if she did feel like giving him a bit of a kicking. “Forget it, it’s not like I was totally unwilling.”
His left eyebrow quirked, and she cursed herself. “Whatever, you’re forgiven, okay? I’ll see you tonight.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned to leave, pulling the door all the way shut behind her. The wood and stone seemed to melt together as it morphed silently back into a wall. She sighed slowly, and then continued her descent into the dungeons.
She was fifteen minutes late to Potions and got detention, but she knew that any apology on Draco’s part would come with a price. She wanted to be happy that he had apologized, shed some light on the situation, tried to comfort her somehow; but the only thing she could think about was the way he had said ‘I was looking for something to hurt.’
…
After an incredibly long week, Ginny collapsed onto a couch in the common room. She had her detention in two and a half hours, and she felt like shit. Since Draco's apology, things had gone back to normal for the most part. Her tutoring sessions continued, but they were shorter now — there were no spinoff conversations, the two just focused on the work. She had convinced him to start helping her with seventh year theory, even though she didn't really need it; the material was almost easy now. She just wasn't ready to let him go.
She sighed and sank back into the couch. They weren't meeting that night because she needed a break. Every time they were in a room together, she wanted to touch him. And every time she did, accidentally for the most part, she would jerk away — burned. They were tense around one another, static. There was no humor, no mocking; there wasn’t even any anger. Just rigid politeness, which was just not the way they worked.
It wasn’t right, the tension; she normally felt calm around him, relaxed and open. They got along, because they were so different. And he made her think, question, change. He put her life into a new balance, placed her on a scale and forced her to measure what she was. April was here, and it had been less than two months of tutoring, but she couldn’t believe how quickly she had changed. Her entire mindset was different. The way she thought, attacked issues, reserved judgment… no matter how she looked at it, he had changed her.
Another sigh passed through her lips, and she felt herself relaxing when she remembered the letter in her bag. She had gotten it this morning, the first of Narcissa’s letters to arrive with the rest of the owl post, and had waited to open it.
The seal broke in her hands, and she read it slowly, smiling at the light tone of Narcissa’s writing. The letter was fairly standard, mentioning a few society events Narcissa was planning and the dealings of the house. There were a few brief mentionings of Draco, but nothing specific.
Then she got to the last paragraph and paused, suddenly alert.
I do not know what troubles you, my dear, and please forgive my assumptions, but when it comes to love, you should know that there is no trouble more worth the effort, the sacrifices. Yet I do realize that it is painful. To love or to be loved is such a difficult question; both are good, acceptable, choices, though neither is completely satisfactory. Settling is the game we play and whatever choices you make will take you on a different path. Just remember that you are stronger than you think. Before you give up, you must choose to lead someone else for a lifetime or to allow yourself to be led. Hope for the optimist is eternal, yet neither love nor happiness is ever pure.
Ginny stared at the words on the page, haunted and a little embarrassed. She wondered what she had written in the last letter. She had never felt more comforted, though, than by those confusing words, and she was glad that Narcissa’s letter had borne such caring and concern.
She folded it carefully and slid it into her pocket, her first smile of the day gracing her features as her eyes slid closed. She didn’t even think about the letter’s implications as she settled into herself, ready to doze.
But the next thing she knew, someone was shaking her. “Ginny, wake up,” Hermione called, “We need to talk to you.”
She opened her eyes hesitantly and yawned. No more than twenty minutes had passed, she noticed as she glanced at the clock; the room was still empty, and Hermione, Ron, and Harry sat atop the coffee table in front of her.
“What is it?” she asked, stifling a yawn, and wondering if they were planning on explaining the extremely cold shoulder she had gotten from them all week.
Ron, who looked the angriest, blurted out, “Why have you been corresponding with Narcissa Malfoy?”
Ginny’s hands immediately went for her most recent letter; but after finding it securely in her pocket, she masked the movement. “What?” she asked, trying to hide her guilt and indignation with innocence.
There was no way it was going to work.
“Hazel, told us you had a letter addressed to her on your table. She was worried,” Hermione explained, “And so are we.”
Ginny took a moment to curse her only roommate, possibly the sweetest person ever, before she turned her attention back to the three of them.
“Ms. Malfoy and I are friends,” she said, even as she questioned the term. A surge of warmness coursed through her, though, as she thought about the letter in her pocket. “Why are you worried?”
They all gaped at her. “You’re friends with her?”
Ginny shrugged, “Sure, why not? I mean, we’re not close, but we do exchange letters regularly.” At the looks on their faces she grew more and more perturbed. “Look, she’s a nice person and a bit lonely, why shouldn’t I write her?”
“She was married to Lucius Malfoy!” Harry said angrily, “That’s reason enough!”
“Yes,” Ginny said, “She was married to him, and now he’s dead. Surely you don’t think she’s not allowed to have any friends while she’s grieving?”
Hermione put her hand on Harry’s knee. “Ginny, Harry only means that her choice of husband was less than trustworthy, and maybe you shouldn’t let yourself be fooled by her.”
“Merlin!” Ginny cried, “It’s not like I’ve given her my vault number! We just talk about things like school and fashion and life!”
“Ginny,” Ron said, standing, “Be reasonable.”
She snapped; it had been too long a day. “You be reasonable!” she shouted, standing up, “Did you ever stop to think that maybe it’s your quick judgment that alienates people, that pushes them away?”
The three of them all flinched backwards, and Ginny took a deep breath. “I have detention. I appreciate your worry, I really do, but also please know that I wasn’t born yesterday, and I will be friends with whomever I choose.”
Ginny slung her bag onto her back and stormed up the stairs.
She flopped back onto her bed, the anger draining from her, before standing. Now she was going to have to leave for detention two hours early. She pulled on a pair of jeans and abandoned her robes for her comfiest sweater before she grabbed her bag and walked quickly from the tower.
She had just left her anger behind when the portrait hole opened behind her. She turned to see Harry there, looking slightly contrite. “I’m really sorry, Ginny,” he said, approaching her slowly — as if she might bolt.
She rolled her eyes internally but smiled weakly at him. “It’s okay, Harry, it really is.”
He nodded, and she was going to go when he spoke again. “Do you really think it’s my fault?” he asked.
“What?” she said, “What’s your fault?”
“That our judgment pushed people who could have been saved towards evil.”
Ginny sighed, guilt winning out over irritation. “Harry, that’s not what I meant.” She sighed again. “Okay, it is what I meant. But I wasn’t blaming you. There’s nothing you don’t do from the heart, and that heart is good. You always try to do exactly what you think is the right thing, and I really admire you for it. I wasn’t trying to blame you for anything in the past, simply pointing out that the war is over.”
He sighed. “No point in burning the bushes if there’s nothing hiding in them, right?”
Ginny frowned at the strange metaphor, but nodded. “Exactly.”
Harry stepped forward suddenly and wrapped his arms around her, and Ginny froze. After a moment, she slowly reciprocated, sensing his need for comfort, a need to be reassured that he was still good. The boy had saved the world, but he still had no idea he was a hero.
Harry had just released her and taken a step back and opened his mouth to say something, when a familiar voice interrupted. “Well, isn’t this cozy?”
Ginny whirled around to see Draco smirking at the end of the hallway. She rolled her eyes at them both as Harry went for his wand.
“Malfoy,” he spat. “What are you doing here?”
Ginny sighed as Draco walked forward, his smirk predatory. She placed her hand on Harry’s arm and forced him to lower his wand. He glanced over at her, and she shrugged.
“I’m here for Weasley. Professor Snape has a last minute meeting and sent me to summon you for an earlier detention.”
Ginny nodded. “Thanks,” she said, before turning to Harry; “I’ll see you later.”
Harry started forward. “I’ll walk with you.”
Draco opened his mouth for a quick retort, but Ginny cut him off. “I think Draco knows full well where the Potions classroom is, Harry, if I somehow manage to forget.”
Harry gaped at her. “But what if he tries something?”
Ginny fought the urge to laugh and kept her honest response inside. “I’m sure that he’s not stupid enough to attack me when both you and Snape know that he’s the one who came to get me. But if he is, I’m sure I can take care of myself.”
Harry looked reluctantly at the two, Draco’s mocking smile and Ginny firm insistence, before turning. “Fine, I’ll see you later. And watch your back.”
Ginny rolled her eyes as he disappeared into the common room.
“What if I try something, Miss Weasley?” Draco asked with a smirk as she turned towards him.
She smiled grudgingly back, feeling more normal than she had since their kiss. “You’d regret it.”
He chuckled silently as the headed down the stairs. “I’m sure that I would.”
Ginny ignored the way her heart tightened at his words, determined not to drag him down into her own weariness. The two walked in a comfortable silence for a while, until Draco broke it.
“You know, as much as I love watching Potter suffer — it’s like really good television — you should just let him down gently.”
Ginny’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Okay, setting aside the fact that you like television, what are you on about?”
Draco smirked. “Potter.”
Ginny glanced up at him, raising her eyebrows. “Yeah, what about him?”
“He thinks he’s in love with you.”
Ginny stumbled on a loose stone and came to a stop. “Oh. Well that certainly explains all the awkwardness better than my theory,” she said, more to herself than to Draco.
“Your theory?” he asked, a playful smile dancing across his face.
“Um…” Ginny said, hesitating before she decided that she just didn’t care. “I thought he just felt weird about me since I kissed him.”
Draco actually laughed out loud at that, one short bark of unrestrained mirth; Ginny grinned broadly at the sound. “Why, Miss Weasley, you certainly have been busy.”
She reached out and slapped him lightly on the arm. “It was in August, you prat, surely I’m allowed one kiss every eight months or so.”
He shook his head, the smirk still in place. “Or so.”
Ginny dismissed the comment with a toss of her hand. “How do you know he’s in love with me, anyway?”
“I didn’t say ‘in love’, I said ‘he thinks he’s in love with you’. there’s a difference.”
Ginny shrugged again, rolling her eyes. “Details. Besides, what makes you think I’d turn him away?”
Draco stopped suddenly, and she paused, turning to look at him. The expression on his face was unreadable as he took one slow step towards her, then another. Her heartbeat sped up, her skin crawled, but she held her position. Her forced look of clueless curiosity stayed on her face until he was about two centimeters from her, his heat flooding her senses.
He tilted his face forward, and her eyes fluttered closed as she felt his breath on her ear. “Because,” he whispered, the sound of his voice low and spiking heat through her body. “You are so obviously in love with me.”
Her eyes shot open and her jaw dropped; and though her first reaction was anger, her second embarrassment, and her third disappointment, she forced them all away and pushed him from her. She laughed incredulously. “You certainly are arrogant.”
He smirked, looking her up and down, and taking in her flushed face, her unsteady breathing, and the way she unconsciously leaned towards him. “Yes.”
She held the eye contact for another moment, before turning away. He was being maliciously unfair.
“And in a very good mood today,” she said, continuing down the dungeon corridor, “What caused that?”
He smiled cryptically, before pulling open the door of the Potions classroom for her. “Let’s just say that I’m having an off day.”
She laughed outright at that, hardly noticing Snape enter the room. “Only you would say that about a good day.”
He shrugged a small coy smile still gracing his features as he turned to Snape. Ginny turned too, catching the look of confusion on Snape’s face before it hardened again.
“I have brought the student you requested, sir.”
“Thank you,” Snape said dryly, “Though I’m sure she could have brought herself.”
Ginny smiled widely at her professor; Draco’s mood was infectious. “Thank you, sir, you’re the first person I’ve come across today who has had any faith in me whatsoever.”
Draco turned his smirk towards her. “Well, given your past track record.”
“Oh, shut up and go,” Ginny responded, sticking her tongue out at him.
Draco laughed openly at that, and Ginny found herself staring at him for a moment before she joined him. She had been right before — there really was no sound more beautiful.
The laughter was short lived though, and long before she was ready for it to stop, he had turned and gone. She looked back at Snape who was staring at her as if she had sprouted a second head.
“Sir?” she asked. Apparently, Draco’s good mood was not the only infectious thing about him; she actually found herself respecting Snape.
He blinked at her. “Right,” he paused. Were hers and Draco’s actions really so disconcerting? “I've set out a list of potions to brew for the hospital wing. The ingredients are on the table.”
She smiled broadly, taking him aback. “Okay.”
Her heart soared as she looked over the list. Some of the potions were sixth year level; and if he trusted her to do them, she really was improving.
They both went to work silently — Snape at his desk, her at her table. It was the best detention she had ever served; she set up three cauldrons and got to work on the potions simultaneously. She felt lighter than air; finally, the longing had disappeared. And Snape only snapped at her three times to stop whistling before he just gave up and let her.
When she was finished, only an hour and a half later, Snape came over and tested the potions. He actually smiled at her a little (at least she thought it was a smile). “Satisfactory,” he said. From him — it seemed like the highest of compliments.
She beamed at him. “Like okay, I hoped for better satisfactory or perfectly usable and effective satisfactory?”
He glared at her but said, “The latter.”
She clapped her hands together and grinned at him. “That wasn't so hard to say now, was it Professor?”
If possible, his glare intensified. “The end result is perfect, and I'm not surprised, given your performance over the past month–” Ginny's jaw fell open “–but, as per usual, your workstation is a mess and your patience with the material is deplorable.”
Ginny smiled at him, despite the barb. “Thanks, Professor,” she said warmly, “I'll start cleaning right away.”
He nodded at her and stalked back to his desk.
“Goodnight, Professor,” she called out after she had bottled up the end results and wiped down all the surfaces. “I'll see you Monday,”
Snape just grunted in reply, and she left the dungeons with the smile still plastered on her face.
…
Ginny didn’t know if the high spirits would prevail, but she was practically impervious to bad news all through weekend. As she lay in bed before she slept and just after she woke, she would allow herself to think of the kiss, Draco’s unintentionally hurtful apology, and then his breath on her ear; but she refused to carry the thoughts out of bed with her. So the days progressed.
Monday was the best tutoring session she had ever had. The two of them ended up arguing theory late into the night before almost getting caught by Filch and finally deciding that they actually agreed with one another. In the Charms corridor, he had held her hand as they ran, her palm sweaty and rough against his own.
Wednesday they tested diagrams of an alternative Veritaserum amalgam against the original. After a long pointless discussion, she had taken the paper from him, scratched out some of his ideas and replaced them with her own. He had tilted his head and bitten his lip as he looked it over and then agreed with her changes.
Thursday they abandoned Potions for Transfiguration, which turned into a debate about who was a better Head of House — McGonagall or Snape. Snape won, if only for the caricatures Ginny drew of him over their notes.
And the following Monday she got her updated marks on Potions, and told Draco she was still failing. He freaked out, calling Snape an old bat and a bigot, before she fell off her chair laughing. She had received ‘Outstanding’ on all aspects except for style where she got an ‘Exceeds Expectations’. Draco proceeded to then slump in his chair and call her ‘mean’, for which she teased him mercilessly.
Draco’s good mood held, infecting her in the most pleasant of ways. She wondered if now she could get away with calling him a friend. The way they worked together was seamless, in a strange way. They had gone from mutual hatred, to acceptance, to appreciation, to what felt very much like willing friendship. The feeling of obligation left their lessons as if it had never been there, and Ginny much preferred it that way.
Until she got into bed. Then the accidental touches, Draco’s subtle flirtatious mocking, and the series of strange happenings that had led them to this point all came back to her tumultuously.
It was far different but still the same. It was almost as if they had gone back to what things were like before he kissed her; but there was something hovering in the air around them, some tension that Ginny couldn’t fully understand.
And being one who expected downfalls, Friday should not have surprised her, but it did.
“You left this yesterday,” Draco said, announcing his arrival.
Ginny chanced a glance up before returning to scribbling down her notes for the assignment she had to give to him in a few minutes. She was just about to mutter a thank you, when the blood drained from her face.
Her eyes shot up, panic building in her chest; he was holding her sketchbook. She chanced a glance at his face, but it was utterly expressionless in a way that she had forgotten. Panic caught the words in her throat as he set it down on the table before taking his seat. She couldn’t meet his eyes as she slowly reached for the book, the cover burning her fingertips.
She pulled it to her chest, holding it tightly, as her heart raced in her chest.
He was staring at her; she could feel it, burning into her skin, making her wish she could disappear. She stood with a suddenness that surprised her, and her chair skidded backwards.
Without a word, she tore from the library, mortification at her heels.
It took her several minutes of running around the third floor, trying to be as quiet as possible, before she could stop and control herself. She hadn’t noticed the tears in her eyes, until she wiped them away. Her lungs screamed, her face burned, and all of her was a little broken.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want people to see her sketches (though she wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea), most of them were fairly tame — until a certain point. Then the pages turned into nothing but obsessive capturings of Draco. Her painstaking attempt at his smile, then the smirks, and the hands, and the anger. Not to mention the drawings of the two of them, multiplying daily and never completed.
How could she face him now?
She sat down against the wall between two old suits of armor, and just stared at the pad in her hands. She had gotten it for Christmas, shipped by owl post since she hadn’t been able to go home. The cover was rough and green and the creamy pages were coarse and heavy — perfect for drawing. It was bulky, larger than a normal notebook with hundreds of pages. She loved this book, loved it because it was part of her soul. Irrevocable, private, safeguarded. Her fingers ran across the front and then she opened it.
The first drawings, done on during the war, were dark. Bitter and confused pastels, charcoals, graphites — her mind in powders, in dust.
She turned to a sketch near the middle, one of Ron and Hermione sitting by Harry’s bedside as they waited for him to wake up. And then the next one, of the celebration. And then the one of Draco.
It was a smile so pure, so free… she traced his bottom lip with her finger, pulling away in fear of smudging it. Then there were more, pages and pages of him, all in black, interspersed with a few pastel drawings of landscapes or rooms, but he was in those as well. There was the lake, with the small impression of him. Their alcove, larger than it normally was, empty in his absence.
There was the drawing of Harry, sandwiched in between, awkward and clumsy, as if she couldn’t put him on paper. There was no comparison.
What had he thought, as he turned the pages? Had he been angry, upset, mocking, or — she let her mind wander over the last option hesitantly — intrigued.
It was the last drawing that was the most revealing. And tears came to her eyes as she stared at it. He would have seen this last, or maybe first, and it would have confused him, momentarily, and then he would have smirked. His evilest, most arrogant, most degrading smirk. Just imagining it made her cringe, her face heating, utterly mortified.
On the page was a simple color sketch of her hand — with bitten nails and ink stains all — and dangling from those lazy fingers was a long, crumpled, Slytherin green tie. The background was blank, but her hand hung by a small glimpse of her naked thigh. It was expressive, suggestive, and incredibly sexual. She let out a short, pitiful cry, before dissolving.
Whatever he had guessed about her before, he knew for sure now. And so did she — she had fallen in love with him.
…
Ginny sat on the floor for a long time after she closed the book, her tears drying up and her mortification fading slowly.
She had cried for a long time, silent tears falling from her eyes to be wiped away and then replaced. She would have never wanted him to see those drawings, the drawings that so clearly captured her, her own self-portraits of other people, of him.
But he had, and there was nothing she could do about it.
She sat on the floor, her panic rising again, like bile in her throat. But there was something new as well: determination. She had absolutely no desire to go to sleep until she found him and forced him to let her explain.
Filled with purpose, she got up, flexed her stiff muscles, and walked quickly to the library. She didn’t think he would still be there, and he wasn’t. She threw all of her stuff in her bag, hefted it over her shoulder and headed toward the dungeons.
He would listen to her.
She walked slowly, scared of being caught, until she reached the portion of wall that he had pulled her through before. It looked solid. Ginny frowned.
She stared at it, focusing on it turning back into a door. Nothing happened. She pounded on it, but it was solid as stone. She kicked it, guessed passwords, prodded it with her wand, and cursed at it. But it was still a wall.
“God damn, bastard, piece of shit, fucking wall,” she yelled as quietly as she could.
Fighting tears and the desire to scream, she turned and leaned against it, pressing her back against it as hard as she could, the frustration welling inside her.
Suddenly, she felt the stone transform beneath her, and when she whirled around, she was looking at an oak door. She pushed it open and stepped inside, closing it after her. She couldn’t see a thing in the dark, and her breath hitched. She turned to open the door to let some light in, but it had disappeared. “Lumos,” she whispered, but her wand would not light.
Apprehensive, she slowly walked towards where she had seen the stairs, cursing the security measures the entire time.
The walls were damp beneath her fingertips and she stuck against them until she found the banister with grasping fingertips. Carefully, she descended the spiral staircase, only stumbling once when the banister ended. She stood on a landing at the end of the stairs, disoriented by the darkness and the glow of light from underneath the door that seemed terribly bright.
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and then put her hand on the knob. She stood there for at least a minute, unable to do something as simple as opening a door.
But, she reasoned, she needed him to tell her how to get out anyway.
Finally, she raised her hand and knocked loudly, before letting herself in. She took two steps into the room, realized that she had woken him, and stopped.
“Weasley?”
The incredulity in his tone made her fists clench, and suddenly, she was very irrationally angry. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Look, Draco,” she began, her eyes still closed tightly as she began to pace across the small space in front of the door. “I’m really sorry about storming out of the library earlier, I was just freaked out about the sketchbook. I mean, I can't even imagine showing those to anyone, much less you. And I was so humiliated, and I just – I mean, I, I didn’t know what–”
“Weasley.”
“–You would say or do. And I guess, I have to–”
“Weasley!”
“–Apologize or something, so, Draco, I am really, terribly, and truly sorry for the–”
“WEASLEY!” Draco shouted.
“Shut up!” she shouted back, turning to him, “I am trying really hard to…”
He had gotten out of bed and crossed the floor — stopping several feet away from her and yet still far too close. Her throat went dry as she stared at him mussed with sleep and shirtless. Shirtless. Her fingers twitched towards him, longing to run across his skin — the same feeling she got when she wanted to draw. Her face heated as she thought about how smooth the skin across his chest must be.
“Look,” she began again, focusing on the green carpet and holding up her hand to stop his questions, “Look, I’m sorry I woke you up, but I just had to apologize, I had no right. And I just felt really humiliated and–”
“Gin,” he said, interrupting her.
And this time she did stop, the color leaving her face. She swore time halted as she stared at the floor, and she shivered. She looked up at him, so close now that she could feel the heat radiating from his bare skin.
“Shut up,” he said quietly, his eyes, patient yet exasperated, boring into hers.
“Okay,” she squeaked, feeling herself flush all over. She broke the eye contact and glanced around the room.
He didn’t move, still as stone and so close, as she took in the space — small but tasteful, with stone walls, a fireplace, and dark pine furniture. There was a door at the other side, which she assumed led to the rest of the Slytherin dorms. She forced herself not to look at him and instead became fascinated with the hangings on the bed, which were green with an ornate and strangely beautiful white acanthus print. They looked expensive and old, just like everything in the room. She was just letting her eyes trail across the stone floor, her heart still pounding heavily in her chest, when he sighed.
He took a step back, “Just calm down, okay? I didn’t even look in your stupid sketchbook anyway.”
Ginny stared at him in shock; the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. She felt her heart slow, and the wild thoughts that had been running around her mind ceased as well. “Oh.” She finally said, trying to recover her thought process. “Oh. Right. Um. Thanks, then.”
He smirked at her, “Though, I must say, now I am infinitely curious.”
“You really didn’t look?” she questioned, eyeing him suspiciously.
He raised his left eyebrow. “No.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, a heavy exhalation of repressed air, and then she smiled brilliantly at him. “I’m so relieved.” His lips quirked up slightly in an unconscious response, which just made her smile spread.
“Can I go back to sleep now?” he drawled.
She nodded, feeling as if the past several hours had all been a terrible dream. “I can show myself out,” she said, sneaking another look at his bare chest. He still looked fucking incredible.
Her hand was on the doorknob, when she realized her mistake. “Um, Draco? How do I get out?” she asked, turning towards him with a weak smile.
“How did you get in?” He asked mockingly, crossing his arms across his chest.
“I don’t know exactly,” she said, finding it hard to focus on anything but his jutting hipbones.
“The door should appear when you press on the discolored stone.”
“Oh,” she said, beginning to turn around, “But how will I see it? It’s so dark.”
“The torches are out?” he asked, seeming puzzled for the first time that night.
“Yeah.”
“You came all the way down the stairs without any light?”
“Yeah.”
He raised his eyebrows at her, surprised, and his mouth hardened into a straight line. “Why in gods name would you do something so stupid?”
“I was desperate!” she said defensively.
“You were an idiot.” He looked away angrily, tension building across his shoulders. “And, furthermore, what if I had lied? What if the staircase hadn’t led you down here? What if you had slipped? Don’t you ever think?!”
She glared at him, “I told you, I needed to apologize.”
He turned and glared right back. “You are so reckless.”
She balled her hands into fists and stepped closer, fury rising, “You say it as if it’s a bad thing!”
He scoffed at her. “It is.”
“Well, I’m so very sorry that I trusted you,” she growled, stepping closer again.
He glanced down at her, the anger fading from his expression, leaving it absolutely blank. “This is pointless. I’ll light the torches.”
She let out a frustrated exclamation of air, as he walked by her and opened the door. She could hear him muttering to himself, but she couldn’t make out the words. She clenched her jaw, and walked out the door after him. She had just started up the stairs, when he called her back.
“Weasley.”
She turned to face him, still angry. “You’ve used my name once, you can do it again.”
He just sighed, glancing away. She shivered lightly in the dungeon chill. “Just... be careful going back, okay? It’s late.”
Her face softened, and she looked down at him wistfully; from two steps up she was actually slightly taller. She stepped down one — eye level. “Draco,” she said, softly, uncertainly.
He met her eyes, his face a mixture of something she, frustratingly, couldn’t decipher. Then he stepped closer, and in the torchlight, she could almost imagine that he looked hesitant.
But there was something else in the look, in the posture, something that made her heart speed up in her chest, ricocheting crazily against her ribcage. Her eyes never left his as he stepped closer, and then he was too close to think.
“Thank you for not looking at the sketches,” she said weakly, just to fill the silence.
He rested his forehead against hers, one of his hands reaching for hers as the other rested on her neck, and she stopped. Everything stopped — she couldn't move; she couldn't think.
And then he kissed her; her eyes fluttered closed, her body jumped back to life. His skin flooded with heat, and it suffocated her. She wanted to pull him closer, push him against the wall, dive into him; but his lips were pulling at hers slowly, patiently. His fingers weaved through her own and his thumb carefully drew circles under her ear.
She was shattering beneath his touch, pulling apart at the seams, only the have him put her back together. She was melting, falling — empty and full at the same time. She needed him closer, but he was still holding her away even as he opened his mouth beneath hers. And, damn it, he tasted good.
She wrapped her free arm around his bare shoulders and pressed her body against his, suddenly regaining her ability to move. But he resisted, holding her away, before slowly breaking the kiss. He stared at her before closing his eyes, sighing in resignation. She got the feeling that he had just lost some sort of battle. He released her hand, placing his on her hip to steady her.
She hadn’t even noticed how dizzy she was.
He smiled at her playfully, and she pulled him back to her, wrapping her arms around his neck as she hugged him. He stiffened beneath the touch, and then responded, enfolding her in his warmth. The skin of his back was cold to touch, but she could feel the warmth beneath it. He smelled bitter and sweet all at once, spicy yet soft. The scent pulled at a memory of hers, full of something much like regret, but she couldn’t place it.
Her knees buckled when his lips found her ear, and she heard him chuckle, low and sensual. “You should go back.”
“Yeah,” she whispered as quietly as she could, afraid now to lose the silence. She pulled back slightly, and then kissed him again. It felt unshakably right, his bare skin beneath her hands, his mouth on hers. She shuddered; this was what she wanted. He sucked on her bottom lip, scraping his teeth along the inside, and she moaned.
They kissed leisurely for a long minute after that, before she pulled away. “Draco?”
“Hmm?” he murmured distractedly. He let his hands slide down to rest on her hips, resting his forehead against hers again. He rocked slowly from left to right, lost in some rhythm she couldn’t sense. She stared sadly at the look of absolute peace of his face.
“What happens now?”
His motions stilled, and he opened his eyes. But he didn’t pull away. He stared at her for a moment, a thousand emotions flickering across his face. Finally, he shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Then he kissed her, just a short brush of lips, heart-stoppingly soft and artificially relaxed. “You should go back to your keep, Gin.”
Her heart fluttered again at the sound of her name, a small shiver starting in the base of her spine and spreading across her skin. He stepped away.
“Okay,” she said quietly, staring at the distance between them. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” He shrugged, closing back up, the change immediate and awkward. She resisted the desire to hit him. “Three o’clock? Library?”
She didn’t get a response right away, but she wasn’t going to wait for him to say no, so she turned and hurried up the stairs. With the torches lit, the stone was easy enough to find; and she pressed it, freeing herself from what had too quickly become an oppressive space.
…
Ginny dragged her feet all the way back to the common room, her mood growing more and more bleak. She was almost hoping to get caught — she needed someone else to tell her that it had all just happened. That he had kissed her.
That he had kissed her like that.
And it left her felling dreadful. She was empty when she stepped through the portrait, lost in worrying thoughts of nothing.
Unfortunately, the common room wasn’t.
Someone must have finally noticed her absence most nights, and that someone stood when she walked inside.
“Harry,” she said, forcing everything else away. “What are you still doing up?”
He stared at her incredulously, before he noticed that there was something terribly and utterly off with her. “Are you okay? Where have you been? Did someone hurt you?”
It all came out a bit rushed, and she just stared at him, not really seeing, as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I’m fine, just tired. I had a rough day and I… fell asleep in the library earlier.”
He didn’t buy it. “Just like you have almost every night for the past two months? Are the chairs really that comfortable?”
She started to laugh, but when she met his eyes, she could see the anger in them. It silenced her.
She took a few steps into the room and sat down in the armchair across from where he had been camped out before. She heard him sigh and watched as he rolled his shoulders before he sat back down.
But the tension didn’t leave him. Hesitantly, she met his eyes, thinking up stories, possibilities, lies.
“Are you seeing someone?” he blurted out suddenly. It was the last question she had expected from him. The atmosphere shifted, as she gaped at him. “If you are, you can tell me, you know.”
But there was no comfort in his words, more a nervousness that she didn’t like.
“No, Harry, I’m not seeing anyone.” It was too much the truth, and she felt the burn in her throat like she was going to cry. She closed her eyes, but all she could see was that shrug and Draco's reluctance.
He sighed in a relieved way that made her nervous. She did not want this conversation now. Ever, really, but especially not now.
“I was thinking,” he began, his voice shifting, “I mean, I’m not going to let your absence this past month go, but I was thinking, maybe you and I could go to Hogsmeade sometime?”
His voice steadied as he spoke, and Ginny discovered hers was gone as she tried to respond. The words were stuck in her throat; all her witty replies and attempts to let him down easy were gone. She settled for shaking her head slowly. “No, Harry, we can't.”
He stared at her. Whatever he had been expecting, that was not it. “What? Why not?”
“Because I’m not interested in you that way anymore.”
“Oh.”
That was all he said. That was all there was to say, really. She stood, picked up her bag — making sure her sketchbook was still there, just in case — and then crossed the room and climbed up the stairs.
Her bedroom had never looked so welcoming. She pulled on her pajamas and stumbled to her bed. She crawled in and closed the curtains, lighting the small space with her wand. She tucked her sketchbook under her pillow and then opened her bag. She had jammed her comfiest sweater inside and she pulled it out. The green and black fabric was softer than anything else her mother had ever knitted for her, and she loved the way it tried to swallow her, engulfing her in warmth and comfort.
It went over her head, and she was about to push her bag off the bed when she noticed her assignment from Draco on the top of all her papers. She pulled it out, studying the diagram she had left incomplete on the table.
He had written notes in the margins, mostly words like ‘sloppy’ and ‘inefficient’ but there were parts he had underlined and put tiny checkmarks next to. On the back, he described how she should have finished it and suggested a reading on the finer tuned uses of the type of disguise potion she had been attempting.
Underneath that there was a small note. Tomorrow, was all it said, and she could tell he had been serious just by looking at the shape of the letters. She guessed that was null and void now, and she sighed. She rifled around a little bit more and pulled out Narcissa’s letter.
To love or to be loved. She stared at the words for a minute before burying herself in the covers and closing her eyes. It wasn’t even a choice really.
She finally fell asleep, exhausted, and dreamt of absolutely nothing that night.
…
But on Thursday, he was at breakfast, looking polished as he sat next to Pansy and ate his food. It was even stranger for him to be there than it was for her, and she cautiously studied him between sips of her tea.
She only stopped trying to catch his eye when she noticed her brother, Harry, and Hermione watching her strangely — their eyes darting away from hers as soon as she looked at them. Her weariness made her brush it aside as paranoia on her part, and she finished breakfast with a heavy heart before heading off to her first class: Potions.
Why is it that time never stops when you need it to? Ginny wondered. Life throws something so big at you and you know you can't handle it, but then you have to wake up in the morning. You have to eat, go to class, work. You can't forget, and you can't move away. But life cuts you no breaks. It throws your world into havoc, and then pretends like nothing happened. Time drudges on.
Ginny was just turning toward the dungeon, her head somewhere deep in the library, when someone grabbed her. A hand covered her mouth just in time to stop the shout, and she felt herself turned around, facing a very tense Draco.
“You know, if you walk that slowly, you’re going to be late to Potions,” he said evenly, his gaze both frustrated and understanding.
“Like pulling me into a–” she glanced around the empty space “–stairwell is going to help. …Where do these go?” she asked, curiosity overtaking everything else.
“My dorm,” he responded shortly, as she peered down the dark staircase. She was about to say ‘cool’ when she realized how close she was still standing next to him.
The feeling of his hands on her bared legs flooded her senses and she almost stepped forward.
He was silent and when she looked over, she noticed he was staring at the ceiling, his eyes closed, his jaw clenched.
“Did you want something?” she asked, finally settling on forced lightness.
He looked over at her sharply; “Yes, just shut up for a second.”
She crossed her arms but stayed quiet, waiting almost desperately. The longing came back full force, and she briefly wondered what he would say if she told him what she wanted. She shook her head — no good could come of that.
“I want–” he started, pausing to sigh, “I need to apologize.”
Ginny’s jaw dropped, and she stared at him incredulously. Of all the things she had expected him to say, that was perhaps the absolute last.
He turned to look at her, and she could sense his desire to smirk at the look on her face. For whatever reason though, he didn’t.
“I was so angry the other day, having my father thrown in my face like that–” Ginny remembered Thomas’s guilty fear “–I was looking for something to hurt. But I shouldn’t have–”
She held up her hand to stop him, unwilling to watch him prostrate himself, even if she did feel like giving him a bit of a kicking. “Forget it, it’s not like I was totally unwilling.”
His left eyebrow quirked, and she cursed herself. “Whatever, you’re forgiven, okay? I’ll see you tonight.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned to leave, pulling the door all the way shut behind her. The wood and stone seemed to melt together as it morphed silently back into a wall. She sighed slowly, and then continued her descent into the dungeons.
She was fifteen minutes late to Potions and got detention, but she knew that any apology on Draco’s part would come with a price. She wanted to be happy that he had apologized, shed some light on the situation, tried to comfort her somehow; but the only thing she could think about was the way he had said ‘I was looking for something to hurt.’
…
After an incredibly long week, Ginny collapsed onto a couch in the common room. She had her detention in two and a half hours, and she felt like shit. Since Draco's apology, things had gone back to normal for the most part. Her tutoring sessions continued, but they were shorter now — there were no spinoff conversations, the two just focused on the work. She had convinced him to start helping her with seventh year theory, even though she didn't really need it; the material was almost easy now. She just wasn't ready to let him go.
She sighed and sank back into the couch. They weren't meeting that night because she needed a break. Every time they were in a room together, she wanted to touch him. And every time she did, accidentally for the most part, she would jerk away — burned. They were tense around one another, static. There was no humor, no mocking; there wasn’t even any anger. Just rigid politeness, which was just not the way they worked.
It wasn’t right, the tension; she normally felt calm around him, relaxed and open. They got along, because they were so different. And he made her think, question, change. He put her life into a new balance, placed her on a scale and forced her to measure what she was. April was here, and it had been less than two months of tutoring, but she couldn’t believe how quickly she had changed. Her entire mindset was different. The way she thought, attacked issues, reserved judgment… no matter how she looked at it, he had changed her.
Another sigh passed through her lips, and she felt herself relaxing when she remembered the letter in her bag. She had gotten it this morning, the first of Narcissa’s letters to arrive with the rest of the owl post, and had waited to open it.
The seal broke in her hands, and she read it slowly, smiling at the light tone of Narcissa’s writing. The letter was fairly standard, mentioning a few society events Narcissa was planning and the dealings of the house. There were a few brief mentionings of Draco, but nothing specific.
Then she got to the last paragraph and paused, suddenly alert.
I do not know what troubles you, my dear, and please forgive my assumptions, but when it comes to love, you should know that there is no trouble more worth the effort, the sacrifices. Yet I do realize that it is painful. To love or to be loved is such a difficult question; both are good, acceptable, choices, though neither is completely satisfactory. Settling is the game we play and whatever choices you make will take you on a different path. Just remember that you are stronger than you think. Before you give up, you must choose to lead someone else for a lifetime or to allow yourself to be led. Hope for the optimist is eternal, yet neither love nor happiness is ever pure.
Ginny stared at the words on the page, haunted and a little embarrassed. She wondered what she had written in the last letter. She had never felt more comforted, though, than by those confusing words, and she was glad that Narcissa’s letter had borne such caring and concern.
She folded it carefully and slid it into her pocket, her first smile of the day gracing her features as her eyes slid closed. She didn’t even think about the letter’s implications as she settled into herself, ready to doze.
But the next thing she knew, someone was shaking her. “Ginny, wake up,” Hermione called, “We need to talk to you.”
She opened her eyes hesitantly and yawned. No more than twenty minutes had passed, she noticed as she glanced at the clock; the room was still empty, and Hermione, Ron, and Harry sat atop the coffee table in front of her.
“What is it?” she asked, stifling a yawn, and wondering if they were planning on explaining the extremely cold shoulder she had gotten from them all week.
Ron, who looked the angriest, blurted out, “Why have you been corresponding with Narcissa Malfoy?”
Ginny’s hands immediately went for her most recent letter; but after finding it securely in her pocket, she masked the movement. “What?” she asked, trying to hide her guilt and indignation with innocence.
There was no way it was going to work.
“Hazel, told us you had a letter addressed to her on your table. She was worried,” Hermione explained, “And so are we.”
Ginny took a moment to curse her only roommate, possibly the sweetest person ever, before she turned her attention back to the three of them.
“Ms. Malfoy and I are friends,” she said, even as she questioned the term. A surge of warmness coursed through her, though, as she thought about the letter in her pocket. “Why are you worried?”
They all gaped at her. “You’re friends with her?”
Ginny shrugged, “Sure, why not? I mean, we’re not close, but we do exchange letters regularly.” At the looks on their faces she grew more and more perturbed. “Look, she’s a nice person and a bit lonely, why shouldn’t I write her?”
“She was married to Lucius Malfoy!” Harry said angrily, “That’s reason enough!”
“Yes,” Ginny said, “She was married to him, and now he’s dead. Surely you don’t think she’s not allowed to have any friends while she’s grieving?”
Hermione put her hand on Harry’s knee. “Ginny, Harry only means that her choice of husband was less than trustworthy, and maybe you shouldn’t let yourself be fooled by her.”
“Merlin!” Ginny cried, “It’s not like I’ve given her my vault number! We just talk about things like school and fashion and life!”
“Ginny,” Ron said, standing, “Be reasonable.”
She snapped; it had been too long a day. “You be reasonable!” she shouted, standing up, “Did you ever stop to think that maybe it’s your quick judgment that alienates people, that pushes them away?”
The three of them all flinched backwards, and Ginny took a deep breath. “I have detention. I appreciate your worry, I really do, but also please know that I wasn’t born yesterday, and I will be friends with whomever I choose.”
Ginny slung her bag onto her back and stormed up the stairs.
She flopped back onto her bed, the anger draining from her, before standing. Now she was going to have to leave for detention two hours early. She pulled on a pair of jeans and abandoned her robes for her comfiest sweater before she grabbed her bag and walked quickly from the tower.
She had just left her anger behind when the portrait hole opened behind her. She turned to see Harry there, looking slightly contrite. “I’m really sorry, Ginny,” he said, approaching her slowly — as if she might bolt.
She rolled her eyes internally but smiled weakly at him. “It’s okay, Harry, it really is.”
He nodded, and she was going to go when he spoke again. “Do you really think it’s my fault?” he asked.
“What?” she said, “What’s your fault?”
“That our judgment pushed people who could have been saved towards evil.”
Ginny sighed, guilt winning out over irritation. “Harry, that’s not what I meant.” She sighed again. “Okay, it is what I meant. But I wasn’t blaming you. There’s nothing you don’t do from the heart, and that heart is good. You always try to do exactly what you think is the right thing, and I really admire you for it. I wasn’t trying to blame you for anything in the past, simply pointing out that the war is over.”
He sighed. “No point in burning the bushes if there’s nothing hiding in them, right?”
Ginny frowned at the strange metaphor, but nodded. “Exactly.”
Harry stepped forward suddenly and wrapped his arms around her, and Ginny froze. After a moment, she slowly reciprocated, sensing his need for comfort, a need to be reassured that he was still good. The boy had saved the world, but he still had no idea he was a hero.
Harry had just released her and taken a step back and opened his mouth to say something, when a familiar voice interrupted. “Well, isn’t this cozy?”
Ginny whirled around to see Draco smirking at the end of the hallway. She rolled her eyes at them both as Harry went for his wand.
“Malfoy,” he spat. “What are you doing here?”
Ginny sighed as Draco walked forward, his smirk predatory. She placed her hand on Harry’s arm and forced him to lower his wand. He glanced over at her, and she shrugged.
“I’m here for Weasley. Professor Snape has a last minute meeting and sent me to summon you for an earlier detention.”
Ginny nodded. “Thanks,” she said, before turning to Harry; “I’ll see you later.”
Harry started forward. “I’ll walk with you.”
Draco opened his mouth for a quick retort, but Ginny cut him off. “I think Draco knows full well where the Potions classroom is, Harry, if I somehow manage to forget.”
Harry gaped at her. “But what if he tries something?”
Ginny fought the urge to laugh and kept her honest response inside. “I’m sure that he’s not stupid enough to attack me when both you and Snape know that he’s the one who came to get me. But if he is, I’m sure I can take care of myself.”
Harry looked reluctantly at the two, Draco’s mocking smile and Ginny firm insistence, before turning. “Fine, I’ll see you later. And watch your back.”
Ginny rolled her eyes as he disappeared into the common room.
“What if I try something, Miss Weasley?” Draco asked with a smirk as she turned towards him.
She smiled grudgingly back, feeling more normal than she had since their kiss. “You’d regret it.”
He chuckled silently as the headed down the stairs. “I’m sure that I would.”
Ginny ignored the way her heart tightened at his words, determined not to drag him down into her own weariness. The two walked in a comfortable silence for a while, until Draco broke it.
“You know, as much as I love watching Potter suffer — it’s like really good television — you should just let him down gently.”
Ginny’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Okay, setting aside the fact that you like television, what are you on about?”
Draco smirked. “Potter.”
Ginny glanced up at him, raising her eyebrows. “Yeah, what about him?”
“He thinks he’s in love with you.”
Ginny stumbled on a loose stone and came to a stop. “Oh. Well that certainly explains all the awkwardness better than my theory,” she said, more to herself than to Draco.
“Your theory?” he asked, a playful smile dancing across his face.
“Um…” Ginny said, hesitating before she decided that she just didn’t care. “I thought he just felt weird about me since I kissed him.”
Draco actually laughed out loud at that, one short bark of unrestrained mirth; Ginny grinned broadly at the sound. “Why, Miss Weasley, you certainly have been busy.”
She reached out and slapped him lightly on the arm. “It was in August, you prat, surely I’m allowed one kiss every eight months or so.”
He shook his head, the smirk still in place. “Or so.”
Ginny dismissed the comment with a toss of her hand. “How do you know he’s in love with me, anyway?”
“I didn’t say ‘in love’, I said ‘he thinks he’s in love with you’. there’s a difference.”
Ginny shrugged again, rolling her eyes. “Details. Besides, what makes you think I’d turn him away?”
Draco stopped suddenly, and she paused, turning to look at him. The expression on his face was unreadable as he took one slow step towards her, then another. Her heartbeat sped up, her skin crawled, but she held her position. Her forced look of clueless curiosity stayed on her face until he was about two centimeters from her, his heat flooding her senses.
He tilted his face forward, and her eyes fluttered closed as she felt his breath on her ear. “Because,” he whispered, the sound of his voice low and spiking heat through her body. “You are so obviously in love with me.”
Her eyes shot open and her jaw dropped; and though her first reaction was anger, her second embarrassment, and her third disappointment, she forced them all away and pushed him from her. She laughed incredulously. “You certainly are arrogant.”
He smirked, looking her up and down, and taking in her flushed face, her unsteady breathing, and the way she unconsciously leaned towards him. “Yes.”
She held the eye contact for another moment, before turning away. He was being maliciously unfair.
“And in a very good mood today,” she said, continuing down the dungeon corridor, “What caused that?”
He smiled cryptically, before pulling open the door of the Potions classroom for her. “Let’s just say that I’m having an off day.”
She laughed outright at that, hardly noticing Snape enter the room. “Only you would say that about a good day.”
He shrugged a small coy smile still gracing his features as he turned to Snape. Ginny turned too, catching the look of confusion on Snape’s face before it hardened again.
“I have brought the student you requested, sir.”
“Thank you,” Snape said dryly, “Though I’m sure she could have brought herself.”
Ginny smiled widely at her professor; Draco’s mood was infectious. “Thank you, sir, you’re the first person I’ve come across today who has had any faith in me whatsoever.”
Draco turned his smirk towards her. “Well, given your past track record.”
“Oh, shut up and go,” Ginny responded, sticking her tongue out at him.
Draco laughed openly at that, and Ginny found herself staring at him for a moment before she joined him. She had been right before — there really was no sound more beautiful.
The laughter was short lived though, and long before she was ready for it to stop, he had turned and gone. She looked back at Snape who was staring at her as if she had sprouted a second head.
“Sir?” she asked. Apparently, Draco’s good mood was not the only infectious thing about him; she actually found herself respecting Snape.
He blinked at her. “Right,” he paused. Were hers and Draco’s actions really so disconcerting? “I've set out a list of potions to brew for the hospital wing. The ingredients are on the table.”
She smiled broadly, taking him aback. “Okay.”
Her heart soared as she looked over the list. Some of the potions were sixth year level; and if he trusted her to do them, she really was improving.
They both went to work silently — Snape at his desk, her at her table. It was the best detention she had ever served; she set up three cauldrons and got to work on the potions simultaneously. She felt lighter than air; finally, the longing had disappeared. And Snape only snapped at her three times to stop whistling before he just gave up and let her.
When she was finished, only an hour and a half later, Snape came over and tested the potions. He actually smiled at her a little (at least she thought it was a smile). “Satisfactory,” he said. From him — it seemed like the highest of compliments.
She beamed at him. “Like okay, I hoped for better satisfactory or perfectly usable and effective satisfactory?”
He glared at her but said, “The latter.”
She clapped her hands together and grinned at him. “That wasn't so hard to say now, was it Professor?”
If possible, his glare intensified. “The end result is perfect, and I'm not surprised, given your performance over the past month–” Ginny's jaw fell open “–but, as per usual, your workstation is a mess and your patience with the material is deplorable.”
Ginny smiled at him, despite the barb. “Thanks, Professor,” she said warmly, “I'll start cleaning right away.”
He nodded at her and stalked back to his desk.
“Goodnight, Professor,” she called out after she had bottled up the end results and wiped down all the surfaces. “I'll see you Monday,”
Snape just grunted in reply, and she left the dungeons with the smile still plastered on her face.
…
Ginny didn’t know if the high spirits would prevail, but she was practically impervious to bad news all through weekend. As she lay in bed before she slept and just after she woke, she would allow herself to think of the kiss, Draco’s unintentionally hurtful apology, and then his breath on her ear; but she refused to carry the thoughts out of bed with her. So the days progressed.
Monday was the best tutoring session she had ever had. The two of them ended up arguing theory late into the night before almost getting caught by Filch and finally deciding that they actually agreed with one another. In the Charms corridor, he had held her hand as they ran, her palm sweaty and rough against his own.
Wednesday they tested diagrams of an alternative Veritaserum amalgam against the original. After a long pointless discussion, she had taken the paper from him, scratched out some of his ideas and replaced them with her own. He had tilted his head and bitten his lip as he looked it over and then agreed with her changes.
Thursday they abandoned Potions for Transfiguration, which turned into a debate about who was a better Head of House — McGonagall or Snape. Snape won, if only for the caricatures Ginny drew of him over their notes.
And the following Monday she got her updated marks on Potions, and told Draco she was still failing. He freaked out, calling Snape an old bat and a bigot, before she fell off her chair laughing. She had received ‘Outstanding’ on all aspects except for style where she got an ‘Exceeds Expectations’. Draco proceeded to then slump in his chair and call her ‘mean’, for which she teased him mercilessly.
Draco’s good mood held, infecting her in the most pleasant of ways. She wondered if now she could get away with calling him a friend. The way they worked together was seamless, in a strange way. They had gone from mutual hatred, to acceptance, to appreciation, to what felt very much like willing friendship. The feeling of obligation left their lessons as if it had never been there, and Ginny much preferred it that way.
Until she got into bed. Then the accidental touches, Draco’s subtle flirtatious mocking, and the series of strange happenings that had led them to this point all came back to her tumultuously.
It was far different but still the same. It was almost as if they had gone back to what things were like before he kissed her; but there was something hovering in the air around them, some tension that Ginny couldn’t fully understand.
And being one who expected downfalls, Friday should not have surprised her, but it did.
“You left this yesterday,” Draco said, announcing his arrival.
Ginny chanced a glance up before returning to scribbling down her notes for the assignment she had to give to him in a few minutes. She was just about to mutter a thank you, when the blood drained from her face.
Her eyes shot up, panic building in her chest; he was holding her sketchbook. She chanced a glance at his face, but it was utterly expressionless in a way that she had forgotten. Panic caught the words in her throat as he set it down on the table before taking his seat. She couldn’t meet his eyes as she slowly reached for the book, the cover burning her fingertips.
She pulled it to her chest, holding it tightly, as her heart raced in her chest.
He was staring at her; she could feel it, burning into her skin, making her wish she could disappear. She stood with a suddenness that surprised her, and her chair skidded backwards.
Without a word, she tore from the library, mortification at her heels.
It took her several minutes of running around the third floor, trying to be as quiet as possible, before she could stop and control herself. She hadn’t noticed the tears in her eyes, until she wiped them away. Her lungs screamed, her face burned, and all of her was a little broken.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want people to see her sketches (though she wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea), most of them were fairly tame — until a certain point. Then the pages turned into nothing but obsessive capturings of Draco. Her painstaking attempt at his smile, then the smirks, and the hands, and the anger. Not to mention the drawings of the two of them, multiplying daily and never completed.
How could she face him now?
She sat down against the wall between two old suits of armor, and just stared at the pad in her hands. She had gotten it for Christmas, shipped by owl post since she hadn’t been able to go home. The cover was rough and green and the creamy pages were coarse and heavy — perfect for drawing. It was bulky, larger than a normal notebook with hundreds of pages. She loved this book, loved it because it was part of her soul. Irrevocable, private, safeguarded. Her fingers ran across the front and then she opened it.
The first drawings, done on during the war, were dark. Bitter and confused pastels, charcoals, graphites — her mind in powders, in dust.
She turned to a sketch near the middle, one of Ron and Hermione sitting by Harry’s bedside as they waited for him to wake up. And then the next one, of the celebration. And then the one of Draco.
It was a smile so pure, so free… she traced his bottom lip with her finger, pulling away in fear of smudging it. Then there were more, pages and pages of him, all in black, interspersed with a few pastel drawings of landscapes or rooms, but he was in those as well. There was the lake, with the small impression of him. Their alcove, larger than it normally was, empty in his absence.
There was the drawing of Harry, sandwiched in between, awkward and clumsy, as if she couldn’t put him on paper. There was no comparison.
What had he thought, as he turned the pages? Had he been angry, upset, mocking, or — she let her mind wander over the last option hesitantly — intrigued.
It was the last drawing that was the most revealing. And tears came to her eyes as she stared at it. He would have seen this last, or maybe first, and it would have confused him, momentarily, and then he would have smirked. His evilest, most arrogant, most degrading smirk. Just imagining it made her cringe, her face heating, utterly mortified.
On the page was a simple color sketch of her hand — with bitten nails and ink stains all — and dangling from those lazy fingers was a long, crumpled, Slytherin green tie. The background was blank, but her hand hung by a small glimpse of her naked thigh. It was expressive, suggestive, and incredibly sexual. She let out a short, pitiful cry, before dissolving.
Whatever he had guessed about her before, he knew for sure now. And so did she — she had fallen in love with him.
…
Ginny sat on the floor for a long time after she closed the book, her tears drying up and her mortification fading slowly.
She had cried for a long time, silent tears falling from her eyes to be wiped away and then replaced. She would have never wanted him to see those drawings, the drawings that so clearly captured her, her own self-portraits of other people, of him.
But he had, and there was nothing she could do about it.
She sat on the floor, her panic rising again, like bile in her throat. But there was something new as well: determination. She had absolutely no desire to go to sleep until she found him and forced him to let her explain.
Filled with purpose, she got up, flexed her stiff muscles, and walked quickly to the library. She didn’t think he would still be there, and he wasn’t. She threw all of her stuff in her bag, hefted it over her shoulder and headed toward the dungeons.
He would listen to her.
She walked slowly, scared of being caught, until she reached the portion of wall that he had pulled her through before. It looked solid. Ginny frowned.
She stared at it, focusing on it turning back into a door. Nothing happened. She pounded on it, but it was solid as stone. She kicked it, guessed passwords, prodded it with her wand, and cursed at it. But it was still a wall.
“God damn, bastard, piece of shit, fucking wall,” she yelled as quietly as she could.
Fighting tears and the desire to scream, she turned and leaned against it, pressing her back against it as hard as she could, the frustration welling inside her.
Suddenly, she felt the stone transform beneath her, and when she whirled around, she was looking at an oak door. She pushed it open and stepped inside, closing it after her. She couldn’t see a thing in the dark, and her breath hitched. She turned to open the door to let some light in, but it had disappeared. “Lumos,” she whispered, but her wand would not light.
Apprehensive, she slowly walked towards where she had seen the stairs, cursing the security measures the entire time.
The walls were damp beneath her fingertips and she stuck against them until she found the banister with grasping fingertips. Carefully, she descended the spiral staircase, only stumbling once when the banister ended. She stood on a landing at the end of the stairs, disoriented by the darkness and the glow of light from underneath the door that seemed terribly bright.
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and then put her hand on the knob. She stood there for at least a minute, unable to do something as simple as opening a door.
But, she reasoned, she needed him to tell her how to get out anyway.
Finally, she raised her hand and knocked loudly, before letting herself in. She took two steps into the room, realized that she had woken him, and stopped.
“Weasley?”
The incredulity in his tone made her fists clench, and suddenly, she was very irrationally angry. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Look, Draco,” she began, her eyes still closed tightly as she began to pace across the small space in front of the door. “I’m really sorry about storming out of the library earlier, I was just freaked out about the sketchbook. I mean, I can't even imagine showing those to anyone, much less you. And I was so humiliated, and I just – I mean, I, I didn’t know what–”
“Weasley.”
“–You would say or do. And I guess, I have to–”
“Weasley!”
“–Apologize or something, so, Draco, I am really, terribly, and truly sorry for the–”
“WEASLEY!” Draco shouted.
“Shut up!” she shouted back, turning to him, “I am trying really hard to…”
He had gotten out of bed and crossed the floor — stopping several feet away from her and yet still far too close. Her throat went dry as she stared at him mussed with sleep and shirtless. Shirtless. Her fingers twitched towards him, longing to run across his skin — the same feeling she got when she wanted to draw. Her face heated as she thought about how smooth the skin across his chest must be.
“Look,” she began again, focusing on the green carpet and holding up her hand to stop his questions, “Look, I’m sorry I woke you up, but I just had to apologize, I had no right. And I just felt really humiliated and–”
“Gin,” he said, interrupting her.
And this time she did stop, the color leaving her face. She swore time halted as she stared at the floor, and she shivered. She looked up at him, so close now that she could feel the heat radiating from his bare skin.
“Shut up,” he said quietly, his eyes, patient yet exasperated, boring into hers.
“Okay,” she squeaked, feeling herself flush all over. She broke the eye contact and glanced around the room.
He didn’t move, still as stone and so close, as she took in the space — small but tasteful, with stone walls, a fireplace, and dark pine furniture. There was a door at the other side, which she assumed led to the rest of the Slytherin dorms. She forced herself not to look at him and instead became fascinated with the hangings on the bed, which were green with an ornate and strangely beautiful white acanthus print. They looked expensive and old, just like everything in the room. She was just letting her eyes trail across the stone floor, her heart still pounding heavily in her chest, when he sighed.
He took a step back, “Just calm down, okay? I didn’t even look in your stupid sketchbook anyway.”
Ginny stared at him in shock; the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. She felt her heart slow, and the wild thoughts that had been running around her mind ceased as well. “Oh.” She finally said, trying to recover her thought process. “Oh. Right. Um. Thanks, then.”
He smirked at her, “Though, I must say, now I am infinitely curious.”
“You really didn’t look?” she questioned, eyeing him suspiciously.
He raised his left eyebrow. “No.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, a heavy exhalation of repressed air, and then she smiled brilliantly at him. “I’m so relieved.” His lips quirked up slightly in an unconscious response, which just made her smile spread.
“Can I go back to sleep now?” he drawled.
She nodded, feeling as if the past several hours had all been a terrible dream. “I can show myself out,” she said, sneaking another look at his bare chest. He still looked fucking incredible.
Her hand was on the doorknob, when she realized her mistake. “Um, Draco? How do I get out?” she asked, turning towards him with a weak smile.
“How did you get in?” He asked mockingly, crossing his arms across his chest.
“I don’t know exactly,” she said, finding it hard to focus on anything but his jutting hipbones.
“The door should appear when you press on the discolored stone.”
“Oh,” she said, beginning to turn around, “But how will I see it? It’s so dark.”
“The torches are out?” he asked, seeming puzzled for the first time that night.
“Yeah.”
“You came all the way down the stairs without any light?”
“Yeah.”
He raised his eyebrows at her, surprised, and his mouth hardened into a straight line. “Why in gods name would you do something so stupid?”
“I was desperate!” she said defensively.
“You were an idiot.” He looked away angrily, tension building across his shoulders. “And, furthermore, what if I had lied? What if the staircase hadn’t led you down here? What if you had slipped? Don’t you ever think?!”
She glared at him, “I told you, I needed to apologize.”
He turned and glared right back. “You are so reckless.”
She balled her hands into fists and stepped closer, fury rising, “You say it as if it’s a bad thing!”
He scoffed at her. “It is.”
“Well, I’m so very sorry that I trusted you,” she growled, stepping closer again.
He glanced down at her, the anger fading from his expression, leaving it absolutely blank. “This is pointless. I’ll light the torches.”
She let out a frustrated exclamation of air, as he walked by her and opened the door. She could hear him muttering to himself, but she couldn’t make out the words. She clenched her jaw, and walked out the door after him. She had just started up the stairs, when he called her back.
“Weasley.”
She turned to face him, still angry. “You’ve used my name once, you can do it again.”
He just sighed, glancing away. She shivered lightly in the dungeon chill. “Just... be careful going back, okay? It’s late.”
Her face softened, and she looked down at him wistfully; from two steps up she was actually slightly taller. She stepped down one — eye level. “Draco,” she said, softly, uncertainly.
He met her eyes, his face a mixture of something she, frustratingly, couldn’t decipher. Then he stepped closer, and in the torchlight, she could almost imagine that he looked hesitant.
But there was something else in the look, in the posture, something that made her heart speed up in her chest, ricocheting crazily against her ribcage. Her eyes never left his as he stepped closer, and then he was too close to think.
“Thank you for not looking at the sketches,” she said weakly, just to fill the silence.
He rested his forehead against hers, one of his hands reaching for hers as the other rested on her neck, and she stopped. Everything stopped — she couldn't move; she couldn't think.
And then he kissed her; her eyes fluttered closed, her body jumped back to life. His skin flooded with heat, and it suffocated her. She wanted to pull him closer, push him against the wall, dive into him; but his lips were pulling at hers slowly, patiently. His fingers weaved through her own and his thumb carefully drew circles under her ear.
She was shattering beneath his touch, pulling apart at the seams, only the have him put her back together. She was melting, falling — empty and full at the same time. She needed him closer, but he was still holding her away even as he opened his mouth beneath hers. And, damn it, he tasted good.
She wrapped her free arm around his bare shoulders and pressed her body against his, suddenly regaining her ability to move. But he resisted, holding her away, before slowly breaking the kiss. He stared at her before closing his eyes, sighing in resignation. She got the feeling that he had just lost some sort of battle. He released her hand, placing his on her hip to steady her.
She hadn’t even noticed how dizzy she was.
He smiled at her playfully, and she pulled him back to her, wrapping her arms around his neck as she hugged him. He stiffened beneath the touch, and then responded, enfolding her in his warmth. The skin of his back was cold to touch, but she could feel the warmth beneath it. He smelled bitter and sweet all at once, spicy yet soft. The scent pulled at a memory of hers, full of something much like regret, but she couldn’t place it.
Her knees buckled when his lips found her ear, and she heard him chuckle, low and sensual. “You should go back.”
“Yeah,” she whispered as quietly as she could, afraid now to lose the silence. She pulled back slightly, and then kissed him again. It felt unshakably right, his bare skin beneath her hands, his mouth on hers. She shuddered; this was what she wanted. He sucked on her bottom lip, scraping his teeth along the inside, and she moaned.
They kissed leisurely for a long minute after that, before she pulled away. “Draco?”
“Hmm?” he murmured distractedly. He let his hands slide down to rest on her hips, resting his forehead against hers again. He rocked slowly from left to right, lost in some rhythm she couldn’t sense. She stared sadly at the look of absolute peace of his face.
“What happens now?”
His motions stilled, and he opened his eyes. But he didn’t pull away. He stared at her for a moment, a thousand emotions flickering across his face. Finally, he shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Then he kissed her, just a short brush of lips, heart-stoppingly soft and artificially relaxed. “You should go back to your keep, Gin.”
Her heart fluttered again at the sound of her name, a small shiver starting in the base of her spine and spreading across her skin. He stepped away.
“Okay,” she said quietly, staring at the distance between them. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” He shrugged, closing back up, the change immediate and awkward. She resisted the desire to hit him. “Three o’clock? Library?”
She didn’t get a response right away, but she wasn’t going to wait for him to say no, so she turned and hurried up the stairs. With the torches lit, the stone was easy enough to find; and she pressed it, freeing herself from what had too quickly become an oppressive space.
…
Ginny dragged her feet all the way back to the common room, her mood growing more and more bleak. She was almost hoping to get caught — she needed someone else to tell her that it had all just happened. That he had kissed her.
That he had kissed her like that.
And it left her felling dreadful. She was empty when she stepped through the portrait, lost in worrying thoughts of nothing.
Unfortunately, the common room wasn’t.
Someone must have finally noticed her absence most nights, and that someone stood when she walked inside.
“Harry,” she said, forcing everything else away. “What are you still doing up?”
He stared at her incredulously, before he noticed that there was something terribly and utterly off with her. “Are you okay? Where have you been? Did someone hurt you?”
It all came out a bit rushed, and she just stared at him, not really seeing, as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I’m fine, just tired. I had a rough day and I… fell asleep in the library earlier.”
He didn’t buy it. “Just like you have almost every night for the past two months? Are the chairs really that comfortable?”
She started to laugh, but when she met his eyes, she could see the anger in them. It silenced her.
She took a few steps into the room and sat down in the armchair across from where he had been camped out before. She heard him sigh and watched as he rolled his shoulders before he sat back down.
But the tension didn’t leave him. Hesitantly, she met his eyes, thinking up stories, possibilities, lies.
“Are you seeing someone?” he blurted out suddenly. It was the last question she had expected from him. The atmosphere shifted, as she gaped at him. “If you are, you can tell me, you know.”
But there was no comfort in his words, more a nervousness that she didn’t like.
“No, Harry, I’m not seeing anyone.” It was too much the truth, and she felt the burn in her throat like she was going to cry. She closed her eyes, but all she could see was that shrug and Draco's reluctance.
He sighed in a relieved way that made her nervous. She did not want this conversation now. Ever, really, but especially not now.
“I was thinking,” he began, his voice shifting, “I mean, I’m not going to let your absence this past month go, but I was thinking, maybe you and I could go to Hogsmeade sometime?”
His voice steadied as he spoke, and Ginny discovered hers was gone as she tried to respond. The words were stuck in her throat; all her witty replies and attempts to let him down easy were gone. She settled for shaking her head slowly. “No, Harry, we can't.”
He stared at her. Whatever he had been expecting, that was not it. “What? Why not?”
“Because I’m not interested in you that way anymore.”
“Oh.”
That was all he said. That was all there was to say, really. She stood, picked up her bag — making sure her sketchbook was still there, just in case — and then crossed the room and climbed up the stairs.
Her bedroom had never looked so welcoming. She pulled on her pajamas and stumbled to her bed. She crawled in and closed the curtains, lighting the small space with her wand. She tucked her sketchbook under her pillow and then opened her bag. She had jammed her comfiest sweater inside and she pulled it out. The green and black fabric was softer than anything else her mother had ever knitted for her, and she loved the way it tried to swallow her, engulfing her in warmth and comfort.
It went over her head, and she was about to push her bag off the bed when she noticed her assignment from Draco on the top of all her papers. She pulled it out, studying the diagram she had left incomplete on the table.
He had written notes in the margins, mostly words like ‘sloppy’ and ‘inefficient’ but there were parts he had underlined and put tiny checkmarks next to. On the back, he described how she should have finished it and suggested a reading on the finer tuned uses of the type of disguise potion she had been attempting.
Underneath that there was a small note. Tomorrow, was all it said, and she could tell he had been serious just by looking at the shape of the letters. She guessed that was null and void now, and she sighed. She rifled around a little bit more and pulled out Narcissa’s letter.
To love or to be loved. She stared at the words for a minute before burying herself in the covers and closing her eyes. It wasn’t even a choice really.
She finally fell asleep, exhausted, and dreamt of absolutely nothing that night.
…
Author notes: Thanks for reading!
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