THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHAPTER 2

I never really did like carrots. They were much too orange for my taste. I’m really glad my hair was red and not orange like those carrots. Did you know that if you eat enough of the ruddy things they will turn your skin orange? It’s true; the pigments found in carrots are the same ones that make leaves turn orange in the fall. Not like that matters. But you know, I really, really started to despise carrots after I had to stare at them for a whole hour. Those damned carrots were the only thing keeping my eyes from one of two things.

The first was my brother, Ronald. It’s not that I minded looking at Ron. I mean, yeah, he was a right bit funny looking at times, but he was my brother after all. I had to cut him a bit of slack in that department. But you see, if I looked at Ron I couldn’t help but notice—nor could anyone else, for that matter—the unusually large bump protruding from the back of his head. I could pretty much guarantee without a fraction of a doubt that I would burst into laughter if I met his eye. The purple face of his still burned in my mind from only hours ago.

If anyone so much as gave Ron a second glance, he would promptly stand up from the table and make a grand show of slamming his fork down onto its surface, all the while giving the unlucky spectator a glare that would probably kill a sick cat. I’m assuming you can imagine why I didn’t exactly think it would be appropriate to start laughing hysterically at his predicament. Though, it was quite funny when he slammed the piece of silverware down the last time. The metal demon had acted like a catapult, causing the contents of the gravy bowl to be launched at his knit sweater.

Anyway, that was the first reason to look at the carrots.

The second reason was a different kind of situation entirely. I’m not sure how it happened to work out this way, but as it was, Draco Malfoy was currently positioned directly in my line of vision at the Slytherin table. Now on any other day I wouldn’t have thought this to be so horrible. On the contrary, it could have been almost enjoyable. It was just that one moment that had made everything so…strange! Why did he have to look at me with those steel eyes of his and act like I wasn’t plaguing his existence? He had acted almost normal around me, happy even. And that smile! Merlin, that smile! It didn’t make me giddy, but god how I wanted to look up at him and smile back, which was entirely out of the question, as I mentioned before. I couldn’t be on the list; no one could know. Ron was sitting across from me, and if I smiled at Draco Malfoy, Ron would know, damnit!

Preceeding the aforementioned event, Draco and I seemed to have an unspoken understanding. We simply ignored each other. Then, when forced to acknowledge one another’s presence, we either glanced at each other uncomfortably or started arguing a bit, depending on how we felt that day. Usually we didn’t seek each other out. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the only times we really did argue were when he had some of his stupid gang members around picking fights with me. Other than that, nothing extremely violent usually took place, save for when we got matched up against each other in Quidditch. You couldn’t blame us for that one, though. I was competitive and he was determined.

So there I sat, wondering idly if I should just stuff the disgusting carrots into my mouth and stalk out of the Great Hall. I didn’t trust myself enough for that, though. I knew the instant I raised my head my eyes would betray me and seek him out.

“Oie, Ron! Can I take your picture?” a cheery voice called from behind him, shaking me from my thoughts. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. I cursed inwardly. Though he had improved immensely since his first year, some things about a person never changed, and we all knew how Colin loved his camera. I brought a hand to my eyes and shook my bowed head, waiting for the impending doom.

Harry grunted loudly and shook his head a smidgen, his eyes steadfast as he stared at Colin. Colin merely grinned back at him. Ron fidgeted.

“I don’t think so, nope.” His tone was dark, and if I hadn’t known him for the previous fifteen years of my life, I would have almost been scared. Unfortunately for him, however, all thoughts of scary Ron that had ever possibly resided in my head were replaced by memories of ickle Ronnie-kins running around The Burrow wearing nothing but his white underwear and my pink socks.

“Aww come on, Ron! It’ll be a great memoir!”

Harry choked on his peas. Hermione dropped her spoon a few seats down, I think. Ron turned around, slowly, to face Colin.

“A memoir?”

“Yeah, you know, way to remember the good times!”

Oh good lord, Colin. The Great Hall had grown a bit too quiet for my liking.

“G-good times?!” Ron sputtered, his voice rising. I knew it was coming soon. See, when Ron gets mad, he’s actually quite predictable. First he attempts to dismiss you with a usually pathetic remark or insult. Upon failure of dismissal he begins to redden in the face a bit, which isn’t saying much for Ron. Beyond that, his voice grows increasingly louder the angrier he gets. I tried not to recall what the last stage was, for it usually resulted in either an incident of immense embarrassment for Ron or violence. Sometimes both, if you really knew how to push his buttons.

“Yes! You’re a riot, Weasley! Lookit you! If I put your picture in the school paper, I just know that everyone would just eat you up! No pun intended!”

Oh no, Colin! Harry began to actually choke on his peas this time, coughing violently. I reached across the table and clobbered him a good one on the back.

“And just what in your incredibly thick skull makes you think I want people ogling at a picture of ME? Do YOU think I look like a riot, Harry? Anything unusual that would interest anyone in the slightest?!” Ron bellowed. I could see his muscles tense beneath the gravy stained sweater.

Harry, who just moments earlier had finally freed his windpipe with the help of yours truly, was gasping for air. Evidently, Ron took one of the deeper, throatier wheezes as his reply.

“SEE?! Harry doesn’t think so! Now just take your little camera away from my completely normal face before I-“

*Click*

I don’t know if it was the flash from the camera that made me sit there completely still and speechless or just sheer shock. I suppose it was a bit of both. The series of events that followed seemed to take place in slow motion.

In a period of about twenty seconds, five very significant things took place.

Ron grabbed two fistfuls of Colin’s collar, lurched around, and slammed him onto the table top.

He released one fistful of his shirt, now taking hold of the arm still clutching the camera, and thwacked it against the table. The camera flew out of Colin’s grip before his arm even hit the surface and landed with a rather undamaging squish, on a tray of gelatin cubes.

Regrettably, Ron didn’t take into account the fact that there was a rather large bowl of mashed potatoes under Colin’s arm when he smashed it against the table, and by neglecting to do so, repeated the events of earlier. The gooey vegetable goodness was rocketed straight up into my dear brother’s freckled face.

All of that took about eight seconds. The next three were completely silent. Then, as if in unison, nearly the whole Gryffindor table erupted into a fit of laughter. I still don’t know if that was to my benefit or not. I tried my absolute hardest. Really, I did. I tried everything I knew of. I bit my tongue, closed my eyes, pretended to cough, the whole shootin’ match. But even all of those things couldn’t keep me from laughing, and I knew it was a losing battle.

I looked up, and in my moment of weakness, broke the rules. I looked away from those bloody carrots, and there, with the most utterly ridiculous expression of both shock and absolute joy on his face, was Draco Malfoy. He wasn’t laughing—not yet. But then he did it. He smiled at me, quite intentionally this time. The most horrifying part of it was I smiled back. The next thing I knew we were both laughing.

Ron turned white. I don’t know if he noticed me laughing or not, but apparently he didn’t want to stick around to find out. He turned, storming towards the double doors at a furiously fast walk. It was then that the guilt began to wash over me. Chancing a final look at Malfoy, I swallowed as the corner of his infuriatingly scrumptious looking mouth turned upwards in a smile. He shook his head, and I felt my breath catch annoyingly again.

Thankfully, a fellow Slytherin nudged him and directed his attention elsewhere. I honestly don’t know if I would have been able to move if he hadn’t stopped looking at me.

I jumped up from the bench and jogged after Ron, tripping over my robes in my haste.

“Ron!” I called over the shouts of the delirious students. If he did hear me, he didn’t pay me any attention. He wiped at his face angrily, sending a handful of ruddy potatoes to the floor.

I followed him through the doors. He was headed towards the washroom, but I was determined to head him off. My poor, stupid brother! He had just had one of the most utterly humiliating days in his life! I was required to do something.

“Ron you know full well you’re going to have to face me sooner or later!”

“I don’t think you want to see my face right now, Gin,” he muttered miserably.

I sighed. That’s one thing that needs to be said. Men may insist that they hate melodrama, but it’s all a lie.

“Don’t be silly, Ron. I’m not scared of potatoes.”

“She’s got a point, Weasley. I’m sure seeing that face of yours would brighten up anyone’s day,” a smooth drawl mused from no more than a foot behind me.

I thought I was going to have a stroke at age fifteen. My spine startled to prickle and I visibly shuddered.

Maybe it was because he was standing so close to me. Maybe it was because he had somehow appeared behind me unnoticed. How it happened is relatively unimportant, because at the present I could almost feel Draco Malfoy’s breath on my neck.

END CHAPTER 2

THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHAPTER 3


I guess, technically speaking, I’m a pretty romantic person. I like to believe in true love. I think roses are gorgeous. I listen to a lot of light rock when I’m depressed. Poetry interests me a lot, and I’m a bit of a sucker for someone who knows how to sweet talk. Of course, that’s not to say I’m not independent, because I am. But that’s beside the point.

The point is that all that romantic and lovey-dovey stuff is well and good, but it was getting me about as far as I could throw Crabbe or Goyle. Here I was, having spent the better part of my adolescence fantasizing about how wonderful romance is, and when it actually shows up in my life what do I do? You’ll see how this applies in a moment.

When my eyes smacked into a pair of slate orbs things started to go a bit astray. In theory I should have been angered, maybe even a bit defensive of my Ron. So I guess it did look more than slightly ridiculous for me to do nothing of the sort.

But nothing—and I do mean nothing—looked as ridiculous as me slipping on a particularly runny mound of what had once been appetizing mashed potatoes. Combine the potatoes with the fact that the great hall stone was slippery from remnants of sloppy snow brought in from outdoors and that I was wearing flat soled shoes with horrendous traction, and bad things happen.

Basically all I did was turn around. Or at least try to, anyway. My body wouldn’t stop shaking and my jerky movements made the motion quite abrupt and awkward. About halfway through executing the turn, my right foot suddenly shot outwards and my left ankle rolled painfully. I panicked, and grabbed on to the first thing that touched my flailing hands. Unfortunately, the smooth black material of Malfoy’s pants just happened to be that unlucky item.

My knees ended up smacking onto the stone notably less harder than they would have had I not grabbed them, but that knowledge didn’t assuage the utter horror that was beginning to seep into me. The fabric I had in my iron grip was gathered around his knees, and they buckled slightly from the force pulling them forward.

So there I was, on my knees, eye level with Draco freaking Malfoy’s belt, clutching his pants in front of his bent legs.

The only thing that entered my mind at that moment escaped my mouth before I could stop it. And believe me, I tried to stop it.

“Well this is awkward.” I knew it sounded stupid before it even left my mouth.

“Never thought you’d be on your knees in front of a Malfoy, Weaslette. And I must say, this is a rather unique way to show your appreciation.”

“That was suggestive.”

“And you fisting my pants isn’t? It was a joke, Weasley.”

I have sufficient evidence supporting the fact that any number of girls would have done the exact same thing, if not worse, when placed in my position. Err….situation.

I blushed. Despite popular belief, all redheads don’t turn red in the face at every whim and folly thrown their way. Just look at Ronald, a prime example to support this theory. He turned purple. Blushing was a big deal for me. I realized quite suddenly that the only other time I had ever blushed in my life was when Harry had sauntered into the showers after a Quidditch match, having been under the impression that they were empty. They most certainly had not been empty, and let me tell you, discovering that one of your best friends is in the shower with you is not a pleasant experience, especially when your friend is, well, of the male sort.

Anyway, now do you see how all that romance shenanigans fits in? You’d have thought I would have been prepared for something like grabbing the pants of some guy. Still, I attempted not to relate Draco Malfoy to those romantic thoughts. I figured it was probably best, especially since I was eye level with his lower region. God only knows what that half crazed romantic side of me would do if I let it take control.

“Right,” I said, a small smile forming on my lips and thankfully replacing my pink cheeks. “Sorry about that one. I’m must’ve slipped on some of the remnants from the potato rage.” I thought I saw him shrug, and even more oddly, I could feel him smiling.

“Even you wouldn’t intentionally slip on potatoes for a chance to grab my legs. Don’t apologize to me.”

Was that some weird way of telling me not to worry about it? Couldn’t just be straightforward, could he?

Afraid to move my head for fear of appearing to be enjoying the view, I shifted my left leg and began to raise myself up. I cursed upon discovering that the roll it had endured had caused a bit more damage than anticipated.

“Oh you ruddy wanker!”

“Honestly Weasley, you are the strangest person I’v-“

“Not you, Malfoy. It’s my ankle—I twisted it when I fell.” I promptly released my grip on his pants and let myself fall the floor into an ungraceful slump. His knees recoiled, and he straightened up to his full height. I glanced down at my ankle, wondering idly if it was actually sprained or anything serious, and tried not to notice that Malfoy was over six feet tall.

“I tell you, between your brother’s head and your ankle, it’s a miracle you two aren’t dead yet. Can you walk or did I startle you enough to cause a serious problem?” he asked, the Malfoy arrogance still playing in his tone.

“It wasn’t my fault the git left potatoes all over the floor, and you most certainly didn’t-“

Have you ever choked on your words before? It’s an indescribable sensation. My throat clenched, my eyes widened, and it was suddenly taking tremendous effort to breathe.

Draco Malfoy was now kneeling beside me, carefully examining my ankle as if it were the most completely normal thing in the entire world. My previous efforts to avoid looking at him directly were all but abolished, much to my displeasure, or, depending on how you viewed the situation, pleasure.

“What are you doing? I’m fine. I’m going to get up now.”

“Which is why you just fell over for the second time when you tried to stand on it, I’m sure.” He rolled his eyes, his tone annoyed, but I could have sworn I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Of course, when it came to his mouth I did have a right disgusting habit of being a bit imaginative.

I opened my mouth to say something in response, but clenched my jaw as he chose that moment to make eye contact as if to accentuate his point. I groaned, but whether it was because I knew he was right or because he was simply looking at me was anyone’s guess.

“Well it does hurt a bit, but only if I put weight on it.” I didn’t know if that was really a come back or not, but it worked. At least I thought it did initially.

He leaned back on the balls of his feet and outstretched a hand. I blinked.

“Well are you going to sit here in pain all day or take help when offered? After all, I was the one that caused that in the first place. And I certainly can’t have you go whining to some teacher about this.” He raised an eyebrow as the beginnings of a smirk worked its way on to his face. As attractive as that was, the fact that he had the audacity to imply that he had had that affect on me was both unnerving and slightly chilling.

There was no way. I couldn’t possibly do it. I, Ginny Weasley, would not play into his hands like every other bloody idiotic sap that chased after his toned behind. Not that I had ever noticed his toned arse before. But once again, that is not the point.

This line of thinking was working out quite well for awhile, and upon reaching said conclusion, I began, once again, to stand up, planning on meeting his eyes in victory as I succeeded.

So that’s what I did. I locked my gaze with his and pushed all my weight onto my right foot. It trembled violently under the strain. The joint gave out a little, and I was forced to give my other leg some of the burden. I cringed.

That was when it happened. The smirk had long since disappeared, leaving his face blank as he watched me struggle. When I cringed, his perfect blankness faltered. It was all in his eyes. Normally when someone cringes, their whole face screws up. But not Draco Malfoy. His pewter eyes narrowed, the muscles around them wincing, but only barely. I don’t think anyone else would have even noticed, but I am a very observant person, as I mentioned before. Especially when it comes to…never mind.

Those eyes of his did strange things, and through them I saw Draco Malfoy show compassion. I knew he wasn’t being an arrogant prat. Well, not entirely anyway. So I gave in, alright? Trust me, you would have too.

“Perhaps just to stand. I think I can limp my way to the Hospital Wing once I’m up,” I offered.

He nodded, raising an eyebrow, a small smile once again playing at one side of his mouth. I slid my hand into his and he rose slightly.

“Grab hold of my arms, and tightly,” he directed, presenting his other arm.

Bossy little git, wasn’t he? I complied, grasping both of him forearms and he mine.

“Right. Now use me as support. I’m going to pull you up.” He looked down at me, as if to ask if I understood. Oh, I understood alright.

Of course, much to my disapproval, the only thing that I was currently comprehending at the present time was that I was gripping Draco’s very muscular forearms. Damn my imagination. It then occurred to me that I should show some sign of approval, and I nodded, a bit too enthusiastically in my opinion.

He began to lift me, and I easily used my fair leg to support my form. Timidly, I shifted to my other foot in simple experimentation and immediately regretted it. I swallowed, gripping his arms a bit tighter.

“Still think you can hobble to the Hospital Wing, Weaslette?”

I chuckled sarcastically.

“Perhaps not. And err….than-“

“Ginny, you can’t walk? What’s going on?!”

Oh not him. Really, I thought Ron had caused enough emotional and physical distress to last for the next five years. Apparently he had stormed off to the bathroom after hearing Malfoy’s earlier remark and had washed off his face. Clumps of potato still covered his sweater.

“Nothing. I slipped on something and my ankle rolled,” I explained, conveniently leaving out the fact that it was the potatoes that I had slipped on. He had better take this calmly.

“You slipped? On what? Tell me the truth!”

I sighed. It didn’t appear that his rationality had returned. Not that he had much to begin with, but in Ron’s case he needed all he could get. If it had returned he would have realized that said question was probably the most unnecessary piece of information one could ever obtain.

“I don’t know! The floor’s slippery is all!”

“You’re lying!”

I rolled my eyes.

“Why would I lie about such a stupid thing? Besides, it’s under control.”

“It doesn’t look like it to me!”

“Ron, come off it! It’s just a sprain! Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to head up to the Hospital Wing.”

“You don’t just sprain your ankle, Gin!”

“Ron, SHUT UP,” I roared, making sure to annunciate each word with perfect clarity so someone of his intelligence could easily comprehend what I was saying.

He glared at me before his eyes flickered to Malfoy.

“And what are you still doing here?” he lashed.

“What does it look like I’m doing, Weasley? I’m assisting your sister to see Madam Pomfrey,” Draco responded, his tone adding fuel to the fire.

“And why would you do that?” Ron barked, his voice beginning to rise.

“Because she obviously can’t walk, you dolt! Besides, it was my fault she fell in the first place. I startled her.”

I raised my eyebrows. That was quite the wrong thing to say. I had a feeling Draco was saying it more out of a desire to aggravate Ron than to validate his actions.

“You made her fall?! I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!” Ron bellowed.

“Ron, back off! He’s telling the truth!” I snapped. I was starting to think that he deserved all the bad things that had happened to him today. I then realized what I had just admitted, and chanced a sidelong glance in Malfoy’s direction. I couldn’t read his face.

“NO WAY, GIN! HE CAN’T JUST GO AROUND THINKING HE CAN BE A ROYAL PRICK TO EVERYONE! HE’S A LYING, DIRTY, EVIL, CONIVING, ARROGANT ARSE!”

“Ron, you’re talking nonsense!”

“OH AM I? IT’S NOT SO HARD TO BELIEVE, YOU PLAYING INTO HIS HANDS LIKE THE NAÏVE LIT-“

I don’t know how I managed it to this day, but somehow I launched myself at my brother with alarming force. I don’t think I could feel my ankle. If I had I wouldn’t have been able to pull it off. My mind was completely and utterly consumed with loathing. How dare he call me naïve? He didn’t know the half of what I had gone through in my lifetime! I swear, thinking Ginny Weasley is unintelligent must be a great pastime or something because hell help me, I was sure sick of hearing it.

I ignored the little tiny voice inside my head that said part of the reason I ignited like a firecracker was because I was worried I had played into Draco’s hands.

The pair of us crashed to the floor, but not before I kneed him a hard one in the stomach. I got a few good punches off to his middle section, and clobbered him a good one across the cheek. His nose was bleeding, and I was just thinking about ripping his hair out when a pair of arms encircled me, wrenching my flailing body away from his.

I screamed, anger still cursing through me. I felt a lean chest against my back and my breathing relaxed slightly, my brain coming to its senses. I recognized the firm arms from only a moment ago and knew what had happened.

“Weasley! WEASLEY! Get a grip!” His voice hissed into my ear, low and calm. The pain my ankle had endured came crashing down, and I cried out, squeezing my eyes shut in pain.

“My…my…” I gasped, wishing desperately that words would form.

“I know. Just try to breathe for Merlin’s sake. I’m going to bring your sorry behind to the Hospital Wing.” Draco shifted one of his arms to carry me bride style. Just as my lungs began to adjust to taking in oxygen, a thunderous bang sounded from the double doors. Oh God no, not more people. From here on out things were a bit blurry.

“Ron, are you out here? RON!”

This was not good. A series of shuffling noises followed the voice that I easily identified.

“He’s out cold!”

I could just picture his green eyes fluttering on the room before landing on Malfoy and I. And that is exactly what they did, not wasting a moment in the process.

“Malfoy? Ginny? What did you do to them Malfoy?!”

I felt the chest against me heave with a sigh. Leave it to Harry to jump to conclusions.

“I did absolutely nothing but restrain this one here,” he jostled me unceremoniously in his arms, “from beating the pulp out of that oaf of a brother of hers.”

I knew that would get Harry worked up. He was such a predictable one. Well, at least he never ceased to disappoint, I thought wryly.

“Then why is Ginny upset?”

“Because she hurt her ankle. Notice the swelling, Potter? Now if you’ll excuse me, I do believe she needs to get some medical attention.”

“Put her down.”

“Potter, don’t be an idiot. Put your wand away before you hurt yourself.”

I shuddered at his icy tone. He could be so dismissive when he wanted to be.

“No!”

I knew Harry was being a good friend, and I would have normally felt flattered, but given the circumstances, you’ll forgive me for cursing him into oblivion. I felt like waving a huge banner in front of their faces in order to draw attention to the fact that I was still in the same room with a very sore ankle.

“Are you worried we’ll get lost on the way up?” Draco shot, the self confidence ringing in his voice.

I didn’t even want to see Harry’s expression after that one.

“No doubt you’ve done it before. I’m giving you 3 seconds.”

“Potter!”

“ACCIO GINNY!”

I yelped, clutching desperately to the silky fabric of his shirt before flying across the room and landing with a crack on the stone floor. Now I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure that was the part where my ankle broke.

I gasped, looking up at Harry through teary eyes. He sputtered inaudibly, face stark white.

“You see, you imbecile?! You just broke her ankle you incompetent fool! Get out of here before you cause any more damage!” Malfoy sneered, eyes blazing as he swept past him.

“Don’t touch her! You’re the one that started this in the first place, being such a prat to Ron!” Harry shouted.

Tears fell openly down my cheeks now, and I was beginning to feel light headed.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me, Potter.” Malfoy turned from me to face Harry, voice menacing. “I said leave.”

“I heard you. Now either you get out of here, or I’ll make you.”

Poor Harry—I honestly think he was simply trying to make it up to me then, but he didn’t understand; he wasn’t helping.

“Big words, Boy Wonder.”

“STUP-“

“EXPELLIARMUS!”

I had never seen someone draw a wand that fast before. In one fast, fluid motion, Harry was sent rocketing against the far stone wall, silenced. My stomach wobbled a little at the sight.

Draco turned to me, a snarl still covering his features. I swallowed, and he cast his eyes downward, unwilling to meet my gaze. There were a few moments of silence, in which we both remained still.

“What is going on here?!” a stern and enraged voice shrieked, breaking us from the reverie. I looked up into the face of Professor McGonagall helplessly. She turned to Draco. “Mr. Malfoy, I sincerely hope that you have some justification for your actions!”

I could visibly see Draco’s face harden into the mask he used to regard the world.

“Only the obvious, but need I even state that Potter is a complete moron?”

I felt my stomach clench again at his cold words, but I ignored the painful twinge in my chest. Her wrinkled eyes snapped with fury.

“And how do you validate your actions?”

Draco shrugged.

“I don’t. It wasn’t my fault Weasley opened his big mouth, and it wasn’t my fault she,” his eyes fluttered to me for only a moment, “went after him either. When Potter barged in and accused me of starting all of it I was only defending myself.”

So bold faced as that was, I had to give him credit. The intense glare and slightly entrancing tone of voice could go a long way. Of course, maybe that was only my opinion…

I was not ready for McGonagall to turn to me, expecting some sort of retort, so I didn’t give one. I couldn’t have even if I wanted to; breathing alone was already presenting a sufficient challenge over the pain of my ankle.

“Is this true, Miss Weasley?”

I managed a nod.

“I hoped that I would not need to remind students in their fifth and sixth year that violence of any kind is prohibited. Mr. Malfoy, you’re lucky I’m not reporting you to your Head of House, and Miss Weasley,” she continued on, making her tone grim, “I must say that I am most displeased, and that I think I speak for us all when I say we’ve all seen more than our fair share of the Weasley temper. Detention for both of you. I’ll expect you in my office early tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps being forced to be civil to each other will make some imprint in your brains.” She gave Malfoy and I both meaningful looks before turning to leave, Draco returning it before he turned on his own heel and began to walk away.

“And oh, Professor? You might want to get Weasley to the Hospital Wing,” he added as an afterthought, calling over his shoulder. I silently rejoiced. God only knows when someone would have come and found me.

As I was assisted to the Hospital Wing I couldn’t help but wonder if spending a Saturday afternoon with Malfoy was a good thing or a bad thing.

END OF CHAPTER 3

THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHAPTER 4

I’ve always really loved snow. I simply don’t know why everyone else doesn’t. It’s sort of a Muggle thing especially, to hate snow, because they have to operate those cars and whatnot. But truthfully, most wizards that I know of don’t like snow either. We aren’t like Muggles in the sense that we seem to form snow-hating cults, but as society we don’t like the stuff just the same. I have also noticed that this hatred and annoyance appears to grow in intensity throughout any given person’s life; it was like one of those bad things that you automatically acquired with age.

Even though I had noticed all of this, I still failed to understand how all of these people could possibly hate something so beautiful. There’s nothing as pretty as a heavy snowfall. The ground looks like one giant, soft marshmallow, and all the trees are dusted with flakes, making them look crystalline. When you walk outside, falling snow gets in your hair and you feel like you’re part of the scenery. Everything just seems so pure and tranquil; it’s like nature’s magic.

So you can imagine how utterly thrilled I was when it started snowing as I waited in the Hospital Wing that evening. Madam Pomfrey was up to her neck with students that had caught some form of the flu that was recently going around the castle, and apparently the remedy was in short supply. As a result, many of the students had to simply rest in beds with cold compresses on their foreheads and throat lozenges in their mouths. The wing smelled like regurgitated cough syrup, and that was being optimistic about it.

I was positioned on one of the end beds, waiting calmly for my ankle to show some sign of improvement. As I watched the snow fall from behind the frosted glass window, my mind began to wander in rather obscure, random directions. I found myself contemplating the fact that as distasteful as the Hospital Wing was, it offered a lovely view of the back grounds of Hogwarts, and that if I had a sufficient amount of time, a superb sled run could easily be made on the gentle slopes. I kept replaying the words Ron had screamed at me about playing into Malfoy’s hands over and over. And most randomly of all, I found myself horridly aware of just how comforting those hands had been. I sincerely hoped that all of that was due to an overdose of the medication Madam Pomfrey had administered to me, especially that last bit.

*~*~*~*~*~*

I left the Hospital Wing the next morning feeling exuberant and free. I never really had an issue with entertaining myself, but after spending twelve hours with only my pointless—and lately rather disturbing—thoughts as a form of companionship, even I started to feel a little loopy.

Approximately two minutes after leaving the wing, I closed in on the Great Hall in anticipation of some breakfast. Not overly caring if I sat near anyone on this particular morning due to the large amount of stares I was receiving for yesterday’s events, I sat down on the bench with a fair amount of difficulty. Apparently my coordination had yet to fully recuperate.

Not being much of a breakfast person to begin with, I opted for a bowl of cereal and quickly began ingesting large spoonfuls. I used the solitary breakfast to wonder just what exactly McGonagall was going to inflict on me. She wasn’t usually one for originality when it came to punishments. I should know, having heard more than my fair share of stories from the unusually large amount of predecessors before me. This, of course, was not including Percy.

With that in mind, I really wasn’t all that worried about the labor. If anything, who I was serving the detention with was the problem, and that all depended on how you looked at the situation, pun intended.

Simply put, the more I thought about it, the more I managed to convince myself that today really wouldn’t be too overly horrible. I’d serve a couple of hours of detention and be on my merry way outside to frolic in the freshly fallen snow. Perhaps frolic wasn’t really the best word, but who knows? With my current state of mind, maybe I would frolic.

Finishing my cereal, I let the spoon fall into the bowl with a clank. I glanced at the old wrist watch that I always wore on my wrist. I didn’t know why I was so attached to the thing. Even if the strap did look like it only had a few more weeks of life in it at best, as Ron always insisted, I loved it to death.

Perfect. It was ten a.m. I would be outside in those glorious flakes after lunch. Now if only my not so lovely partner would be as optimistic about getting an early start...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I rapped on McGonagall’s heavy oak door some five minutes later before pushing it open and stepping inside. The office was silent and slightly cold. It seemed to lose its sense of cheer without the groggy buzz of students. McGonagall was positioned behind her oversized desk, writing with a long gold and red feathered quill. If you asked me that was going a little overboard with the House pride thing, but I wasn’t up for pointing that out to her and landing myself another detention.

“Ah, Miss Weasley. I must say, I hardly expected you to show up so promptly.”

I hated when she did that—those snide comments that implied that nobody could ever expect anything from Ginny Weasley really brassed me off. I could handle insults about my impoverished family, slams about my red hair, or stupid pranks that my brothers may have thrown my way at various embarrassing stages of my life, but something about statements like that one made me furious. She might as well have just told me that I was a waste of oxygen.

Despite my previously cautious nature, my mouth automatically opened to defend my pride. It does that quite often. This was not one of my most diplomatic habits, but one of the hardest to break. That's how the world works, isn't it?

“What can I say, Professor? I guess I just couldn’t wait to spend time with Malfoy.” The sarcasm was nearly impossible to miss, as I had intended, and I quickly plastered the lopsided grin I had picked up from Harry onto my face to cover my tracks. Sure enough, her eyes snapped up from her writing like lightening, scanning my face for proof that I had meant that in an insincere manner at best. I didn’t falter, and she gave up, narrowed eyes jetting to behind me.

My anger depleted at the knowledge that I still had my wit—Satan knows what I’d do if I lost that. It was probably my favorite thing about myself.

After a moment of self-satisfaction—hey, cut me some slack! Those are harder and harder to come by as you get older, you know?—I realized that staring behind someone isn’t really normal. As soon as that thought entered my head it was like my senses became hyper aware of everything around me. You know the feeling you get when someone is staring at you, or how you can at least sense another’s presence?

Multiply that feeling by the highest conceivable number you can possibly think of and you’d be about halfway to the intensity that came smashing down on me. My spine nearly arched on its own accord, and I had to physically restrain myself from giving in to the sensation. Taking a breath in attempt to steady myself and using a few seconds to wonder what the hell my problem was, I jerked around, anxious to rid myself of the feeling. Whoever said ignorance is bliss had never felt like this, let me tell you.

I should have known it was him. I mean, quite honestly, what else could have possibly elicited that reaction from me? Still, it was rather weird that my body recognized he was in the room before my mind did. As usual, I didn’t dwell on why that was. Still, my reaction had been quite unnerving; it wasn’t something I was accustomed to, especially around him.

His white-blond hair fell forward to touch one arched eyebrow, and his lips were twisted into half of that infuriating smirk he always wore. I couldn’t quite tell what it was supposed to mean seeing as he used the expression to represent nearly every bloody emotion—with the exception of anger, in which case it was replaced with a snarl—he ever felt. His eyes were fixed on me, unwavering.

The grin I had been wearing vanished under his gaze, and to my utter horror I was no longer able to suppress the strange sensations running up and down my spine; the energy was released in a violent shudder. I swallowed, slightly repulsed by my lack of self-control. So much for that satisfactory moment I had enjoyed only seconds earlier, yeah?

I braced myself for an uncomfortable comment, and rightly so.

“Well then, it appears you’ve gotten your wish, Miss Weasley,” McGonagall quipped, her facial expression showing either evident amusement or annoyance. With McGonagall, you never could tell.

I glanced in her direction, glad to have at least some reason to tear my gaze from Malfoy, even if it was to stare into her daunting face. I bit my lip. Hell, I almost drew blood I was clamped on to the thing so hard. But alas, my mouth opened itself again.

“Somewhat,” I breathed. My tone wasn’t sarcastic this time, but soft and almost a bit bitter. For a moment I wondered if it had even been audible. McGonagall didn’t seem to notice, as she immediately made to move her paperwork into a magically sealed drawer in her desk, and I didn’t dare have the nerve or stupidity to look at Draco.

Strangely enough, I don’t even know why that slipped out of my mouth in the first place. Somewhat? What kind of response was that? I squashed that thought quite hurriedly, fearful of that ridiculously pathetic romantic portion of my brain that seemed to fight for control at random points in time. Stranger still was my horribly sad attempt to convince myself that these thoughts happened even slightly randomly. I didn’t even fool myself with that one, and when that happens, you know nobody else will buy it either. Random my arse—I knew exactly when my control wavered, and I didn’t like it one bit.

After thanking life in general for the inability of others to hear my thoughts, I released a small puff of air, causing the tension in my chest easing only just.

Feeling more nutters than I had in my entire life, I stared with alarming fortitude at the cherry wood of McGonagall’s desk. I half expected it to crack or something—Merlin knows I was concentrating hard enough.

“I suppose we might as well get right to it then,” her voice suddenly mused. She looked on at us, or more accurately, me in particular, apparently awaiting an answer. I closed my eyes for a moment to refrain from rolling them. As if we had a choice in the matter.

“Please,” his voice added behind me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him step forward, positioning himself a bit closer as he spoke.

McGonagall nodded curtly.

“I’ll have you two know,” she began, signaling the classic start of one of her usual rounds of chastisement, “that after this day I will show absolutely no amount of leniency whatsoever for any foolish and utterly juvenile outbursts that may occur, and any such instances will result in my immediate consultation with the Headmaster. Am I quite clear?” She raised her eyebrows in that critical manner of hers.

There was a general mumbling of consent before she continued.

“I’m sure you are aware of the snowfall as of last night, correct?” She paused momentarily, probably for effect, but it felt a bit more like salt in the wound to me. I don’t think she could have dangled it more blatantly in front of my face if she tried. I wanted to be outside, damnit!

“Of course,” I replied, albeit a tad morosely. Thinking about what I wanted to be doing during detention wasn’t exactly the best method of making the time progress faster. I snuck a glimpse at Malfoy. No, that was definitely not a good thing to think about, especially during this particular detention.

“Well, it appears that several of the residents and business folk at Hogsmeade have acquired a problem in relation. Many of them are snowed in, and the streets are a disaster, nearly impassable. If we want the students to be able to proceed with the next visit, they will most certainly have to be cleared.”

I perked up at this, and if I wasn’t mistaken, heard a soft grunt from my cohort. That wasn’t too unbelievable. I mean, honestly, can you imagine Malfoy liking snow? I grinned stupidly at the thought of little Malfoy getting pelted in the face with a snowball.

“What are we going to be doing then, Professor?” I asked, growing tired of her procrastination.

“You and Mr. Malfoy will be removing the snow from the premises. That is to say, you will be partaking in what Muggles call shoveling.”

“Shovel-hing? What in blazes is that?” Draco demanded, voice rising and lip curling.

I openly turned to face him, taking in his furrowed brow and generally confused body language. All of four seconds passed before an expression of absolute glee took residence on my face upon two realizations.

The first was that not only would I be outside for the next several hours, but I would quite literally be tromping through the very snowflakes I had been eyeing, essentially escaping the boredoms of standardized detention. The second, and perhaps the more amusing in the sense that it was a complete guilty pleasure, was the thought of Draco participating in any form of manual labor. The cherry on top of this inexplicably sweet sundae was that this activity was completely and totally Muggle related.

My joy growing too immense to control, I decided to interject some helpful advice into the conversation in order to enlighten the poor sod.

“Not shovel-hing, Malfoy, shoveling. I take it you’ve never seen a shovel, then?”

“No, I haven’t, though I know you have,” he shot back.

I knew Malfoy well enough to know that he would have added more to that remark had a teacher not been present. Instead of growing angry at his implication, I smiled slightly.

“Absolutely. I grew up normal, you see. You know, played in the snow, that whole bit.”

A throat was cleared impatiently.

“Regardless of whether or not you are familiar with concept, you will both be shoveling,” McGonagall cut in, her mouth drawn in a firm line. She rose from her seat, and moved around to the front of the desk, drawing her wand.

“These, Mr. Malfoy,” she flicked her wand and two old spindly chairs began transfiguring, “are shovels.” Two metallic scoops appeared at the end of the now smooth wooden handles.

“We…we’re scooping the snow off then?” Draco swallowed, and I got the distinct impression that he was refraining from making a disgusting comment about physical labor. Well, it was either that or he was coming precariously close to passing out.

“That is the general idea. As I mentioned before, nearly the entire village is blanketed. Work your way there via the path, and then proceed to administer as much service to the residents as possible,” McGonagall prompted.

I glanced to Malfoy again. He was stone-like.

Never being one to let an awkward moment pass, I decided to lend the guy a hand. It was only fair. He had helped me yesterday, even if it had been a fluke.

“Looks like we’ll get to it then, Professor,” I said happily, grabbing one of the shovels hovering in front of me. “I’m going to run up and grab some warmer clothes and the like. Malfoy, meet you in the Entrance Hall?” I raised my eyebrows at him and saluted McGonagall before slinging the shovel over my shoulder and striding out the door.

I whistled jovially as I strutted down the hallway. I don’t really believe in luck, but there wasn’t really any other word I could think of to describe the situation. Sure, it wasn’t like I was going sledding, but sledding didn’t come with a tall blond attached, did it?

END CHAPTER 4

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THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHAPTER 5

Upon reaching my dorm, I took my time in opening my large trunk and fishing around for the necessary items. I was currently wearing a wide leg trouser and sweater, and thought it best to layer up to avoid becoming soaked to the bone. No doubt with Malfoy at my side the job would take twice as long as it normally would. I slipped a pair of thermals on under my clothing and grabbed my scarf, hat, mittens and cloak. The mittens and hat were in fair enough condition, but the cloak had seen better days. There were a few holes in it, but I found the old thing comforting. It used to be Charlie’s, and when I was little he’d wrap me up in it when I got cold and say something like, “Weasley men don’t get cold, Gin. Comes along with the red hair, you see.” This was utter nonsense, but it was still one of my favorite memories of him.

I glanced out the window as I finished up. Snow was still falling lazily from the sky, adding to the workload that lay ahead of me. Surprisingly, not as many students were outdoors as I had anticipated. Come to mention it, there were hardly any students at all outside in the glorious winter air. Damn it all, not even Hagrid was outside clobbering about! Snapping my trunk shut with a resolute clank, I exited the dormitory whilst shaking my head in disgust at the pathetically lethargic beings I was forced to call peers. For the umpteenth time I found myself contemplating why in the name of Merlin they hated the snow in the first place, and began to feel significantly less enthusiastic about the future of mankind in general. My anger increased with every step and took an especially large leap upon finding a large number of them gathered in the common room. My spirits brightened, however, at the notion of bringing at least one of the miserable pests outside with me in order to partake in one of life’s finer indulgences. They didn’t know what they were missing.

At this point, a sort of half-crooked smiled attached itself quite dumbly to my face. I wasn’t going to let their indolent attitudes dampen my excitement about the snow. In fact, it was probably better that none of them were outdoors; being under the scrutiny of half of Hogwarts wouldn’t exactly be the best way to spend detention anyhow.

So as I marched through the student infested common room, I was only aware of two things. The first was that many of the students seemed to have taken an interest in my shovel and were eyeing it with increasingly discomforting glances. The second, and more prominent thing that was lolling around in my brain, was a disturbing replay of Draco and the apple scenario from the day before, except for the apple was replaced by a snowball, and it was—

*Clank*

“What the—? And just what in blue blazes do you think you are doing?!” I rocketed out of my day dream with alarming speed, and whirled just in time to see a rather annoying looking second year smack the underside of my shovel for the second time with the back of his fist. He seemed rather taken aback at my outburst, and scurried away into the hole he crawled out of. I glared after him a moment before continuing my walk to the portrait hole, this time carrying the shovel with two hands in front of me, hopefully increasing the overall intimidation level of the item in order to ward off any curious bystanders. I smiled a bit on the inside. Who’s to say Ginny Weasley isn’t resourceful?

Finally reaching the portrait hole, I climbed through successfully and returned the shovel to its comfortable place on my shoulder. On an act of ridiculous spontaneity, I started to whistle—quite horrifically I might add—as I maneuvered towards the main hallway leading away from the tower. I never could whistle properly, but with the shovel slung over my shoulder in such a fashion I really couldn’t resist trying. I was also using it as means of forgetting about why I had screeched at that little mate in such an unkindly manner. Normally I wouldn’t be inclined to do such a thing, and guilt had already started to prickle inside my chest at the recollection. I wasn’t Malfoy, after all.

My brow furrowed at that thought. I might not be Malfoy, but he was still plaguing my thoughts a lot more frequently than not, and I realized quite quickly that that was why I had been so jumpy towards that little mate back in the tower. Hell, you try masking the fact that you think one of the biggest gits in the school is attractive and see what it does for your mental state.

I decided that continuously trying to make sense of the whole situation really was a waste of time. It wasn’t like someone was going to be able to mysteriously read my thoughts. I had no reason to be so anxious. My whistling lost its enthusiasm as I recalled Harry’s previous study of Occlumency. Right then. So that sort of thing was possible. That complicated things a bit.

But come now, let’s be realistic, people; what are the chances of someone feeling the overwhelming urge to read my thoughts? I’d have to say slim to none. And furthermore, even if there is some deranged lunatic out there who wants to do so right now, what are the chances that they’d uncover that particular piece of information if they did read my mind?

Er….well, given the fact that it had been floating around in my head for quite some time it most likely wouldn’t be too overtly challenging to uncover.

I promptly decided that said reasoning wasn’t a good way of looking at the situation, and that perhaps I didn’t want to know the answers to that last question.

I stopped walking momentarily, my head going in too many directions to permit even the most basic of my bodily functions to operate properly. My hand automatically brushed back my long bangs, and my eyes closed as I shook my head. I chuckled softly to myself. Ever have a moment where you feel like an immensely big idiot? This was one of those moments for me.

I decided to stick to my earlier conclusion that went something along the lines of the following: despite the fact that it would be quite uncomfortable if anyone ever found out about it, my fondness for Mr. Draco Malfoy wasn’t exactly going to disappear, and therefore, I should waste none of my further energies on trying to rid myself of it.

No, the only way I could possibly imagine the—need I really say it?—lust going away is if Malfoy just happened to wake up one morning as…oh, I don’t know, a female.

Smiling at my newfound state of peace and the hilarity of that image, I continued down the hall. I was just about to round the corner when a pair of voices I knew far too well reverberated from down the stone corridor.

“What do you mean you think something’s wrong with her?”

I froze. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were talking about. Glancing quickly from side to side, I ducked into a nearby window alcove, pressing my face against the stone in order to hear them better.

“Well I don’t know how to put it, really. It’s just that sometimes I get the feeling that she’s different than everyone else. She doesn’t think the same way as we do.”

“Thank goodness for that,” I muttered to myself, rolling my eyes. Leave it to my brother to put something so eloquently.

“Come to think of it, she doesn’t really seem to like the fact that we’re in the Order at times.”

“Yeah, maybe. It just seems like she doesn’t understand how dangerous people are. She thinks that she can trust everyone.”

“Never was a good sense of character,” the softer voice said, and a murmur of agreement followed.

“Right on that. I mean look at the blokes she’s fancied. And to think all those years—”

Too stunned to comprehend much, I tuned the last part out, swallowing a little out of disbelief. How was I supposed to take that? I didn’t know whether to be offended or hurt.

“Yeah, well, even she can’t possibly misjudge Malfoy, right?”

“Let’s hope.”

Their voices faded away as they moved farther down the hallway. A deep uneven breath worked its way into my lungs as I mulled over the charming conversation I had just overheard. It seemed that Ron had not only held on to his anger concerning yesterday, but he had voiced his opinions to Harry. This really shouldn’t have surprised me in the slightest; I mean for Merlin’s sake, Ron told Harry when his bloody shoelaces came untied. The thing that did surprise me was that not only did they think I had a horrible sense of character, but Harry had—or at least appeared to, from what I had gathered—agreed that there was some great danger in getting involved with Draco Malfoy’s character. As if it even concerned the two of them! Brothers could be so stupid.

Rolling my eyes to signify waving the subject off, I came to the staircase leading to the Entrance Hall. A flash of silver caught my attention, and I looked up to see an unmistakably distinct figure, even in an excessive amount of winter clothing, pacing in front of the front door.

I had never really considered the phrase “turn that frown upside down” to be realistic, but at that moment nothing could have described me better. For as I began to descend the stairs towards him, nothing seemed more appealing than seeing Draco Malfoy in a wool hat and by the looks of it, three layers of cloaks.

I half-heartedly tried to stifle a laugh at his idiocy. You’d think we were going in to the tundra by the looks of him. He appeared to notice my presence at the laugh, and stopped his incessant pacing to look at me like I was the ridiculous one.

I stepped off the last stair, biting the corner of my mouth to prevent the smile on my face from getting too big. A little kick in the pants to his ego couldn’t hurt after all, but smiling like a clown-faced idiot would no doubt ruin its effectiveness. I nodded in acknowledgement.

“What, may I ask, is so amusing?” he seethed.

I shrugged. “Just wondering when the Ice Age decided to make another appearance.”

“Gee, Weasley, I didn’t know your sense of observation was that bad. I saw you look out the window earlier. I figured a girl as sharp as you would have noticed the two-plus-feet and growing mound of snow on the ground.”

My eyes followed the curves of his arched eyebrow and lips before I realized he was serious. What a wimp.

“I can handle a little snow, and for your sake you better be able to do the same,” I said, pointing at him with my shovel threateningly.

“Fine. Don’t complain when you start to freeze your bloody arse off.”

“I’m not going to,” I answered, ignoring his scoff. “Now let’s get a move on. Those flakes are just waiting to be stepped in.” I gestured to the door, and watched bemusedly as he retrieved his shovel from its resting place against the wall, carrying it with one hand.

We each grabbed a handle on the heavy doors, and I noticed that he was wearing thick leather gloves, and undoubtedly expensive ones at that. Maybe I did need warmer clothing. I wiggled my fingers reassuringly, brushing them against the soft fluff of yarn. Eh, I was more of a mitten person anyhow. The doors swung open, and we stepped outside in unison.

Immediately an icy sharp wind cut viciously through my cloak, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Draco flip up his collar. A shiver racked my body, and it, being the rebellious thing it is, instinctively jerked in his direction, desperate for the warmth of human contact. Between the cold and the way the snowflakes were clinging to his eyelashes, the man was downright magnetic. Barely managing to stop short before he noticed anything, I cursed silently. It was going to be a long day, and I could only hope that I would have enough restraint in me to last its entirety.

END CHAPTER 5

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THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHAPTER 6

I’m just going to come clean and say that I had wondered what it would be like. Spending time with him, I mean. I was innocently curious, and perhaps mildly intrigued. Several scenarios had popped into my head prior to the actual event, but none of them were even remotely close to the reality.

I guess I don’t know what I had been expecting– complete silence? A conversation of sorts like we had had the day before? Insults? Perhaps even another moment like the one before dinner?

Basically the only thing that I had been expecting and that was confirmed was that we would be encountering snow, and a lot of it. But then again, even that simplistic conception had proved somewhat erroneous, for after a quick scan of the white landscape, I concluded that I had never seen, or shoveled for that matter, so much snow in my entire life. I was willing to wager the majority of my possessions that Draco was thinking the same thing, only five times worse. Hell, his whole family had probably never seen half of this much snow combined.

We both stood on the stone –or what would have otherwise been the area of the front stone pathway, had there not been three feet of snow on the ground– for several elongated moments. I turned to look at him, curious as to whether or not my logic was any kind of true.

The usual hard, arrogant facade was not present on his face at all, instead replaced with a unique lack of enthusiasm and awe, both of which looked so alien to him. He slowly turned to look at me, and I noticed that one of his eyebrows was arched high in disbelief. I chuckled to myself. How right I was.

“So I suppose you’ve never seen this much snow either, hmm?” I inquired. I felt a sly smile creep its way onto my face, and his eyes flashed as he realized the implication I was making. That wasn’t something you saw every day, let me tell you, and if I sat here and tried to convince you that I didn’t enjoy making it happen, didn’t enjoy making that passion flare across his features, well, you’d come to realize quite quickly that I was being less than straightforward. Alright, I’d be lying, blatantly lying.

“I thought you’d already determined that,” he mocked, and by his tone I could tell he was half serious. Despite the fact that he was obviously a right bit agitated by my jabs to his ego, I felt my grin widen as he took the bait. I tried to restrain the smile, but whether or not it was effective I will never know, for I was far too distracted by the way his rather attractive wool cap was making his hair fall into his eyes. I was quite sure that that hat wouldn’t look nearly as good if it wasn’t on his head.

“Oh I have, I just wanted to rub it in.” I raised my eyebrows once, watching his features carefully, awaiting the fire that I found so enthralling. Merlin I was in trouble. I had used the word passion to describe Draco Malfoy.

Do you ever have one of those self-degrading trains of thought that involve you looking in on yourself from a third person perspective, which leads you to conclude that you would rather not do so, because you are so hopelessly and utterly disgusted with yourself? Well, perhaps that’s not something that happens to normal people, but me, being the slightly non-conformist that I am, often pictured what something might look like from outside of my own two eyes. I found it exceptionally helpful in judging other peoples reactions, and even occasionally found that it assisted in helping me to comprehend how others based opinions different from my own.

Anyhow, the scene I was currently viewing involved me staring at Draco Malfoy like an idiot, scanning over his features irregularly. I knew that was exactly what I looked like, but admitting it was another thing altogether, you see. Hey, I’m sure if you knew you were looking at a boy with an expression similar to a gaping carp on your face you would go into a mild state of denial as well, so sod it.

My staring theory was verified when I saw it. His lips twitched. It was extremely subtle, yes, but it happened. As with the encounters from the day before, I doubted anyone else would have noticed.

Then again, my eyes were practically glued to his sodding face. It wasn’t like I could have missed it, even if I currently was a bit foggy upstairs. That really, though, is not the point. The point is that I made Draco Malfoy smile. Almost.

“Does it really matter whether I’ve seen this much snow or not, Weaslette? The question an intelligent person would be asking is whether or not I can shove-hull it,” he hoisted the shovel up in his grip, looking quite pleased with himself for producing what he considered to be a sufficient comeback. Regrettably for Draco, however, all elements of cleverness and wit were effectively smashed by his complete massacre of the word shovel. Evidently the boy had a problem with pronunciation, as I had already corrected him on it once before. I hated when people did that. So when my brain started telling me that it sounded cute coming from him, I opened my mouth to drown out the thought.

“I suppose you have a point, though it seems just as logical that an intelligent person would know how to pronounce word shovel, don’t you think?” I feigned an innocent look.

“The hell if I care how you say it. I just want to get out of here before we’re buried alive,” he shot, tipping his head skyward as if he could see the one responsible for the tiny falling crystals in its depths. His eyes seemed to relax, and I swear they almost drifted closed beneath the heavy flakes. That was a Kodak moment if there ever was one, let me tell you. Bloody hell, that photographic memory I’ve been wanting would have come in really handy right about now.

Just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, and I could see that he was quite serious.

“You really think so? I mean, it’s bound to stop soon, right? Just look at all of this. How much could possibly be left?” I for one, having been in the Hospital Wing the previous night, had heard nothing about the severity of the snowfall save for what McGonagall had told us.

Draco shrugged, seemingly shaking off the tranquil moment from before.

“Hell if I know. I just think that we’ve spent the past five minutes having rather pointless conversation, and that if we don’t get started we certainly will be out here all day,” he spoke fluidly, his words flowing together and rolling off of his tongue perfectly. He looked to me as if waiting for me to speak, not even flinching at the fact that his words were a bit harsh. So I spoke.

“Where do you suppose we start?” I asked, putting up my strong front.

“If we need to clear a way to the village we’re going to have to clear the main courtyard and then just follow the roads in,” he gestured in the direction of where the grounds met the road to Hogsmeade, and followed it with his finger until it was pointed in the general direction of the village. I nodded.

“Right then. Well there’s no way we can possibly clear this whole area here. I gather we’ll have to sort of carve a wide path through the drifts instead,” I responded. Clearing the entire courtyard was just not feasible.

“Obviously not.” He rolled his eyes before continuing. “Just cut clear across to the courtyard and make sure the path is wide enough for people to move properly.”

I don’t know if it was the severity of his tone or just the thought that I had misjudged Draco’s character that made those words hurt so much, but I do know the following:

I, Ginny Weasley, do not hate many things in life. There are things that annoy me, things that disgust me, and things that just downright piss me off, but I can honestly say only a select few are worthy of my hatred. One of those things was when people made it seem like your opinion and thoughts had no importance or relevance whatsoever. That was exactly what had just happened, and it had cut.

So when that last bit flowed out of his perfectly shaped mouth, I couldn’t help my temper from flaring. I grabbed my shovel and huffed past him, making sure that the metal edge clanked against his boot.

After I had walked the three feet to where the snow mound began, I decided that this was in fact the snows fault, for it was it that got me stuck in this ludicrous detention in the first place, and did the only logical thing given the situation. I attacked with a vengeance. The shovel sliced through the thick snow easily, and I angrily heaved it to the side, enjoying the scrape the metal made against the stone underneath. I think I would have continued like that for the majority of the day had Draco not done something very unexpected.

After slowly sauntering the few steps toward me, he cleared his throat as if trying to get me to look at him. I refused to do so, resisting the urge to send the next shovelful into his face. I heard his shovel scrape against the stone.

“So, how do you pronounce the name for these things,” he asked, tossing a load in the opposite direction. I stopped mid scoop, and looked up with a small smile on my face. Though he wasn’t making eye contact, something inside of me understood what he had meant by that, and I was touched.

“Shove-ull,” I explained, making sure to annunciate every syllable. I finished lifting my current snow mound.

“Shove-hull,” Draco repeated, doing likewise. I sighed.

“No, no, no. You’re adding an extra ‘h’, you see. Shove-ull.”

“Ah, is that it? Right. Shove-ull,” he drew out the syllables languidly, and up until that point, I hadn’t thought the word shovel could ever sound sexy. I was proven wrong.

“Right,” I replied, swallowing a little. I saw him grin. We still weren’t looking at each other, but it was obvious this time; one corner of his mouth barely turned upwards as his silver eyes glinting from beneath his hair.

“Right,” he answered softly, the smile still present. “I think I’m getting the hang of this.”

That last statement was something to ponder, and I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if it had a deeper meaning, or hoping that it did.

END CHAPTER 6

Thanks for reading! I'd appreciate any and all comments, as always.

THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHAPTER 7

“So what you’re saying is that you actually enjoy shoveling?”

“No, what I’m saying is that I don’t mind shoveling. I used to help my brothers do it all the time when I was little.”

“I’m so sorry,” he drawled, emphasizing his words in that Malfoy-like manner that was so distinct.

The conversation had been going on like this for awhile. After finally teaching Draco how to pronounce the word shovel, I made the mistake of commenting about how we could have gotten stuck doing something a lot worse for our detention. Naturally that had progressed into a conversation about how I obviously really enjoyed shoveling, and how wrong that was. I know, I know—he’s ridiculous. Cut him some slack, people. He is a man. That detail alone was the only thing that kept me from beating the tar out of him with my shovel. Well, that and the fact that I didn’t want to bloody his pearly skin.

“Oh, come off it. The only thing you know about my brothers is that they have red hair and the same last name as me,” I said, trying my best to sound exasperated in hopes of discouraging him. Draco was anything but, instead tossing his current load aside in order to use the shovel to support his body weight. I followed his lengthy form down to his toes, and my own foot twitched at the enticing opportunity to make him fall flat on his face. Just one kick to that shovel and that glorious poise of his would be shattered.

“On the contrary; I know that King Weasel is not only incredibly incompetent at jinxing, but he’s fiercely loyal to Pothead and Granger. He even has the hots for that one.”

I looked at him curiously.

“And no, despite the popular theory that commonly circulates throughout my House, I’m not referring to Potter,” Draco smirked, and this time I knew without a doubt that it was the arrogant sort. The twit. Before I knew what I was doing, I had opened my mouth to retort.

“Well—” I cut my sentence off abruptly as I actually took in what he had said about Ron. I decided to perform a quick evaluation. Ron was right horrid at jinxing; I should know, having tried to teach him on numerous occasions. It was kind of embarrassing for him to be so incompetent, you see, but I had finally deemed him hopeless. He was indeed also fiercely loyal to Harry and Hermione. As for the last bit, anyone who knew anything about Ron beyond his name could see he had it bad for the latter.

“You know, I think that right there is one of the main reasons you don’t get along with people,” I commented thoughtfully.

“What the devil are you talking about?” he questioned, probing eyes narrowing as he remained propped up against his shovel.

“You just have this way of making ordinary things sound…insulting when they’re not really. They’re the truth,” I finished, making sure to meet his confused partial glare in order to drive my point home. I saw his eyes soften in understanding, and something else sparked in them.

“Sometimes insults are the truth. And even more often, the truth is insulting,” he spoke slowly, and I got the distinct impression he knew he had proven a valid point.

I had to give him credit. At least he did that in a subtle manner. So Draco Malfoy knew how to have an intellectual debate, did he? Moreover, he knew how to have one without making it personal. That caught me off guard. I hadn’t been expecting him to say something deep, and I felt my mind become clouded as intrigue got the best of me. Hearing him say intelligent things like that made me think that I was right in believing there was more than pride beneath those silver locks, and lord knows that wasn’t helping my self-control. A sexy man I could handle, but a sexy intelligent man? Well, that was another story.

“I agree. It just seems that sometimes you disregard peoples’ feelings when being that way,” I answered, just then realizing that I too had abandoned shoveling.

“What are you saying? That I’m honest to a fault? If that’s what you mean, I’m going to nip this in the bud and tell you straightaway that I don’t believe there is such a thing. Honesty is honesty.” He looked mildly interested when he realized I had more to say on the matter.

“Yes but you have to differentiate between the moments when you’re trying to use the truth as an insult and when you’re just telling someone something they may not like to hear. It makes people think you’re being rude when I don’t think you are trying to be.”

“How would you know how these,” he paused as if to consider what he was about to say, “people think?”

“Because I’m well acquainted with three of them. Not to mention I’ve technically known you for years, and have observed it happen many a time.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Weasley. The only thing you know about me is that you’re supposed to hate me because my father hates your father and the feeling is mutual. That doesn’t mean you know anything about my character.”

I was grateful that my cheeks were no doubt already pink from the cold, for a blush tinged them as I realized just how weird it was that I did know things about him. If only he knew…

“I know more about you than that, and as a side note, just because I’m supposed to hate you doesn’t mean I do. People are supposed to do a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean they do them.” And then, as if an afterthought, “I don’t hate a lot of things.”

“Oh please,” he sneered, lips curling, “you don’t know a damned thing about me.”

I was a little hurt by that. God knows why, but I was. It was then that my idiotic subconscious decided that the best thing to do was to prove him wrong. Apparently it had taken control of my mouth, for in classic Ginny Weasley style, it opened before I was even aware I was contemplating saying anything.

“Apples.” Oh hell.

“Wuzzat?” Draco asked, cocking an eyebrow. He looked either alarmed or shocked, and I severely hoped that it was the second one.

“You like apples.” Oh shit.

“No I don’t!” he exclaimed defiantly.

“You eat one every day after second hour classes.” Oh, for the love of — why not just tattoo the word stalker to your forehead, Ginny? It’d be a lot easier!

He looked at me a moment, his lips barely parted as if meant to say something. After awhile he seemed to realize that he had no way out, and swallowed, eyes relaxing.

“How the bloody hell do you know that I eat an apple everyday after second hour classes?” he demanded, his tone one of disbelief instead of the disgust and downright horror I had been dreading. I could have sworn I saw a shadow of the arrogant grin begin to take over his features, but decided that I was most likely delusional, as I had already lost my sense of control.

Still, this was the question I had been afraid of, as he had effectively turned the tables in his favor. I strongly considered cursing aloud this time, but decided against it as that would no doubt worsen my position. A stalker who talks to oneself is bordering precariously close to downright psychotic, and I doubt Draco would think me any less creepy if he thought I was such.

He was beginning to grow impatient, as he had now raised his eyebrows in a quizzical manner and was staring at me persistently. I gathered up every ounce of resourcefulness and wit I had, but still could only come up with something that I knew wouldn’t even fool Ron on his daftest day.

“Because I see you eat one everyday.”

Hey, you weren’t the one melting underneath his stare, were you? It messes with your mind, I tell you. I’d like to see you go through that and come up with something that even resembled English, let alone topped mine. Hell, I was lucky that came out.

Draco laughed, shaking his head as he picked up his shovel to resume working.

“As if that answers the question. Fine, I’ll play your game. Why do you see me every day after second hour classes, Weasley? And hey, get back to work. We’re almost to the end of the courtyard. Can’t have you slacking off,” he grinned.

I stood there for a second, during which I felt incredibly manipulated, before numbly obeying. Not like I had much of a choice, was it? He was good, and I needed to get him back for that one. If my brain hadn’t kicked in at that moment, I would have been done for.

“I guess I’m just observant,” I said to his back, silently rejoicing at the fact that it sounded even remotely nonchalant. He continued lofting large shovelfuls to the side as he worked ahead of me. I let out a sigh as we reached the last few feet of the courtyard before the much more manageable road to Hogsmeade.

“I’ve noticed that,” he called over his shoulder. Was he mocking me? It didn’t sound like it. Perhaps he was implying that he was observant. Perhaps he was implying that he was observant in regards to me. I rolled my eyes. Right, and maybe he also found me alarming attractive and incredibly intriguing.

Just then, an idea for revenge on account of his prat-like earlier comment popped into my head. Quite frankly, I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t thought of it sooner. It was genius. It was simplistic. It was perfect.

“You know what I’ve noticed, Malfoy?” I asked loudly, scooping a small mound of harmless snowy fluff.

“Hmm?” came the muffled reply. I smiled rather demonically. He took the hint and turned around to face me. Call me cheap for striking when the enemy is off-guard, but I like to think of it as strategic. I sprang into action, launching the snowy goodness right over Draco’s lovely head. It rained down on him in slow motion, and I could see him close his eyes calmly right before the whiteness completely obstructed my view of his features.

“That calling me a slacker tends to have nasty consequences.”

Normally after pulling something like that, I would have been feeling pretty damned confident. For some reason, however, I couldn’t quite shake the discerning feeling that I was about to be hit back ten fold. Something about that calm confident smile of his told me I should run for my life.

END CHAPTER 7

THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHAPTER 8

I have never really used the word regret in my life. That is probably because, as you may have assumed, I don’t regret many things that I’ve done. There was the occasional instance— such as eating the chocolate Ron got from Hermione last Valentine’s Day, primarily because it made me a bit queasy— but at no specific point in my sixteen-year-old existence did I ever really remember thinking, ‘Gee, I really regret that one,’ or ‘Nice going, moron; that’s going to come back to kick you in the arse.’

All of that changed the instant his pewter eyes burned through the curtain of snow to meet my own. I think the best thing to compare them to would be the calm before a storm. His eyes reminded me of a swirling gray sky, ominous and indicative of a ferocious passion ready to erupt from its containments at any moment.

Regardless of how idiotic I knew that sounded, my rather poetic and more than a little disgusting train of thought would have continued forever had I allowed it the freedom to do so. You see, one of my more embarrassing—and certainly the most unrealistic and simply stupid—habits was to create this false and completely imaginative sense that my interests could be described as beautiful individuals capable of floating through life with a certain grace and elegance. It really was amazing how fast my mind came up with things of such a nature. I guess you could call it a gift, albeit not a very useful one. I suppose it meant I had the option of growing up to be a starving poetic artist if I felt the need.

Put simply, I had a tendency to raise them up on pedestals. That was somewhat ironic in this case, seeing as Draco most likely already thought himself to be worthy of such a thing. That was actually very ironic, considering the being that I had just made out to sound like a god currently looked like he was going to eat me alive. Some beautiful person he was, eh? Yes, ironic was definitely the word for it.

I didn’t really regret the situation, however, until he started to take dreadfully slow, metered, and downright painful steps toward me. A lazy, lopsided grin screamed trouble, and he shook his head back and forth in what I could tell was a very deliberate, daunting manner as if to chastise me. Needless to say it was very effective.

Quite honestly I didn’t know what to do. Part of me, probably the more logical—if you could call it that—portion of my mind, was telling me to sprint as fast as my legs could carry me in the opposite direction. How logical this was I didn’t know, seeing as I couldn’t imagine sprinting through three feet of snow to be very effective. The other side of my mind—I didn’t know or want to know what this portion was called—was thinking that being ‘caught’ may not be as bad as it sounded. Sure, he could very well be planning on wringing my neck, but the notion that I’d be close enough to smell him kept overshadowing any logic that even tried to make an appearance in my head. Heck, I wouldn’t mind if he did wring my neck; he’d have to touch me to do it, after all.

It’s okay, you can say it. I’m a freak. Cut me some slack, okay? I’m a woman, and hence, I over-analyze things—it’s how the world works.

In any case, that last thought made me feel quite perverted, not to mention morbid. I felt like the heroine of some slasher film. With my last bit of willpower I managed to mentally turn off the switch that allowed such freedom of thought. God knows I didn’t need any of that rolling around in there. I decided to act on pure instinct; I always did like living in the moment. It was somewhat liberating to free my mind of the heavy task of planning ahead.

There was only the soft whistling of the wind and the ominous crunch of Draco’s boots against the snow. I took a step backwards.

“What’s the matter, Weasley?” he asked in a sickeningly rich voice, cocking his head to the side as if to mock me. His eyes gave him away—gray fire still burned in the depths of their orbs. There wasn’t an innocent thing about them. I didn’t reply, though it wasn’t like I could have if I’d wanted to. I was fine as long as those eyes weren’t intense and smoldering, but in situations like this I was completely incapacitated.

“No comeback? How uncharacteristic of you. You always have something to say,” he continued, his voice low and subdued.

It was that comment that started it. I don’t know if it was the fact that he seemed to know something about me, or because his voice was probably the most attractive thing I’d ever heard. Heck, it very well may have been those two things combined. Regardless, it had the same effect as running a smoldering jet of water down my back. My spine started to tingle, my breathing grew uneven, and my muscles ached. I knew from that point on that I could not let him come within reach of me. If my restraint was wavering this much when he was ten feet away, having him within my grasp would prove to be disastrous. I cursed under my breath as I remembered worrying about this exact issue the moment I stepped out into the chilled air with him. My earlier fears had been justified.

I took another step back, taking immense care to avoid letting my gaze linger on his wretched eyes. He met my step with two more of his own, putting him less than six paces in front of me. I felt my hands grow clammy despite the cold. Oh not good, not good.

“Draco, don’t,” I heard myself say. I could feel the timbre of my voice tremble, and hoped to the merciful gods, if there were any left, that it sounded steadfast, or at least normal.

“Don’t?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. He looked slightly amused. I was annoyed by this—how unfair that I be so affected and he was his completely normal, smug self! “Don’t what, exactly?” His words seemed more comfortable than genuinely confused to my ears. A terrible thought then crossed my mind: what if he knew? Was he aware of what he was doing to me? My throat closed up at the possibility. I watched in horror as he slowly took another step.

“Draco…” I managed out, noting the rapidly decreasing space between us. It sounded more like a plea than a threat this time. I started to back away steadily now, only partly aware of the fact that I was shaking my head.

“Yes, Ginny?” My stomach clenched as he said my name. Was he trying to make me lose my mind? His impatient eyes waited under heavy lashes. I wanted to punch him.

I opened my mouth with the full intention of saying something, but that didn’t go exactly as planned—think gaping fish instead. Draco didn’t appear satisfied with my…answer.

“You can give it but can’t take it, is that it? What a fine example of duplicity. Tell me, why is it that you can get me but I can’t get you back? Just how does that validate itself as ‘fair’ in your mind?” His voice had started to rise, though he remained strangely calm, and I realized that this was how he got when he showed the emotions I had previously thought him incapable of. Apparently they were there after all, though exceedingly hard to detect.

I swallowed and answered with as few words as possible.

“You’re cheating.”

He raised an eyebrow again, now looking slightly agitated. I closed my eyes in hopes that it would allow me to focus all of my energy on stilling my weak knees. I found myself praying to nothing and everything at the same time. Please don’t let him see that…

“Care to elaborate?”

I could only shake my head, as I was now positive that my voice was failing.

“No? I don’t believe in being honest to a fault, remember?”

“Neither of us will benefit from you understanding this, Draco, trust me.”

He laughed cynically.

“Trust you?” His voice was softer, and my eyes opened on their own accord at his change in tone, curious as to his facial expression, desperate to gain an understanding.

Nothing in this world could have possibly prepared me for what met my eyes. In those few moments when they had been closed, the idiotic boy had nearly eliminated the distance between us, leaving a gap of a mere ten inches. That may seem like a lot, but to a girl whose mind is as sick and twisted as mine, it is nothing. In a millisecond my imagination was coming up with various ways to close that distance. In the millisecond following shock took over and I jolted backwards, losing my balance in my instant of surprise.

I gasped, stumbling backwards as I began to tip towards the snow. I was almost hoping that I would hit my head and lose consciousness. That way I wouldn’t have to explain my freakish behavior, at the very least. Unfortunately for me, however, Draco quickly grasped my shoulders, planting my feet quite solidly on the ground, and by doing so, ultimately destroyed any hopes of that happening. If only that was all he had destroyed…

I physically felt my resolve shatter at the contact. My body went crazy. My throat all but closed, I clenched my hands into tight fists to prevent them from doing anything ridiculous, and a series of spasms racked through my shoulders. Knowing I couldn’t delay it any longer, I reluctantly looked up at him, trying terribly hard to mask the horror on my face. There was no way he couldn’t understand now.

I rejoiced slightly at the prospect that he wasn’t completely repulsed. He looked at me seriously, his brow furrowed, as if deep in thought. His eyes flicked to his hands, still clamped tightly to my trembling shoulders, before they returned to my own. I swallowed, realizing he was wondering what to make of my quivering frame. With any luck, the conclusion he had reached wasn’t utter repulsion at the notion that I thought he was…er…pleasant looking. My stomach twisted as I realized that wasn’t the only thing I now found pleasant about him, as I had recently discovered a sharp wit and intellect curtained behind the smirk I found so bloody fascinating.

Quite unexpectedly his eyes narrowed to something just short of a glare, as a hollow looking expression washed over his face.

“…Are you afraid of me?” he sounded incredulous, almost disappointed, and I could have sworn I noticed a bit of anger or resentment lurking in his words. My shaking stilled at his words. He hadn’t figured it out.

“No,” I responded, alarmed but satisfied at how firm my tone suddenly sounded. A few moments passed, as if he was debating whether or not to believe me, and I found myself holding my breath. All at once his glare softened, and he nodded curtly before releasing my shoulders and turning on his heel.

I felt my breathing return to normal as I watched him pick up his shovel in his right hand and continue walking, the other stuffed soundly in his pocket. The murkiness impairing my judgment slowly dissipated as Draco reverted back to his normal self, intrigue taking its place. I was grateful, to say the least, for the lessened tension. That had been a very close call. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder why he had felt the need to ask me that. Did he honestly think I was one of the people he managed to intimidate so easily?

Taking one last deep breath to restore my confidence, I snatched up my shovel and hurried in the same direction, falling into step beside him.

“Should I be?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow playfully.

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and chuckled, shaking his head. He shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. I tried not to note the immense satisfaction I took from making this occur.

“Probably,” he answered gravely, half serious, “I’m not the warm and fuzzy type.” It was my turn to laugh. He looked at me curiously, the grin still playing at his lips.

“What?” I asked innocently, “It was funny!” Draco shook his head again, eyes looking forward through the bleary white flakes.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

“What’s so weird about that?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“You’re different than a lot of people, is all.”

“How’s that?”

“I dunno. I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Fair enough. Though I should warn you, I don’t think I’m the only one that would have laughed at that last bit. In fact,” I continued, raising a finger in the air, “you curled up with a warm and fuzzy stuffed bear would make great material for stand up comedy.”

“Sod off.”

“Oh come on, it’d be brilliant. I can see it now, you curled up in a nice fluffy blanket your mum sent you in fron—“

I was abruptly cut off, as an arm shot out and pushed me sideways into a nearby snow drift. I glared at his back as he continued walking.

“Sorry about that one, Weasley. Muscle spasm, you see. Of course, what am I talking about? You and I both know how easy it is for you to trip all over the place. You probably slipped on something,” he called smugly over his shoulder. That was hitting below the belt. How dare he bring up my mishap in the Entrance Hall?!

I waited for him to turn his head before childishly making a face at his retreating form. I honestly didn’t care how ridiculous it looked, for it made me feel much better. I then made a grand show of dusting myself off and marching after him with as much dignity as I could muster, pride still intact.

“You’re no fun, you know that?” I informed him, glancing sideways in his direction.

“Rubbish, I found that positively enjoyable,” he smirked, still looking straight ahead.

“It’s all about you, isn’t it, Draco?”

“It’s not my fault I’m all you think about.”

I know he was joking. I know he didn’t mean a single thing by it. I even know he didn’t intentionally do it. Regardless, it was still pretty bloody frightening to hear him say something so close to the truth, especially after what had just happened a few minutes ago.

I lost my grip on my shovel in my surprise, and it fell from its position on my shoulder, the metal edge thudding against the back of my calf before clattering to the freshly cleared stone. Oddly enough, it was the same leg that had been injured the day before. The poor bugger sure was taking a beating lately. It wasn’t that big of a deal; if it hurt, I was far too paranoid to notice.

Draco stopped, and looked backwards at me curiously, eyes darting from my face, to my shovel, to my leg in turn.

“Are you alright?” he asked, preparing to take a step toward me. I nodded hastily, picking up my shovel once more.

“Yeah, the thing’s a bit slippery is all.” He raised his eyebrows. I mentally slapped myself for using such a feeble excuse. After a moment, however, he seemed to accept it.

“Right. Well come on, then. We’ve got a road to clear and a village in need.”

I nodded, barely able to make out the snowy rooftops of Hogsmeade in the distance.

END CHAPTER 8

THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 9

Why are men so bloody complicated? Honestly, you think you have them figured out, then the next thing you know they’re joking around when you want to be serious, getting angry at something you think is comedic genius, making assumptions that are utterly ridiculous, and on top of it all, looking completely amazing during the entire process so whilst all of their other less than alluring qualities are completely infuriating, there’s still that one little detail that draws us to them.

Now, I’m nowhere near an expert in philosophy or creationism. Quite frankly I can’t stand the stuff. I can’t help but wonder, however, what in the name of all that is holy were they—It? She? He?— thinking when they made the male brain so eccentric? And just who in their right mind came up with this ‘opposites attract’ business? It’s completely mental, I tell you! Wouldn’t it be a bit more rational to assume that two similar minds would be more compatible rather than two that went about the thinking process in completely different manners? I’d like to meet the bloke that came up with the theory. Someone needs to inform him—and I’m sure it was a ‘him’ that came up with it—that there needs to be basis to a statement like that.

That tangent was a result of my frustration concerning Draco’s earlier behavior. The more I thought about it, the more unnerved I was about the whole matter altogether. I wasn’t afraid of his character, I was intrigued by it; the fact that he thought I was frightened of him had me absolutely befuddled. I guess I was somewhat afraid, but only of the thoughts he provoked in my head. I was afraid I’d grab him around the waist some time and refuse to let go, for example. And to think that is one of the milder thoughts he created.

I shook my head in aggravation as I lofted a light pile of flakes to the side of road. After the shovel incident, Draco had initiated the start of our work on the street leading to Hogsmeade. The trees had sheltered the path from a portion of the snowfall making it significantly less grueling than the task of clearing the courtyard, but dusty foot-deep drifts were still blown askew over the brown cobblestone. I was using the work time, obviously, to get lost in my thoughts, as I usually do when faced with mindless tasks.

I looked up to watch his form as he progressed down his half of the pathway. A good twenty feet in front of me on the left, his back formed a gentle arc and his hunched shoulders rotated slightly with every lift of his shovel. I watched in disgust as he worked—never breaking pace, always taking slow steps so that he never had to stop walking; all in all he made the whole process seem a lot more graceful than it should ever naturally appear. I glanced at the sloppy right side of the road that I was responsible for and almost laughed.

My calves—specifically the one that was being beaten to tar lately—ached as I took a step forward to resume working. Pausing to roll my ankle to alleviate some of the tension, I glanced up to see Draco, arms crossed at the elbows as he propped himself on his shovel, looking at me with an expression somewhere between confusion and curiosity on his face.

“Is there a specific reason you can’t keep up, Weasley, or are you just slow in general?” he called, crossing his legs at the ankles.

I replaced my sore appendage on the ground and threw a determined mound of snow off of the road.

“This is your fault, you know, my being slow and all,” I responded.

“Oh really?” he asked, raising a seemingly intrigued eyebrow, a small smile parting his perf—er, lips.

I nodded, smiling sympathetically.

“And just how do you figure that any of this nonsense is my fault?”

“My leg is sort of aching right now, causing my shoveling to be slow. The ache, I imagine, is the result of a severely traumatized ankle, which I acquired from slipping on a mound of potatoes that my dull-witted brother slopped all over the Entrance Hall. However, the only reason Ron had potatoes on him in the first place was because Collin, among countless others, was badgering him about getting his picture taken. Now if you’ll recall, it was you, Draco, who threw the apple that caused the allegedly entertaining lump on Ron’s head in the first place. I wouldn’t have a somewhat cramped calf right now if you hadn’t thrown that apple. You see the nasty chain of events you created?”

A moment passed. Draco blinked.

“That’s the most roundabout, indirect thing I’ve ever heard,” he concluded.

“It isn’t either,” I objected, bowing my head as I strained to mask the small smile on my face.

“What would you call it then?”

“Karma.”

He scoffed. I could feel another intellectual standstill in the works.

“Ah, yes. I created my own demise, hmm? Can’t say that I believe in that nonsense,” Draco drawled bitterly.

I shrugged. “Neither do I,” I stated simply.

“Then you said that why, exactly?” he demanded, frustration and curiosity barely detectable in his voice. Either that or my imagination was getting carried away again.

I took a breath, hoping to achieve the same tranquil attitude that he managed during these conversations.

“To an extent, I think that the way you live your life will determine how people perceive you and affect how you are treated. I don’t believe in Karma, per se, but I guess you could say what goes around comes around,” I responded, tossing another light load to the side.

He lounged against his shovel, unchanged, waiting for me to catch up.

“Predestination? Fate? Destiny?” He was no longer smiling, his features serious and attentive.

“I don’t believe in predestination. I think we have to earn our place in the afterlife. Destiny and fate? Maybe. I don’t like the idea that there are some things that are unchangeable, but I do think that some things are meant to happen to us in order to teach us something.” I paused for a moment, realizing he wasn’t arguing with me like he had earlier. “What about you?”

He waited a moment before speaking.

“I’ve been taught to believe in it. My father has a very clear idea of what he wants my life to be like. I wasn’t even born when he decided he wanted his son…” he trailed off, shaking his head as he looked to the ground. “He’s not one to leave much room for choice,” he finished, still not meeting my eyes.

Shoveling forgotten, I stood motionlessly, not quite believing what I was hearing. I was taken aback by how calm I was. Had I known earlier that Draco Malfoy was going to open up to me I probably would have had an aneurism. Now that he was doing so, however, I found myself much more concerned with what he was saying rather than why he was saying it. Somehow the subject felt bigger than my mild obsession, and believe me, that is saying something. I paused to think about what I wanted to say, a feat that I was quite proud of, before responding.

“I can’t imagine that going over too well,” I commented carefully, not wanting to break off the conversation by appearing too curious. I saw his facial expression tense, and maybe I was imagining it, but I could’ve sworn I saw his trademark sneer flash across his face for but a moment.

“Yes, well, that’s my father,” he said, as if that alone resolved the issue entirely.

Until that point I didn’t think my opinion of Lucius Malfoy could sink any lower. After all, not much comes to mind that is worse than the bane of all humanity. With that one statement I was introduced to what kinds of hell existed in Draco’s world, seemingly all of them there because of Lucius’s doing. I wanted to reach out to him, to ask him the innumerable questions plaguing my conscience about his father and his life, but that would be crossing the line, and with Draco Malfoy I didn’t quite yet know if I should even be close to it, let alone bounding over it like an eager puppy dog. By no means was I going to give up, though. I was much more confident in my sense of character than Ron and Harry’s, and I was becoming more and more intrigued with this particular character with every sentence.

He lifted his head to finally meet my now wavering expression, and when he did so I couldn’t help but offer a sympathetic look as I saw the mask smother the real Draco underneath its surface. I should have known he wouldn’t take kindly to such empathy, especially from someone he wasn’t even supposed to trust. He narrowed his eyes in an almost painful manner. I tried to silence his voice in my head telling me to stop wasting my time for trying to understand him, no doubt the very echo of what he was thinking at the exact moment.

“Bloody hell, Weasley, do I have to do everything? I thought you were the professional snow-shoveler, here,” Draco smirked, picking up his shovel and moving to my side of the path.

I blanched at his digression, but recovered quickly.

“For someone who’s never seen snow before you really are becoming quite adept at this, you know.” Jesus Christ the boy was lucky I was quick witted; I wondered if Ron would ever be able to hold a conversation of such a nature.

“For someone who looks like they don’t know how to spell my name your wit makes you an acceptable conversationalist,” he shot backwards as he made short work of the remaining then feet on my side of the path.

I had to laugh—which I carefully disguised, less he’d think I’d gone mental—at his use of the word ‘acceptable’. With Draco that was the best I was going to get.

“That and I speak my mind,” I mused. I walked—shuffled really, because of the bum leg—behind him, clearing up any stray snow he missed. “We’re nearly there, aren’t we?”

“It’s hard to tell with the snow, but it feels like we’ve been on this path for a good half-mile. I expect it’s right around the next corner,” Draco offered, jerking his head vaguely to the right.

“Splendid. Well, as long as one of us knows where we’re going. I can’t even make out where the ruddy corner is.” I felt no shame in admitting that I had next to no navigational skills.

“That, Weasley, is because you are a woman. You lack the internal compass that men posses, therefore giving us a much better sense of direction than you could ever hope to obtain,” Malfoy explained, throwing me a pathetic look.

I shrugged. “Agreed. I suppose it’s a good thing I fancy taking walks then, seeing as I’m no doubt going to spend much of my time lost. I also suppose, that since I am a woman, it’s very fortunate that I’m much more observant than any man, so when I do become lost, I can pick out landmarks to get my bearings back. Much like that fallen tree I just noticed that tells me Hogsmeade is indeed right around the corner.” I felt a surge of pride at that last part. It’s nice to know that I’m a resourceful person. Sure, when I was little I got lost in Ron’s magically enhanced walk-in closet due to a lack of navigational skill, but my resourcefulness more than makes up for the lack of directionality. Besides, it was a very messy closet, anyway. Could’ve happened to anyone, Captain Built-in-Compas here included.

“See? You’re not completely useless after all,” he answered a bit too sarcastically to be considered sincere.

I decided to let that one slip, as I had much more pressing things on my mind, such as the prospect of sipping a butterbeer once we made it to the village. My cloak was becoming damp and my aching legs were begging for a respite from the labor. Rosmerta would owe us anyway. I shuffled past him as he pushed aside the last load on the pathway before the bend, deliberately ignoring the fact that our coats brushed against each other.

Just as I was beginning to fantasize about the sweet liquid’s no doubt glorious affect on my damp form, my dreams were squashed. Come to think of it, smothered would be a much better word. Or even better yet, buried! You get the idea. In any case, any chance of acquiring a butterbeer in the near future was completely destroyed as I rounded the corner to find all of Hogsmeade lost underneath thick, waist-deep snow.

And it was still. Coming. Down.

The little valley the village rested in created a sort of swimming pool if you will, with all the houses floating about helplessly in its midst.

I heard the soft click of Draco’s boots on the stone as he emerged from the forest behind me. I remained frozen, not believing the sight before me eyes. That didn’t prevent me from hearing the almost inaudible gasp that escaped his lungs as he discovered our predicament. I pushed that to the back of my mind. I had much more serious things to worry about at the moment, such as avoiding being turned into a rather unattractive, red-headed snow person.

“How…” I breathed, lifting a mitten-wrapped hand in the direction of the almost invisible dwellings. I saw him shake his head out of the corner of my eye. Evidently I wasn’t the only one who was completely shocked. That was somewhat comforting; at least we were both on the same page, here. Even if it was absolute horror, it was nice to know we were in the same boat.

“I have no idea…” I heard him whisper.

“Do you think the trees….?” I wondered aloud, looking backwards at the path we had just cleared in the overhang.

“Perhaps they prevented much of the snow from falling there,” he finished for me, nodding slightly.

I shivered as a gust of wind cut into my back.

“We were in there for a good hour," he continued, "I expect another foot must have fallen when we were in the woods.”

A terrible thought then occurred to me.

“Oh shit.”

“What now?” he cringed, almost whining.

Had the circumstances been different, I was quite sure I would have seized the opportunity to make fun of him. As it was, I stared off blankly into the swirling white haze as I contemplated our doom.

“I just realized how completely ruined we are, that’s all.”

“How do you mean?” He turned to look at me.

I resisted the urge to start crying like a sad, pathetic, whimpering mess of a girl on his very sturdy looking shoulder.

“If another foot of snow fell here while we were in the trees, another foot certainly fell in the courtyard that we spent an hour clearing as well,” I reminded him, though judging by the look on his face he looked like he remembered quite well. “It’s going to be completely blanketed when we go back. We’re going to have to shovel the whole ruddy thing over again.”

There was silence for about ten seconds as that sunk in.

“And you say you like snow?” he asked incredulously, staring out at the white rooftops with wide eyes.

I nodded slowly. He raised a fair point. I felt like an idiot.

“I can’t imagine the bloody hell why!”

“Well it’s not all bad,” I defended innocently, trying desperately to remain optimistic.

“Not all bad, is it? Weasley, if you can name one good thing about this snow or this detention assignment, I’ll buy you dinner. Twice.”

Oh I could name a reason, alright. And even though I was quite certain Draco considered himself an attractive person, I was absolutely certain he didn’t appreciate looking at himself as much as I did. No, I would have to come up with something else entirely, for that was completely out of the question.

How about the new experience it introduced him to? I bit my lip. Something told me Draco didn’t really care to be introduced to anything related to physical labor or Muggles. Since this was both combined, he probably wouldn’t think that such a good feature. I personally was enjoying the pretty landscape, but I wasn’t exactly sure if Draco even knew what the word ‘pretty’ meant, so that was a no-go. No, I definitely needed a much more boring, masculine reason…

I glanced sideways at him, and saw him roll a pair of knotted shoulders. I blinked, stuffing my hands in my pockets to defend against reaching over and running them across his back.

"I’d wager it’s responsible for that muscle tension.” I hadn’t realized my observation had been vocalized until he looked over at me, abandoning his attempt to discretely roll his shoulders. I felt like clamping a hand over my mouth.

“I don’t have muscle tension,” he sneered.

I turned away. “Right, of course not,” I answered. I rolled my eyes. Malfoy’s don’t get muscle tension! What was I thinking? What a good for nothing—

“But if I did, how would that possibly be a good thing?” his voice cut in.

I closed my eyes for a moment to refrain from glaring at him. He always had to save himself at the last second, didn’t he? Right when I was ready to pass judgment he made me completely reconsider his character. There was only one ailment that could possibly cause this habit in a human being: he was male. And to think, Malfoy to boot! That alone explained a hell of a lot about his character.

“Must’ve given you a right good workout, then,” I pointed out. “My calves are killing me,” I added, so as to make him feel more manly and such. He snapped his head down to my ankle, and I mentally groaned, having forgot he would freak out at the mention of my injury.

“Your calves or your ankle?”

“Never mind that. The point is I found something good about spending the day in a snowball,” I grinned.

He looked less than amused. “Hardly…” he muttered to himself. “Let’s just get this blasted task over with before we’re up to our elbows in the wretched substance.”

I looked over to where I imagined the stairs leading down the hill were located and laughed.

“After you,” I said. There was no way I was going to jump headlong into a four-foot mound with Draco Malfoy at my back. No sir. If anyone was going to be the fool here it’d be him. I took a step back so as to allow him a nice clear spot to jump from.

Draco turned to look at me, and I decided I definitely didn’t like the look he had on his face. He placed a gloved hand on his heart, or where a normal person’s heart was located, and took a step towards me.

“What kind of common filth do you take me for, Weasley?”

My stomach clenched as I realized what he was talking about. Oh god…

“The blond sort?”

He smirked.

I knew where this conversation was going, and I didn’t like it one bit. I may be a Gryffindor, but even the bravest feel fear, and at that moment I felt about as stoic as Neville Longbottom. He openly smiled, and I lost any nerve I had ever possessed.

In no more than a second I was spinning around madly, fleeing down the cobblestone like a frightened ninny. In my haste I didn’t exactly take into account the fact that I was wearing oversized, heavy boots, or that there was still a small amount of snow dusting the pathway. I skidded around the corner and took off like a banshee down the straight shot. The instant I got my first good stride in I knew it was a losing battle. My boots made running next to impossible, and I got little to no traction on the slippery surface we had only just shoveled. Still, I raced forward. I had absolutely no idea where I was going, but as long as it was away from Malfoy, I frankly didn’t care.

As if to mock me, I suddenly became aware of an utterly terrifying sound: the rapid snap of what I knew could only be Draco’s expensive boots against the stone. If at all possible, my panic level increased. Whether or not that was to my benefit I didn’t know—there was already enough adrenaline pumping through my veins to get a two ton whale moving. My already aching calf began to scream in protest at the exertion, and I could feel it lagging behind the other miserably as I sprinted. I cursed under my breath. I didn’t know if I could keep him chasing me forever, but you don’t grow up with six older brothers and gain nothing from it; I didn’t doubt that I’d give him a run for his money. That, of course, was taking into account that this blasted leg be completely functional.

I focused all my energy on running, only aware of the thudding of my heart in my chest and the sharp crack of Draco’s boots. I pressed onward, the pain in my leg almost unbearable, my mind trying to tell my frantic heart that I was only imagining the footsteps becoming louder. The tingling in my spine suggested otherwise, and in my distraction I stumbled over my bum ankle, miraculously managing to maintain my momentum. I knew then that it was over.

Before I could properly brace myself a pair of arms encircled me, stilling my getaway and pulling me flush against a firm chest.

“Ah, the thrill of the chase,” a raspy voice breathed in my ear.

I shivered, struggling unsuccessfully in his grip.

“I have to admit, Weaslette, you’re a fair runner, though your form is a bit rough around the edges.”

I gasped as my legs lifted off the ground momentarily.

“Now as I was saying before you very rudely abandoned me, what kind of person do you take me for?” He whirled me around much too easily for my taste despite my efforts.

I tried to elbow him, but my arms were nearly pinned to my sides beneath his own. When that didn’t work, I tried stomping on his foot, only to discover that the high price I knew he had paid for his boots must have been worth it, for they were much too sturdy to allow any pain to reach his foot. Things were not looking good for Ginny Weasley.

“Draco, let go!” I squawked as he began ushering me forward.

“Tsk, tsk, Ginevra, we’ve got a job to do!” he chastised.

I froze momentarily as he used my name, allowing him to lift me again and gain several yards. I dug the heels of my boots in resolutely.

“Don’t call me Ginevra. I hate that name.” I glared at his shadow in the snow.

“What would you have me call you then?” he whispered.

I felt my head cloud as something truly exotic smothered my thoughts. My knees gave out, destroying the brace I had formed, and I lost another few yards against Draco as I nearly fell to the ground.

That, ladies and gents, was the first time I smelled Draco Malfoy’s cologne. Good thing I didn’t lose control, eh?

“Ginny? Is that what you prefer?” His voice was probably the only thing that could have pulled me out of my near comatose state.

“Yes, and Ginny really wants you to let go of her,” I nearly begged. I wasn't sure how long I could last before doing something I'd regret. That and I wasn't too keen on jumping into the snow.

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question. We have a job to do, and I can’t have you running away now, can I?”

“I’m not going anywhere near that snow bank.” I heard him laugh, his breath tickling my neck.

“I think you mean you’re not willingly going anywhere near that snow bank.”

“I’m not going at all. Period.”

He sighed. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but if you won’t cooperate, you don’t leave me with much choice.”

I felt his hold lessen for a moment, but I knew better than to expect him to give up. What I did not expect, however, was for the idiot to pick me up entirely. I shrieked as he scooped my legs off of the ground, capturing them under the knees.

“P-put me down, you maniac!” I cried, eyes widening as we rounded the corner. I kicked violently, but the only thing I managed to achieve was a striking resemblance to a small child throwing a fit. I swallowed as he stepped up to the edge of the hill, not wanting to peer over the edge.

“Now, where were we? Ah, yes, my manners,” Draco drawled, smirking down at me.

I looked up at him in horror. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He raised his eyebrows, smiling arrogantly.

He would, and we both knew it.

“Ladies first, darling,” he winked—yes, he had the audacity to actually wink—and without further ado, yours truly was dropped unceremoniously into a waist-deep snow bank.

END CHAPTER 9

THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHAPTER 10

Initially the only thing residing in my head was rage. I must elaborate though, as that makes it sound much too simplistic and this really wasn’t your every day kind of fury. Oh no, this was a blinding, white-hot surge that made me momentarily consider killing the prat standing behind me, even if it meant going to Azkaban. Though it did only last a few moments, the wrath managed to rear its ugly head. Course, it wouldn’t have been nearly as ferocious if he hadn’t opened his clearly enormous mouth to antagonize me first.

“How’s the water, Weasley?” he called dubiously.

My eyes narrowed dangerously at the lightness of tone he dared to use. “Unless you want to find out in a rather disagreeable fashion, I suggest you shut your mouth you pompous—”

My colorful sentence broke off at the sound of crunching snow behind me. Brow furrowing in confusion, I turned around to find the source of the noise, and nearly cursed upon seeing him now well past knee-deep in the snow bank with me. Until recently I hadn’t really considered myself a person who was often caught off-guard. It was moderately vexing that he had managed to do so probably close to a dozen times already, and I doubted it would stop there. My momentary fit of rage was replaced with some twisted type of calm wonder. Once again he managed to save himself from judgment! Call me foolish, but it was during that moment in which I came to terms with the verity that not only would Draco Malfoy continue to surprise me, but there was a good chance I wouldn’t understand the reasoning behind half of the things he did. I suppose it’s a rather good thing that I’m persistent, for I still planned on trying to understand.

“You know, as humorous as seeing you nearly up to your arse in snow is, I expect we’ll both get swallowed up in a matter of minutes if we don’t start moving,” he called.

Now completely unsure of how I was supposed to be reacting to the entire situation, I really had no choice but to simply nod mutely, my eyes meeting his in an almost exhausted manner. I turned around rather awkwardly, pausing momentarily to stare down the path toward our destination is resignation. I don’t like being pessimistic, but at that point only one word summed up my thoughts concerning the whole matter.

Shit.

I timidly wiggled a leg to get a feel for how this was going to work. I began to slowly pull it upwards when a very uncomfortable situation arose. I realized quite suddenly that the snow was much too high to allow me to pick my feet up and step through the embankment lest I was very, very flexible. Even if I was capable of such a feat, that clearly wouldn’t be something I would want to exhibit in front of Malfoy anyhow. Damn it all, I was going to have to wade through the snow like a bloody fish—a fish! I don’t even like fish! Curse my short legs.

Hesitantly I began to drag my limbs through the mound, trying not to dwell on the icy twinge of the snow seeping through my layers of clothing. It felt like I had strapped lead to the bottom of my feet, and after only the first step I could feel my muscles groaning in protest. Still, I pushed onward until I felt something solid underneath my boot—presumably the ground.

“Err….Weasley?” his voice cut in.

I ignored him. He was breaking my focus.

Now let me tell you, that strenuous first step was an absolute cake walk compared to what happened next. As I began to heave my questionable ankle through the mound I was met by a sharp, biting pain so excruciating I thought the joint had clearly snapped in two yet again. On top of the ankle issue, the feeling of the ice scraping against my no doubt tattered and bruised calf was no walk in the park to deal with either. Note to self: ankle cannot yet be stretched or pulled.

I ceased the movement immediately, but not quickly enough. I wasn’t able to prevent the curse from escaping my lips.

“Bugger!” I whispered fiercely, and then very nearly cursed again upon realizing what would ensue.

“What’s the matter?” I heard his voice call out sharply.

I froze for a moment, though this time figuratively, praying he wouldn’t start badgering me about my blasted ankle. I didn’t have to put much effort into the cover up that followed, as I quickly fed him the other problem instead.

“I can’t bloody move, that’s what!” My voice climbed a bit higher than usual as I lied, but I doubted he would notice. I could have sworn I heard him sigh in relief, but I could have also sworn that at that point I was a bit hysterical. I was cold. I wanted a Butterbeer. My stocking was all bunched up in the toe of my boot. I could feel melted snow running down my pants. Something on my lower leg was causing me immense pain. And on top of it all, I really, really wanted Draco to pick me up again. I guess that made me a shivering, thirsty, uncomfortable, soggy, sore, lusty, lump of a girl. Comforting thoughts, those, I must say.

“I’d say that’s a problem, yes,” he snickered. “Call me crazy, but usually walking is a pretty efficient method of moving oneself about.”

I sent him a glare over my shoulder that I hoped spoke for itself.

“However, since you appear to have legs of less than average length that may prove to be a bit difficult.”

The comment itself would have normally enticed a smart retort from me, but it almost seemed more like a statement of fact rather than an insult. I turned away from him, shaking my head in disgust as I wondered hopelessly if I was beginning to make excuses for him. As if the spoiled thing didn’t have enough people kissing his arse already, honestly. Usually I’m not a very self-conscious person, but turning into just another one of those lovesick fools was simply not a priority of mine, and the notion that I was perhaps creating a false illusion in my head left me with a very unsettling feeling in my gut.

“May I suggest, Ginny, that you implement the use of your shovel?”

I stilled. Right. I hadn’t thought of that. Needless to say, other things seemed to be occupying my thoughts, effectively distracting me. Not only was he responsible for throwing me into the bleeding snow to begin with, but he was also the reason I couldn’t think of a way to get out. Amazing how everything can be tied back to him, isn’t it? I cleared my throat.

“Probably’d help if I knew where the bugger was,” I answered somewhat truthfully, thankful for the millionth time that day that he couldn’t read my thoughts. I could only imagine the smug look on his face had he known I hadn’t even thought of the shovel.

“You might try looking to the right,” he suggested casually.

My eyes darted in said direction and sure enough, there was a shovel shaped imprint embedded in the thick snow not five feet away. Smooth, Gin, real smooth.

Finding no words appropriate to lessen my apparent idiocy, I decided it best not to comment. After mumbling a quick thanks I grabbed the shovel—a task that proved somewhat difficult as I was stuck in place and could barely manage to stretch the five feet to reach it—and began awkwardly shifting small shovelfuls out of my path.

I continued in that fashion for the next several minutes, grateful for the silence that allowed me to, at the very least, appear somewhat collected. For nearly the first time since I had eaten breakfast that morning, my thoughts drifted to something other than Draco Malfoy—a sad fact indeed, I know, but I still felt somewhat proud of myself nonetheless. As I eyed The Three Broomsticks warily, I realized rather morosely that I was hungry as well, and I mentally added it to my growing list of ailments and disagreeable conditions. The list itself hardly needed to exist, as the aches in nearly every part of my body, whether they be because of a lack of food or because of the wind-blown hair of the blond behind me, were reminders enough. My eyelids began to slip, but popped open immediately as a swatch of grey meandered into the outer reaches of my peripheral vision.

I looked on with an expression somewhere between revulsion and absolute envy as Malfoy walked—yes, walked—past me through the snow. My eyes stared dejectedly at his back, and at some point my mouth fell slightly open as I sighed pathetically. Yes, the most rational thing to do was to start heaving away, as the snow surely wasn’t going to shovel itself—though the thought was quite pleasant—but at that moment I decided that anyone in my situation would also rationalize taking a minute or four to wallow miserably in self-pity, and if now wasn’t the perfect time for such a moment I’d strip down to my skivvies and make a snow angel whilst belting out a chorus of ‘God Save the Queen’.

After a few steps Draco must have realized that where a laboring, snow-shoveling Ginny should have stood, an utterly pitiable, completely motionless girl stood in her place, and he turned to look at me in confusion. His stone gaze darted from my expression, to the shovel hanging pathetically from my hand, to the snow separating us. I was slightly aware of the hint of a smile dancing across his features before an eyebrow arced suspiciously and he shook his head. I didn’t really have time to wonder what that look meant, but that was okay for two reasons.

The first was that if I was brutally honest with myself, I quite frankly didn’t care what that look meant, for at that point all I wanted was to get out of the sodding snow. Call me insensitive —perhaps even apathetic— but I wasn’t too hung up about it. After all, I had spent the better part of the day thus far interpreting the git’s every move; I deserved a break.

The second reason was fairly easy to understand. I didn’t have to wonder what the look meant because after a few moments Draco Malfoy was suddenly lifting large shovelfuls out of my path. I’m not exactly sure as to whether it was the prospect of perhaps not being stuck in the snow bank for all eternity, or because Draco was—for reasons that weren’t entirely clear, surprise, surprise!— assisting me for no apparent benefit of his own, but something managed to pull me out of my depressed stupor.

He worked quickly, and his movements were the most glorious sight I had ever seen. This was partially because they allowed me to start moving towards the pub, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that a large part of it was because of the sheer beauty of that moment. Falling snow whirled around him as the wind tousled his white-blond hair, the faintest of pink glows evident on his cheeks. In any case, the boy looked extraordinary, and that’s pretty much all you need to know.

Anyway, an odd sort of warmth began to fill me as I watched him, and I suddenly wanted to thank him, or say something, or…well, do anything to show my gratitude. My naughty subconscious suggested giving him a nice “gracious” hug, but I squashed that idea with moderate difficulty. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t for the life of me come up with any way to thank Draco Malfoy without sounding like a complete buffoon. If you don’t believe me try it sometime and you’ll realize just how intimidating the task is.

Draco closed the remaining distance between us as he threw the last shovelful aside. I watched as his eyes almost reluctantly began the trek up to my own, and only when they touched mine in a near timid manner—and had it been any other person, I would have used that word, but since it was Draco we were talking about, I suppose that ‘hesitant’ would be a much better way to describe it—did he straighten to his full height. I felt the warmth from earlier intensify, and offered him the only type of gratitude I could think of, the corners of my mouth turning upwards in a small smile.

If there was one thing I had noticed about Draco over the years it was the degree of restraint he exercised when trying to act indifferent. Countless times before I had seen him glower at Harry, knuckles white with rage before stalking away, or watched as he plastered a sneer on his face to mask the fact that he found a joke funny. It was quite a change of pace then, when I saw him return the gesture, his eyes open and genuine. It only lasted a second before he seemed to snap back to reality, his brow furrowing as he shook his head. I didn’t fail to notice however, that the smile never completely left his lips. His cool grey eyes seemed to regain their usual daring after a moment, and they flicked with amusement as the smile spread into a smirk.

“So d’you still like snow, then?” He raised an eyebrow expertly.

I tried not to notice, but I did anyway. Funny how that works, isn’t it? My smile grew at his words as I detected the teasing undertone hidden amongst them.

“This isn’t just a snowfall anymore, I’m afraid. We’re standing in the middle of a right nasty blizzard,” I responded, looking up into the swirling cyclone of snow that was the sky. “Well, at least I can get to the pub now.”

Draco bit back a sarcastic laugh. “You don’t honestly think I’m going to shovel the whole way for you, do you?”

I felt my stomach turn in on itself. Honestly? No, I hadn’t. That didn’t mean that I wasn’t hoping, though…

“Of course not. I’m perfectly capable of shoveling myself anyhow,” I replied haughtily, trying to cover up any evidence that would suggest I had thought otherwise.

He made another sound in his throat. “And you expect me to wait here while you dig yourself out of this hell hole? Think again, Weasley, for you have greatly overestimated my morality.” He smirked again, unaware that he had just vocalized my fears.

My mind went painfully blank. A silent moment passed.

“Have I?” I asked quietly, much to my own surprise as well as Draco’s. He looked a little taken aback by my change of tone, and his smirk all but vanished. I was wise in not expecting an answer, for the only means of reply was a hollow look followed by the shift of his eyes to the ground. If I hadn’t known any better, it would almost appear that he didn’t know the answer himself.

I suddenly felt a little guilty over asking him such a question, and in hopes of sparing him any further discomfort, stepped around him to continue shoveling. Before I could even properly get the metal edge underneath the flakes, he spoke.

“Don’t do that,” he demanded in a calm voice.

It was like he had used reverse psychology or some such nonsense on me, for I felt my temper flare despite his tone. What did the sod want from me? I threw up my arms in exasperation, hoping for Draco’s own sake that he had best decide, less he acquire a rather nasty bruise on the back of his head.

“And why the bloody hell not?” I whirled, meeting his slate eyes in defiance. “Someone needs to shovel, and if you’re not going to shovel and I don’t shovel I really don’t see any possible way to get out of this…this..." I trailed off awkwardly—not something that usually happens to me, which only made me angrier.

Draco looked slightly amused.

“Am I missing something?” I cried. I was beginning to feel hysterical again.

My only response was an eye roll followed by the readjustment of his cap, which I was starting to hate as it made him look far too attractive for his own good. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps nobody ever told the git that an eye roll and a smirk weren’t acceptable means of conversation. God knows he didn’t appear to understand that concept.

“Well excuse me for not seeing the obvious!” I exclaimed sarcastically. “I’m not nearly as quick-witted as most people, because apparently I’m failing to notice something!” I choked back tears, and I realized that the hysterical thing wasn’t just a figment of my imagination. In horror I realized the dam had broken, but that didn’t stop my ranting.

“Weasley—”


“Please, Draco, enlighten me!”

“Weasley—”

“Really, I’m sorry you have to put up with me!”

I saw him sigh, and he abruptly thrust his shovel into my hands, expression strangely calm. “Hold this.”

I wasn’t really aware of the fact that I had obeyed, as I was far too concerned with making my voice as loud as possible and fighting the tightening sensation in my chest.

“I mean really, the last thing you need is some stupid, blubbering girl gallivanting about you!”

“Climb on my back.”

“The last thing I’d want is to turn into one of—”

I felt my mouth abruptly stop moving as his words sunk in, my breathing now coming in a series of shaky, uneven gasps.

“W-what?” I hiccupped, feeling the shovels falling loose from my hands at the thought.

“Just listen to me. You’re absolutely delirious.” He spoke slowly, his voice serious and somehow calming, as it had been that day in the Entrance Hall. “I’m going to carry you to the pub, but I need you to hold the shovels.” He raised his eyebrows in question, and I managed a nod.

He turned around, hunching over a bit so as to allow me to reach him easier. Looking back on that moment, it’s probably a good thing that I was a bit of a nutcase. I shudder to think of what kinds of thoughts would have entered my head had it been in normal, functioning order. I swallowed as my arms timidly wrapped around his neck, the shovels crossed over his chest in my hand. Draco reached behind me, his hands finding the backs of my knees.

“Wrap your legs around me.”

It didn’t occur to me to disobey his instruction, and I chose not to reason out why that was.

He shifted me up on his back, and slowly straightened up. “Bloody hell, you’re shaking,” he muttered in a low voice.

I closed my eyes and snuggled up against the think fabric of his coat, trying desperately to ignore the aches and pains while steady my breathing.

“S-sorry…” I mumbled into his collar. I wondered fleetingly if having his hands wrapped my legs had anything to do with the trembling. Or perhaps it was the proximity to his neck, as I could almost feel soft wisps of platinum hair against my cheek.

He turned his head to the side at my words, barely able to catch my gaze out of the corner of his eye.

My breath hitched irregularly again, and this time I knew it was his fault, as I couldn’t help but notice that with his head turned his thin lips were only inches from my own. I avoided letting the skin of my forehead press against his cheek, for I knew that it would all go down hill if I made any sort of contact. I closed my eyes as a wave of lightheadedness washed over me.

“It’s not like it’s your fault. Your blood sugar is probably low. Not to mention we’re both positively soaked,” he added gruffly. “Now don’t fall off, will you? I don’t want to have to dig you out again.”

I tightened my grip in response, not finding sufficient air in my lungs to speak.

I had expected the process to be rather jarring and incredibly slow-moving, but it was neither. Draco’s steps were even, and though they were a bit slower than usual, it didn’t appear that my weight was too strenuous on his frame. I peered through half-opened eyes down his torso, watching the powerful muscles of his legs tense with every movement. I let my eyes drift shut after awhile, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing and inhaling his magnificent cologne.

I lost track of just how far we had walked and how much time had passed. All I knew was that it took much longer to walk the one-hundred yards to the pub than it should have, and I mentally cursed McGonagall. The woman had sent us on a bloody suicide mission!

I felt Draco still beneath me, but was unable to open my eyes due to sheer exhaustion. He shifted my weight slightly, and a loud thumping sound that remotely resembled a boot colliding with wood made me realize we had reached The Three Broomsticks. The heavy oak door creaked open after a minute, and a strained, tired voice reached my ears.

“Oh, gods! You’re here! Hurry in, please!”

I vaguely attributed the voice to that of Rosmerta. I felt Draco move again, and was met with a flood of warm air and bright light. I squeezed my eyelids shut tighter.

“Ginny, you can let go of the shovels now,” a hoarse, sick-sounding voice whispered near my ear, and I realized with a start that it was Draco’s.

I did so gratefully, and after stretching my fingers painfully, let the shovels clatter to the floor.

“Minerva warned me that you’d be coming through! I frankly can’t believe she sent you out in this storm at all, ‘course I’m sure she had no idea…” Rosmerta had spoken again, but I had trouble placing it as the voices were starting to go a bit hazy. “There’s a spare room downstairs, please make yourselves comfortable. My lord you look absolutely horrid! Get yourselves warmed up and I can whip you up something to eat as soon as you like! Go on, now! Get some rest, will you?”

Draco’s breathy reply of thanks was the last thing I remembered before falling into unconsciousness.

END CHAPTER 10

THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHAPTER 11

I awoke with a bang. You know how usually when you wake up it’s a gradual, delicate process? I’m sure everyone has their own unique system, but in my case it usually includes admitting to yourself that your dream about some damned blond-haired boy wasn’t actually real, squinting as you grow accustomed to the presence of the cursed light that awoke you in the first place, and finally regaining feeling in your limbs as your senses kick in. Ten minutes later I’m usually what most people would consider ‘awake’. I’m sure you get some sort of image, right?

Now let me just say, I’ve woken up that way—with the exception of the ruddy dream, and as to whether or not that is good or bad I am still uncertain—for approximately ninety-nine percent of my life. Needless to say, I have grown rather accustomed to waking up in that sort of fashion.

Take a moment to imagine my alarm then, when my eyes were suddenly open, my breathing was completely erratic, thinking caused nearly physical pain, and my body was suddenly tingling all over. It was like I had been thrown into a pool and it had awoken me from a coma. I’ll say it again: I awoke with a bang.

I pushed aside the uneasy feeling in my mind and tried to grasp on to anything in order to gain my bearings about me. I vaguely recalled an unfamiliar voice opening a door, but the majority of my memory served as means of preserving the sound, feel and smell of someone else. I remembered hands beneath my knees, wool against my cheek and the tickle of raspy breath whispering in my ear. I closed my eyes again, fully under the impression that I had yet to overcome the ‘dream portion’ of my wake-up system.

It was then that it happened. Something soft gently brushed against my hand. Until that moment I hadn’t really looked at my surroundings. My eyes had been open before, yes, but I had been otherwise occupied with trying to remember exactly what had happened, and therefore hadn’t actually seen anything. I reopened my eyes, allowing them to immediately flicker to the source of the touch. There they were met by a sight so surreal I almost considered the possibility that I had imagined the feeling, for this was truly something I could only dream about.

Draco Malfoy was sound asleep. And he was lying next to me.

All at once I was grateful for my semi-groggy state of mind. I was nearly afraid to breathe for fear of waking him; Merlin knows what a shame it would be to shatter something so exquisitely beautiful.

Draco was lying on his stomach, his head turned to one side. His eyes were gently closed and his lips were parted slightly as he took slow, rhythmic breaths. Both of his arms were spread wide, and I noticed it was his slender fingers barely resting in my palm that had caused the sensation earlier. His cap lay forgotten on the bed several feet from his head, and I followed the line of his still-cloaked spine down to where his legs dangled off the mattress irregularly. The boy looked positively exhausted, as if he had simply collapsed, unable to make it completely onto the bed.

As soon as the thought entered my head I felt like slapping myself. He was exhausted, Ginny, you half-wit! He carried your sorry arse around, didn’t he?

From the looks of it, that was no easy task, either. Glancing down again, I realized quite suddenly that my own feet were hanging off the bed and that my arms were spread out, though I was on my back. I began to feel a bit guilty. From the looks of things, collapsing was exactly what Draco had done.

I lay there for awhile after the thought came to me, relishing the feel of his fingertips skimming my palm and the ruffled state of his platinum hair. I wasn’t exactly sure why, but the notion that Draco had almost—almost, demonstrated an interest in my well-being was somewhat endearing. Of course, I’m sure the way his eyelashes were floating across his skin had something to do with my sudden increase in...fondness for the bloke, because heaven forbid he look less than impeccable doing anything. I was tempted to run a finger across that skin, and I nearly did. I would have, too, if I hadn’t recognized that as I was now fully conscious, lusty thoughts and all, touching Draco probably wouldn’t be the best idea. Especially when he looked like—well, how he did.

Smiling slightly, I carefully slid my hand out from under his fingertips, taking immense care not to wake him. Utilizing all the abdomen muscle I had, I pulled my torso up with moderate difficulty. Making a mental note to tell Harry to intensify that aspect of our training, I moved to stand. Needless to say, my stomach muscles weren’t the only ones that were a bit achy. I stretched my arms to the ceiling, but it wasn’t until I attempted to walk around the small room that I realized one of my legs—I’ll give you one guess as to which one—was completely and utterly numb. I stumbled slightly, wincing as my hip connected with the corner of a desk, partly because of the pain and partly because of the rather loud noise it made. A Weasley wasn’t generally known for their grace, and I was no exception.

A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that Draco was still asleep. I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the thought that he, the One-who-was-always-in-control, was completely oblivious to what was going on around him. Smirking slightly, I turned, taking particular joy in yanking off my boots and—finally!—my bunched up socks. As I wondered where to put the items, I took the opportunity to examine the small room more closely.

A single bed draped in several thick blankets lay in the corner, and a desk—the one I had not so gracefully slammed into—sat on the wall several feet from the foot of the bed. A large, frayed rug covered the cold wooden floor, and a spindly coat rack was standing in the corner opposite the bed, not far from the small staircase leading to the door at the top of it. Finally, a rather worn armchair lay carelessly against the wall opposite the desk. From what I could tell, the room was below ground level, as there were no windows and the door at the top of the stairs indicated that we were surely below the rest of the pub.

I walked a bit unsteadily over to the coat rack and placed my boots against the stairs, hanging my damp cloak up on one of the hooks along with my equally wet socks, hat, scarf and mittens. Although the rest of my clothing was a bit damp as well, I really had no other option than to keep it on, and thus decided to make do.

This caused me to turn to Draco almost piteously. The chap was still fully clothed in his coat and boots, and from the awkward angle of his back hanging off the bed, he didn’t look too comfortable. Debating whether or not I dared using my efforts to help him, I couldn’t help but feel obligated as I looked back on what he had done for me today. Yes, he had given me numerous near heart attacks. Yes, he had set my skin on fire. Yes, he had thrown me into a snow bank. But he had also done more than his share of the shoveling, not to mention hauled me across the entire bleeding village.

I felt obligated. And grateful, too, I suppose. Either way, my mind was made up, and I marched purposefully over to the bedside; I had an unsettling feeling that the longer I debated on the matter, the more likely I was to lose my nerve. I didn’t really blame myself for that one. Undressing Draco Malfoy was a right bit intimidating, for reasons that need not be mentioned. I clasped my hands methodically as I took a moment to examine the er…situation. It really wasn’t my fault that my eyes thought it entirely necessary to glue themselves momentarily to his arse. Not that it was bad looking, mind you, but—well that’s really not the point. After my apparent hunger for eye-candy was sated, I decided that the best approach would probably be to simply lift his feet onto the bed, sort of turning him in the process.

I grabbed one booted foot in each hand and gave a hefty pull, but after my back nearly had a spasm under the strain, I realized I had probably best remove the boots and then move the idiot. As I undid the silver snaps on each, I couldn’t help but grin as I wondered if Draco had someone who did this for him when he was at home. Surely the prat was spoiled enough. I pulled off the boots, which was no easy task as I soon learned that the ruddy things were quite heavy, and placed them alongside my own behind the coat rack. This time when I lifted his legs I encountered no pressing problem other than the fact that the feel of his ankles beneath his stockings was something to be noted, and I didn’t fail to notice the definition of his calf muscles either. After situating him satisfactorily, I gathered his scattered hat and carefully removed a Slytherin green scarf from his neck, placing them on the coat rack to dry. I wasn’t nearly gutsy enough—or stupid, depending on how you looked at it—to attempt to remove his coat.

He still looked quite asleep after the whole ordeal, and after a final glance around the room, I decided to wander upstairs in search of a bathroom. My hair felt limp and matted, and I shuddered to think of what state my clothing must be in. Freshening-up definitely sounded like a good idea.

I ascended the small, wooden staircase and pushed open the door to find myself in a short, warmly lit hallway. Candlesticks adorned the walls, and I walked past several doors and around a corner before a larger, swinging door came into view. I stepped through and found myself in the familiar back hallway of the pub; the door I had entered from was marked “Employees Only” on this side. Entering a bathroom gratefully, I recognized that Rosmerta must have been letting us use a spare bedroom she kept in case of emergencies. Travelers often passed through, and the pub owner made a fair profit by sometimes administering rooms to folks in need when the Inn was full.

I stared long and hard into the mirror at the somewhat horrific sight before me. My hair was indeed matted into clumps from the frozen snow, and my eyes looked somewhat puffy from sleep. My lips were chapped and cracked from the cold, and perhaps oddest of all, a bit of dirt was on my left cheek. I was glad to know that Draco wasn’t awake to see this, let me say. After quickly using the facilities and washing my hands, I returned to the mirror and ran a bit of warm water over my face. I attempted to rake my fingers through my hair, but my efforts proved futile.

A desperate, brief examination of the bathroom revealed a “Friendly Wizard Travel Station” mounted on the far wall. I was elated to see that the remarkable device contained such things as toothpaste and toothbrushes, lotions, soaps and shampoos, nail files, and most blessedly of all, cheap plastic combs. I wasn’t too thrilled when I noticed that I’d have to pay two sickles and a knut for the damned thing, but for the second time since I’d woken up, I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. I reached into my trouser pocket grumpily for the required amount, amazed that I even had change floating around in there to begin with and officially pissed at the fact that if I had my wand a simple charm would have sufficed.

My disposition improved, however, after I had ran the thing through my hair, my locks now considerably softer than before. Well, no one can say that Ginny Weasley didn’t give it her all, eh? Waving a hand in dismissal, I left the bathroom and continued down the hallway to the main pub area, though the room was much different than it normally looked.

Most all of the tables and chairs were gone, save for a half-dozen small ones along the outside of the space. The large stone fireplace in the middle of the area danced with life and lamps burned on the walls, basking the room in a cheerful orange glow. I noticed three or four people sitting amongst the room as I stepped out from the hallway.

“You’re awake, then. Feeling better, are you?” Rosmerta greeted me from behind the bar, where it appeared that she was hastily working on the beginnings of a meal.

“Yes Ma’am. Well, I am, anyway. Can’t speak much for the other one as he’s still passed out downstairs,” I answered, watching as she stopped to send a seemingly pleased nod in my direction before turning once again to her barely started cooking.

“I imagine you’re hungry, eh? You look it. I can always tell when a witch or wizard is hungry.” She pursed her lips, her eyes smiling as she began to pull more ingredients out from cupboards I hadn’t known existed. “S'pose it comes from the business.”

At the mere mention of food my body suddenly became aware of the fact that it hadn’t eaten since ten o’clock that morning, and my frame suddenly became weak and shaky.

“I’m starved,” I admitted, glancing over the counter. “Is there anything I can do to help? I’m no gourmet chef, but I can chop vegetables and grill chicken.” To be honest, I felt it was the least I could do seeing as she had let the pair of us lodge up in one of her rooms for awhile. And hey, if it got the food cooked faster, why not help? It’s not like I had anything else to do at the moment. Sadly, I was kind of lost without Draco’s companionship. Not that I’d ever let him know that.

Rosmerta sent me a wary glance and then shrugged. “Why not?”

I smiled and moved behind the counter. “What exactly are we making?”

“Supplies are a bit short, I’m afraid. We’ve to make do with a fair amount of steaks, some onions and carrots—” Oh, marvelous. “—and a whole sack of potatoes,” she finished, kicking a large bag gently. “I figured we could throw all of it in some roasting pans with the onions for a bit of seasoning and end up with some pot roast and assorted cooked vegetables.” She looked to me and shrugged again.

“Sounds good to me,” I replied, pushing up the sleeves of my jumper in earnest. I wasn’t about to try my luck and admit that I hated carrots. Hell, I was so hungry I may even contemplate eating the damned things.

Rosmerta sent me a small grin in return. “I’ve also got a bit of whipping cream and marshmallows for hot chocolate later on, too. I reckon that’ll fill everyone up at least,” she said. She placed her hands on her hips and looked out at the various people gathered in the pub.

“I think you’re right,” I answered, following her gaze. It then occurred to me that most people would be in during a storm as bad as this, and suddenly wondered what on earth they were doing in the pub.

“Madam Rosemerta,” I asked curiously, “what are people doing in here on a night like this? I mean, with the storm and all, I’d have thought they’d stayed off at home.” I watched as she waved a hand, summoning two large cutting boards from thin air. I felt a pang of envy wash over me at her use of magic, and my fingers twitched longingly for the wand that was back in McGonagall’s room. If only we had been allowed our wands on detention this one time….

“Well, dear,” she said, pulling four large roasting pots out from low cupboards, “this lot here was among the last to leave the pub today when the storm began getting really nasty. They went straight off when I shooed them out, you see, a few going to the Inn for rooms, and the other pair heading off towards home, wherever that was. Some village about twenty miles from here, I think,” she mused, her eyebrows furrowing. “Anyway, by then all the rooms at the Inn had been up and taken, and it was far too disastrous to travel anywhere, so they came clobbering back here and I offered them to spend the night.”

“It’s that bad out? Everywhere, I mean?” I asked in disbelief.

She only nodded gravely as a means of response before turning to me with a potato peeler in one hand, and a knife in the other. “Which do you prefer?” She asked, raising her eyebrows, a small smile on her face.

“Potatoes please,” I said, reaching for the peeler. “I’ve had enough eye-watering for today. That wind outside is right nasty.”

Rosmerta chuckled, then turned to her cutting board as she reached for an onion. “I believe it. You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I’ve gotta say, it’s nice to have some female company around here.”

“It’s the least I could do to repay you for dinner,” I shrugged, viciously attacking a potato with the peeler.

“Don’t fret on it. It’s more than your male friend is doing, anyway.”

“Hardly surprising,” I answered under my breath, tossing the first potato into one of the roasters.

“Oh? He seemed like a nice boy, the way he lugged you through here, refusing to accept help when one of the other blokes offered to carry you downstairs, even though it was clear as day that the poor dear was exhausted. Seems to me he was pretty concerned for you.”

I snorted. Draco? A poor dear? I took a moment to be briefly astounded by how quickly Draco had managed to get Rosmerta wound around his finger. How disgusting.

“The day Draco Malfoy becomes concerned about anything other than his own hide—me especially, well the very idea is just…just…” I waved the potato peeler around in exasperation as I searched for a word worthy of the situation.

“Romantic?”

I nicked my thumb on the potato peeler.

“I was actually thinking more along the lines of unlikely,” I muttered, now feeling completely idiotic. I chose not to reveal to her that I was waiting for any indication that it was even possible. Was I that bloody obvious?

Rosmerta clicked her tongue. “You know what else this job has taught me?”

I stilled my peeling for a moment and glanced over at her.

“It’s taught me how to interpret first impressions. It takes other people days to learn what I can detect in minutes. That’s probably because that’s all I get. I have to learn quick. I’ve been wrong before, and I may have been wrong earlier when I said what I did about that boy of yours, but the last time I was wrong a bloke left me nine sickles instead of the ten I’d expected, if you know what I mean.” She looked meaningfully at me then, and gave a small wink.

I broke eye contact uneasily and continued the potato peeling. The woman honestly didn’t know Draco Malfoy if she thought he could care for me. Still, she had noticed that I had a romantic interest in him, a scary thought considering I hadn’t even mentioned him. Perhaps she wasn’t exaggerating when she said she wasn’t wrong often.

The whole thing was something to ponder as we worked, the winds outside still howling, the fire still dancing forcefully in the middle of the room. If I hadn’t been wearing slightly damp clothing I think the room would have been almost warm, if not cozy. I really didn’t mind preparing dinner with Rosmerta. After she had mentioned Draco initially she—thankfully—dropped the subject, and I discovered that she was a fairly funny lady as she told me story after story about her various adventures at the pub. Her words from earlier still echoed in the back of my mind despite the distraction, though, and a small part of me wasn’t paying her the slightest bit of attention. I felt bad about it, too. Not to mention I was a little worried I was going to slice off a finger.

Soon enough the roasting pans were all filled, and the only thing left to do was to put them in the ovens. Rosmerta waved me off when I offered to help her with anything else, and after I washed my hands I told her I was going to wake Draco for dinner. A lie—I had no intention of waking the boy, instead simply intent on finding out if he was still asleep—but I also had no intention on making it any more clear to Rosemerta that I might fancy Draco, and making it sound like I was afraid to wake him made me sound like a right pansy. It very well may have been too little too late as far as that subject was concerned, but forgive me if I felt the need to scrape that together as means of self-assurance.

I escaped from her presence with little more than a small smile on her part and padded down the hallways towards the door leading to our room. Our room—Christ almighty, I made it out to sound like the two of us were living together willingly, on bloody holiday or something. I ran a hand over my face as I neared our—the, yes the door, thinking rather morosely that I had never felt so completely and utterly hopeless in my entire life.

And then I turned the door handle.

Now I’m only going to say this once in hopes of minimizing the embarrassment that I endured within the next few moments, so pay attention so you can just get your laughs over and done with.

I turned the door handle and pushed open the silent door to the small room, eyes cast downward as I focused on the stairwell. As I started to descend, however, I glanced up casually, anticipating Draco to be asleep on the bed, or sitting in the armchair in that cool, detached manner of his.

That expectation was…well, it was shot to hell, really.

Draco was not asleep on the small, blanketed bed. Nor was he lounging about in the tattered armchair. He wasn’t even looking about in disgust at his humble surroundings. No, Draco was instead standing in the center of the room, his back to the doorway, removing his sweater. It wasn’t really the act of seeing a male shed clothing that I found startling—I had grown up with far too much of that to find it alarming. There would have been no problem whatsoever—or so I liked to think—if his white button-up shirt hadn’t stuck to his sweater and revealed a very long, very lean back as he pulled it over his head. I couldn’t stop my eyes from roaming from his exposed waist to the hypnotic way his shoulder blades moved as he shed the garment. Yes, it was only a glimpse, as the shirt quickly fell back into place, but a glimpse was all it took. One glimpse. One second.

And in my case, one missed stair. To this day I swear he did it on purpose. I mean honestly, people, nobody, not even Draco himself, could have planned it better. In the precise moment my foot moved to the next stair, I got an eyeful of a semi-shirtless young man, and it hit me like a slap in the face. As the shirt fell back into place I too fell, though not nearly as gracefully. No, my fall was more comparable to the earlier shock I had felt. Boom, down. Like cement. A cement block that was rolled down a flight a stairs.

I cringed as one of my knees slammed into the wood of the stairs, sending me sideways down the steps at a breakneck speed and into the wall opposite them with a deafening thud. Somewhere in the process a flailing arm had collided with something hard, and my back ached something fierce. One of my legs was twisted underneath me, and the other was pressed painfully against the wall. I couldn’t really breathe without risking my chest collapsing in on itself, so I did the only logical thing given my situation: I remained on my back, staring at the ceiling with wide, panicked eyes.

In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have remained there like that, but at the time, I figured I had nothing to lose. And then a blond head appeared above me and all the embarrassment came crashing down on my like a ton of bricks. The git didn’t even speak, instead raising a usual eyebrow—though his eyes were unusually wide, as if startled—and making enduring the moment all the worse. It was that moment that replaced the ‘our room’ instance as the most hopeless in my entire life. I had tripped down the stairs at the mere sight of him. My gods, if that didn’t make me a hopeless case, I didn’t know what would.

“Ow,” I managed to breathe through burning lungs.

He looked at me a moment, eyes flickering about my disoriented form, and I was pretty sure he shook his head a little, but I couldn’t be quite sure, for I was still a little dizzy.

“Weasley?”

“Uh?”

“For fucks sake, are you trying to kill us both?” His voice remained calm, but nonetheless I blinked quite distinctly as his normally pristine speech became dirtied with curses. “First you try to give me a heart attack by means of that huge cacophony of a noise, and what’s more, you try to break your neck in the process.”

I continued to look up at him, a sudden gratitude washing over me as he lightened the mood. I can’t be entirely sure, but I am fairly certain I would have died had he submitted me to ridicule.

“Point taken,” I grunted as I strained to lift myself up from the floor. I felt a hand reach down and assist my back while another slipped under a shoulder, pulling me up. I couldn’t help but lean against him as he lifted me, seeing as my knees were a bit quaky and it felt like someone was driving an elbow into my spine.

“You’re lucky I don’t scare easily and that you chose to fall down a rather short staircase,” his drawled bemusedly.

I chose not to comment back, as I was far too furious with the fact that he was touching me and I was too preoccupied with trying to discern right from left to enjoy it. Why, whenever he touched me, did it have to be under circumstances in which I couldn’t get the full experience? I took a few slow breaths, closing my eyes in hopes of regaining control over my equilibrium and temper, and for what felt like the first time in years, something happened the way I expected it to, both things effectively assuaged when I reopened my eyes.

“I think I can stand now, thanks,” I said in what I thought to be a stoic manner, pointedly annoying the voice telling me to prolong his touch.

He simply raised an eyebrow, his hands unmoved. “I don’t believe you.”

I experienced a small bout of déjà vu at his words, as they were nearly identical to the ones he had used after I had trashed my ankle on the potatoes.

“Really, it’s okay,” I assured, taking a timid step forward. ” I’ve just got a little kink in my—“ I gasped a little as I tried to straighten my back more fully, the aforementioned kink more apparent than I had originally thought.

“Kink, eh?” Draco grinned wickedly.

I tried to glare, but it didn’t work quite as well when I was gasping for breath.

“I thought as much,” he said smugly. The hand that was bracing my shoulder wrapped around to between my shoulder blades, the other resting at the small of my back. Quite suddenly he ushered me to him, the front of my body nearly pressed against his.

“Draco what’re you—”

“Arch your back.”

“Why—“

“That wasn’t a question,” he advised, voice dropping an octave as his lower hand slid up to the curve of my spine and began applying pressure when I didn’t do as he demanded. Immediately I felt a heat well up inside me at his insistent, powerful manner, and when his low, commanding voice reached my ears I couldn’t help but obey. I swallowed as I felt the hard lines of his body against my own.

“Like this?” I asked unsteadily.

“Yes,” he answered quietly and absentmindedly, a hand gently applying pressure with lean fingers as it trailed up and down my spine as if in search of something. This continued for a few moments until his fingers reached a sensitive spot, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from me. I jerked my head back slightly in pain, my gaze shifting from his chest to his eyes. Unbeknownst to the rest of my being, I stilled completely, more than a little lost at the vision he made. His eyes had transformed again, flaring with intensity as his lips quirked to one side. I was captivated. Go figure.

“Aha,” he mused, fingers treading delicately along the tender area. “That’s quite the kink.” I didn’t respond, as my voice was lost somewhere in the gray of his eyes and the soft circles his fingers were beginning to make. He increased the pressure slightly, and I winced.

“Relax,” he said in the same quiet voice, eyes softening. I complied, and felt the tension lessen as his fingers, which were now making deep, deliberate movements, worked. “Now arch your back again.”

I did, a firm hand jerking forward as I conformed, a single vertebra cracking from the movement. I couldn’t help refrain from gasping in shock, and I realized with wide eyes that the ache was no longer there at all.

His face became serious at my outburst, his gaze now steady and unwavering as it held my own. After a few moments I saw him swallow slightly, and he gave an almost undetectable nod before removing his hands from my back.

I didn’t know what to say. Can you blame me? I mean honestly, what do you say when a bloke massages your back and makes your pain vanish into thin air? Somehow a simple thank-you doesn’t quite fit the bill, and my response was only slightly—if at all—better.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” I asked stupidly, and then immediately wondered if I really wanted to know the answer. “Thank you, Draco,” I added quickly, cringing inwardly as I resorted to it. Hey, it was all I had, alright?

His face turned impassive, and he turned away from me then, nodding to himself and running a hand through his hair. I couldn’t help but wonder innocently if Draco had a problem accepting gratitude. When his shoulders tensed I tried my best not to recall how they had looked divested of any clothing, and despite my valiant efforts, lost the fight.

Fortunately, Draco seemed to regain his composure, and turned around once more, smirk intact. “Well haven’t you been the happy little homemaker,” he commented, waving a hand in the direction of the coat rack, which was now knocked to the ground. I vaguely remembered coming into contact with something on my ‘stroll’ down the stairs and made a mental note to move the bastardly thing later.

“Yes, well…” I shrugged, masking my embarrassment as his gaze fell to his boots, “I certainly didn’t want to lounge about in my snow things, and I figured you’d feel the same.” I considered apologizing about the intrusion of personal space, but trashed that idea as I remembered how his ankles had felt beneath my fingertips. Oh no, I wasn’t sorry for that one bit.

Draco didn’t respond, a lopsided grin and slight lift of eyebrows my only indication as to what he was thinking. I should get a medal for all the bloody malarkey I go through to understand the moron, really.

“Anyhow, the whole reason I came down here in the first place was to see if you were awake, and you—” I lost my train of thought momentarily as the image of his back flashed across my mind again. Yes, he most surely had been awake. “You are. Madam Rosmerta and I just finished dinner and I came to fetch you. If you’re hungry, that is.”

“You cooked dinner, Weasel?”

“I assisted, yes,” I replied, pointedly ignoring his use of the nickname.

His golden eyebrows arched yet again. “Excellent. I’m sure you’ve had loads of practice with that sort of thing? Can’t be all bad, then, I’d imagine.”

My eyes narrowed slightly. If it hadn’t been for his barely snotty tone, the statement would have been almost friendly, and in normal circumstances, it probably wouldn’t have bothered me at all. Perhaps I overreacted a bit, but in my defense, I was one very, very food-deprived witch.

“Oh come off it. If you don’t want to eat my cooking, fine. I thought I was doing you a favor by coming to see if you were hungry—“

“Who said I wasn’t hungry?”

“You—“

“I didn’t.”

“You—oh sod this. I’m starving, and if you’re going to insist on being a—“

“Wonderful, I’m famished myself. Though this isn’t quite right…by our little wager earlier, I should be the one giving dinner,” he trailed off, and I suddenly felt like a fool. I had just let Draco Malfoy lure me into a trap. He had intentionally gotten me riled up, yet I was astonished that he even remembered that part of our conversation.

I stood there for a moment, during which I continued to feel incredibly foolish, not saying anything. Draco crossed his arms.

“Isn’t dinner upstairs?”

“It is, yeah.”

I felt a hand touch my back.

“Well then lead the way. Can’t have you nearly breaking your neck again, and at least this way you’ll run into me and not the wall if you fall, which I’m beginning to think is inevitable.” He rolled his eyes and guided me towards the stairs, which I dazedly climbed. Caught somewhere in the midst of bewilderment and surprise, I decided right then that I couldn’t rule anything out when it came to Draco Malfoy, Madam Rosmerta’s thoughts included.

END CHAPTER 11