Draco Malfoy was a complete and utter prat.

He had the strongly misconstrued conception that he was the center of the bloody universe. His arrogance radiated from his body in a kind of overbearing, pugnacious stench. To be quite honest, Ginny Weasley was amazed that the git was able to get off the ground on his broomstick, let alone play Quidditch, what with that huge inflated ego weighing him down.

Draco Malfoy was a complete and utter prat.

“Weasley,” he would spit out as they passed in the corridors, his lip curling up into an unattractive sneer.

“Malfoy,” she would reciprocate, scowling and sending him a glare that she had learned from her mother, the kind that was able to make even George and Fred whimper and beg for their lives.

Draco Malfoy was a complete and utter prat.

He jeered at her every time she stalked past the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. He taunted her mercilessly about her old puppy-dog crush on Harry. He made jabs at her family, especially Ron, at every opportunity that he was able to. And every time he knew that some comment of his had hurt her, his face would take on this smug expression, something like a cross between the way a cat looks at a canary and the way Umbridge had looked at Dumbledore. Ginny would stare back at him with this fierce, unflinching look, silently and furiously vowing that she would not rest until she succeeded in wiping that insufferable smirk off of his pale, obnoxious face.

Draco Malfoy was a complete and utter prat.

She hated him, with every fiber of her being. She hated his cold, hard eyes, eyes that looked upon the world with conceit and disdain. She hated each strand of near-white blond hair that covered his head and spent endless hours wondering what it would be like to yank out a handful of it and laugh as the prick rolled on the floor in pain. (Hermione regularly suggested anger management to Ginny.) She hated his nose, his ears, his fingers, his skin- anything and everything about Malfoy right down to the nail on his pinky toe was something that she loathed. She was actually quite proud of the fact that she could rant on for three hours about the hideousness and complete stupidity of the boy. Her friends weren’t so pleased.

Draco Malfoy was a complete and utter prat.

Ginny could not believe her luck that she had to born into the same universe with someone as asinine and insufferable as Draco Malfoy. It was unfair, that’s what it was, to have to interact with a git like him. If she could, she would do humankind a favor and simply shove him off the edge of a very tall cliff. A lifetime in Azkaban was nothing compared to a world purged of the idiot’s existence.

After all, Draco Malfoy was a complete and utter prat.


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Ginny glared up at Malfoy’s smirking face from the cold stone ground. Around them, his fellow Slytherins were sniggering and congratulating their comrade on an excellent humiliation of the little despised Weasley. Malfoy looked back at her with cold, unblinking eyes and a contemptuous scorn upon his face.

She broke the staring contest first. Struggling to her feet and brushing off her school skirt, Ginny whirled around to face him, furious, her face as red as the hair that tumbled down her shoulders.

“Oh, that was nice Malfoy, real original, tripping me in front of all your little simpering friends. It hurt real deep too, maybe I’ll go find a corner and cry now.” Ginny angrily swept a strand of hair up out of her face and jabbed a finger into his chest, contemplating whether or not she should stomp on his toes too, just for good measure. Malfoy leered above her.

“Ginny? What’s going on?”

Ron, with Harry and Hermione fast on his heels, had hurried over the moment he saw Draco Malfoy trip his baby sister in the middle of the Great Hall. Malfoy’s lips turned up into that all-too-familiar sneer.

“Well, well, the gang’s all here. Come to protect your precious little Weaslette?” Contempt shone from Malfoy's eyes.

Ginny rounded on him again. “Shove off, you great prick, I don’t need to be protected.”

Malfoy merely raised an eyebrow and continued smirking. “Why yes, Weasley, quite right. I forgot- if anyone ever made any advanced on you, you’d simply give in. Actually, I’ve heard that you give in quite easily-”

Draco was suddenly cut off as Ron lunged at him, hands reaching for his neck. After a brief scuffle, Harry was able to pull Ron off the other boy, but behind his spectacles, his bottle green eyes were flashing with anger too. Ron’s lip was bleeding from a well aimed punch from Malfoy. The blond, on the other hand, still looked distinctly unruffled, despite being throttled by Ron. He grinned maliciously.

“What is going on here?” a severe voice rang out from behind the growing crowd of students.

The shouts and jeers of the students quieted immediately as Professor McGonagall strode through the throng. Her eyes swept across the scene. “Well? Is anyone going to answer me?”

Pansy Parkinson stepped up. “Please, Professor,” she whined in a thin, high voice, trying to look innocent, “we were all just standing here talking when Weasley just ran up and jumped on Draco-”

“Ms. Parkinson,” McGonagall interrupted with a dry tone, “am I really to assume that Mr. Weasley, who just happens to be the Gryffindor Keeper, would really wander amidst all of you Slytherins and then randomly attack without being provoked?” Her mouth was set in a thin firm line. She looked at Ron, who, despite the situation, was still straining against Harry in order to throw a few punches at Malfoy.

“Detention and thirty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley, for fighting in the Great Hall.”

Hermione squeaked indignantly. “But, Professor-”

“And thirty points from Slytherin and detention for Mr. Malfoy as well, for provocation.” She gave both teenagers stern looks. “You are both too old for this kind of immature brawling. This has been going on for long enough- it’s time to grow up.” She paused, breathing heavily through her nose. “Now get to class.”

The rest of the students dispersed, grumbling about the loss of points, until only Malfoy remained, slowly gathering his belongings and surreptitiously watching the pair talking close by at the next table.

“You gonna be okay, Ginny?”

Ginny looked up from where she was collecting her books, which had spilled all over the floor. She smiled up at Harry, who was looking down worriedly at her.

“Don’t worry about it Harry, I’ll be fine. It was just Malfoy.”

He nodded, flashing her a grin. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Come on, we’ll walk with you to class.”

Ginny looked over at the doorway, where Ron and Hermione were waiting for them. Then, for the briefest moment, her eyes flicked over to where a tall, grey-eyed boy was still slowly gathering his belongings.

“Here, it’s fine, you guys go ahead and I’ll catch up in a sec. There’s something I need to do first.”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “Suit yourself. We’ll walk slow.” He headed off to where his friends were waiting.

Ginny stood up and unconsciously ran her fingers through her long red curls. Then, acting as if she were heading back towards the Gryffindor table, she strode around the bench and then slowed down as she passed Malfoy.

“Ten o’clock in the Astronomy Tower?” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth, eyes fixed straight ahead. Draco looked up at her, his gaze softening.

“Same as always, Ms. Weasley,” he answered, lips curling up ever so softly into a small smile.


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Draco Malfoy was a complete and utter prat.

He had the strongly misconstrued conception that she was desperately in love with him. Ginny had no idea where the boy got that idea. She wasn't in love with him she just… liked to look at him. And have him run his fingers through her hair. And, ok, snogging him wasn't exactly torture either. And the way that one look from him could make her feel as if her insides were melting… Well, it wasn’t her fault. There was just something about him that radiated from him, an enticing aura that seemed to draw her. To be quite honest, Ginny Weasley was amazed that the git didn’t have multitudes of females throwing themselves against him. But that didn’t matter, because the only female that was allowed to throw herself against him was her.

Draco Malfoy was a complete and utter prat.

“Ginny,” he would breathe during one of their secret encounters in some hidden alcove or forgotten tower. His hands would tremble slightly as he traced her cheek, as if she were something sacred, and she would sigh when she felt his lips press against her hair, her neck, her mouth.

“Draco,” she would rasp out in return, eyes heavy with lust and something else much deeper, though she refused to acknowledge it yet. She would pause just to look at him, soaking in the sight of him so completely unlike his usual self- his hair tousled, his eyes unfocused, his breath coming out in short gasps- before being drawn in by the feeling of his hands against her skin and going under again.

Draco Malfoy was a complete and utter prat.

He gazed at her protectively every time she stalked past the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, clenching his jaw tightly at every jeer or catcall that came her way. He teased her mercilessly about her old puppy-dog crush on Harry, though Ginny knew that even as he did so he could not help feeling slightly jealous of the other boy. He still made jabs at her family, especially Ron, though even that was happening less and less frequently- she would break him yet. And in the end, Ginny did manage to wipe that insufferable smirk off his pale, obnoxious face- every time he started to look smug about something, she would wrap her arms around his neck, pull his lips down to meet hers and then proceed to kiss him thoroughly until Draco was so disoriented he couldn’t even manage to speak.

Draco Malfoy was a complete and utter prat.

Eventually, Ginny realized that she loved him, with every fiber of her being. She loved his storm-grey eyes, eyes that looked at her with tenderness that she never knew he was capable of showing. She loved each strand of near-white blonde hair that covered his head, and spent endless hours running her fingers through it as they talked about everything and nothing, sprawled out on the clear green grass by the lake. (She did, however, still spend some time wondering what it would be like to yank out a handful of hair from some of the girls that would walk by and oogle Draco- Hermione still regularly suggested anger management.) She loved his nose, his ears, his fingers, his skin- anything and everything about Malfoy right down to the nail on his pinky toe was something that she cherished. She was actually quite proud of the fact that she could obsess for three hours about the touch of his fingers against her skin and the perfect way that he had kissed her last night. Her friends weren’t so pleased.

Draco Malfoy was a complete and utter prat.

Ginny could not believe her luck that she had managed to find someone that she loved so much, someone that so utterly perfect for her as Draco Malfoy. As corny as she was sure it sounded, he was the yin to her yang, the jelly to her peanut butter, the ice to her fire. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t still an insufferable git to her most of the time- there were occasions where that plan of pushing and cliffs still popped into her mind. She threatened him constantly that if he didn’t stop acting like a prick she really would push himoff one of these days. But then he would just lean over and kiss her, ever so gently. She, still indignant that he brushed off her violent threats so easily, would protest at first but then would quickly quiet as he deepened the kiss. Ginny would feel his smirk against her lips, pleased that he was able to silence her with his kissing prowess, to which the only appropriate response would be to pull back and soundly smack him across the back of his head.

After all, Draco Malfoy was a complete and utter prat.

Fin.