They say there is safety in numbers. Draco agrees with whoever ‘they’ are, because within numbers there is order, sense and discipline. All the things that the son of a Death Eater values. When Draco was a child his father was absent for long periods of time without reason. It always made Draco anxious. When Draco got older he realized that his father had been meeting with other Death Eaters who were waiting for Lord Voldemort to return. This worried Draco. It made him bite his fingernails and twist his hands together. Draco knew his father could be hurt at anytime, and that his mother could be arrested simply for being Bellatrix’s sister and Lucius’s wife. It made him worry, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing that Draco could do to keep his parents safe. Draco could do nothing to make his and his parents’ lives safe so he made order out of everything else.

Which is why when the alarm goes off at 5:55 in the morning, every morning, Draco gets up and goes for a run. This run takes him exactly 25 minutes. Including the five minutes to warm up and five minutes to warm down, Draco is always back in his room, flushed and slightly out of breath, by 6:30. When he runs, Draco counts his steps; it takes him anywhere between 6000 and 6500 to run the course from the front door of Hogwarts to around the lake and back. This difference of 500 steps annoys Draco but is so difficult to be perfect all the time. Nonetheless, Draco tries.

When Draco gets back to his room he spends thirty minutes showering, dressing and fixing his hair. All of these activities take exactly ten minutes – no more or less. It takes Draco five minutes and roughly 600 steps to get the Great Hall, and for breakfast he eats two rashers of bacon and one egg. He drinks one glass of juice. The type of juice alternates between orange and apple. The number of sips it takes him to drink the juice in depends on the number of teachers sitting at the Head Table. He always stirs his drink twice, an old habit from his tea-drinking days before he started at Hogwarts. He finishes eating at 7:30.

After breakfast Draco has half an hour to spare before classes. On Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays he goes to the library and studies. On Tuesday he goes to the owlery and sends a letter consisting of two pages of paper to his parents (he will receive one back between 4 and 4:30 on Friday afternoon). Wednesday is the day he tutors a first-year before class, a most trying exercise during which Draco learns to understand Professor Snape’s frustration a little more. The weekends, however, have an entirely different pattern to them. A pattern that is actually rather flexible - anything can happen on a weekend.

The other Slytherins had learnt simply to accept that Draco is a little odd, and that he will hex you if you make him late. Some are puzzled by Draco, but most just accept him. After all, he is a Malfoy and centuries of inbreeding have made them all a little odd. Draco’s great aunt Hilda is rarely spoken about as her penchant for trees (and talking to them) is hardly suitable for the Malfoy dinner table. Draco’s ‘cute’ oddness, as his mother calls it, is hardly exceptional. His need for order and his liking for numbers (to the degree where he carries a wooden ruler and soft measuring tape on his person at all times) just mean that he is very organized.

However, Draco’s mother had once looked up a Muggle psychology book on a friend’s advice but had decided almost instantly that her little Dracokins could never have this ‘Obsessive Compulsive Disorder’ it had mentioned. For starters, she had, after reading the book, asked Draco about the insistent hand-washing that the book had mentioned as a common symptom. Draco, of course, found this ridiculous. There were, after all, lots of germs on the average human hand and most were there for a purpose. It was illogical to try to wash them all away. No, this OCD was a strange and only Muggle disorder. Draco just liked numbers and would probably do well in Arithmancy.

Although the Slytherins and Draco’s family accepted his and his little quirks (everybody has a toothbrush for each day of the week and knows how many little brushes are in each tuft) they did not, however, advertise or even tell anyone about Draco. It was a weakness, however small, and could not be shared with the school at large. So if the rest of the school were slightly suspicious of Draco’s neat freak tendencies and orderly ways, they usually dismissed it as a result of the stick they assumed was stuck up Draco’s arse.

Usually. However, not everyone dismissed Draco’s ‘quirks’ quite so quickly. A young witch with an interest in becoming a Healer and with, therefore, an interest in all forms of medicine, Muggle included, might just notice enough clues and enough hints to become intrigued.

And Ginny Weasley was definitely intrigued. So intrigued that she began to watch Draco, began to become slightly obsessed herself. Because Draco was different than everyone else. Draco was special.

Draco came to notice that the young Weasley girl was watching him. Blaise had been the first to point it out to him. ‘That Weasley girl’s looking at you again,’ he’d pointed out as they’d stood together after Quidditch training. ‘Reckon she’s got a bit of a crush on you.’

Draco had laughed it off but he’d remembered the casual comment. Because it was true, the Weasley girl was always around him. She was in the library when he was writing his Charms homework, and he saw her watching him across the tables at dinner. He would see her when he went to the owlery and on his way to Potions. The strange thing was that she was watching him too. If they had just passed each other in the hall a lot he could have dismissed it as an overactive imagination. But he knew she was watching him. It wasn’t, however, the kind of look that made Draco think she liked him. With his mysterious slightly-bored air and toned body Draco knew that he presented the typical bad boy image that girls seemed to like. But she wasn’t ogling or staring at his muscles in worship. No, the gaze was intrusive but it was more speculative that anything else.

Their first proper meeting came at a rather bad moment for Draco. Unfortunately, they bumped (literally) into each other during his morning run. Nobody really knew about Draco’s runs because, well, Draco looked plain awful when he ran. He turned an unflattering shade of red, he huffed and occasionally he even wheezed. Draco knew he looked ugly when he ran, he looked common (for want of a better word) and Draco despised looking common. Draco had just re-entered the school when he ran head first into the Weasley and knocked her onto the ground. She was small he realized suddenly and only just reached mid-chest on him. Although Draco was not particularly tall (178.46cm), he had to marvel at her lack of height. He knew, because it had pissed him off on numerous occasions, that her brother was damn near a giant. He stood, Draco would have to guess, at about 194cm. Draco was unpleased with this guesswork but could not see a way of finding this information out discreetly. He could hardly just walk up to the Weasley and pull out a measuring tape. Obviously she hadn’t inherited the same giant genes as her brother. He wondered how he hadn’t noticed her height or lack of it before now. This was something Draco usually guessed at accurately when he met people. Not only was she short, Draco realized as he pulled her off the ground, she was tiny too. Fully dressed and dripping wet, she’d be lucky to weigh 50 kilos.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered with her head down as she brushed off her robes. ‘Didn’t see you.’

The last statement was, however, a lie - a big, fat stinking lie of the variety which would have made her nose ten-feet long if a blue fairy were around. Ginny was observant and she had known exactly where Draco would be at 6:22 on a Monday morning. Because just entering the school after a run was where he always was at precisely 6:22. Curious.

Then she raised her head and looked at him, and Draco knew exactly why he hadn’t noticed how short she was. It was because of the way she looked. Somehow her stance (shoulders back, head high) and that curious gaze seemed to make her appear taller than she actually was. She looked like some sort of Amazon woman, tall and proud. Strength flowed from her. Curious.

Draco glanced down at his wristwatch. Damn it he was running late. The familiar tight feeling grew in Draco’s chest as he stared at the seconds ticking by. He swallowed, anxiety threatening to freeze him. He had to go.

‘I have to go,’ he announced, interrupting her speech about something.

‘You weren’t listening,’ she accused.

But Draco was already running away and to his dormitory, far too far away to say that he hadn’t been listening because he thought she looked like an Amazon woman.

And Ginny was left watching him run away from her, thinking that he had rather nice muscle tone without his robes. She found him later though.

It was 7:43 and Draco was where Ginny knew he would be. In the library.

‘Draco,’ she said as she plopped herself down on the seat next to him. Her eyes surveyed the pile of books next to him (they were in alphabetical order) and the quills which are all identical black and perfectly pointed. She said nothing, and Draco did not notice the glance.

She was dressed in her school robes and two tiny studs, about 4mm in width, adorned her ears. Her hair was out now and was about 30cm long, Draco guessed. He couldn’t tell properly because of the way it curled madly around his face. If he could only straighten or stretch it out then he could measure the little Weasley’s hair accurately. Draco liked measuring people. He knew all the measurements for his parents and himself. His mother’s hair was 28.86cm long and his father’s was 18.24cm long the last time he’d seen them. Measuring people meant that he knew them in the most basic sense of the word. To Draco, when you knew somebody’s dimensions, it meant you were connected to them. Draco had never wanted to measure a girl before the little Weasley. He wondered what that meant.

Suddenly, Draco realized he didn’t know this girl’s name. He had always called her ‘the little Weasley’ in her head, and although it suited her – both in her place in her family and stature - Draco presumed it was not what she would like to be known by.

‘I don’t know your name,’ Draco blurted out without thinking. His mother would have been horrified at his lack of manners. He could have asked somebody else so she wouldn’t have known. However, there was nothing Draco could do about it so he said nothing and did not apologise.

‘It’s Ginevra. Everyone calls me Ginny.’

‘Yes, but I’m not everyone, Ginevra.’

She smiled. ‘Very well. I’m here to talk to you about what I was talking to you about this morning when you so rudely left.’

‘I was late.’

‘I know. That’s why I’ve forgiven you,’ said Ginevra with a shrewd look in her eye that made Draco think that maybe she did actually understand the tightness that had grown in his chest. ‘Anyway, I wanted to know if you would like to go to Hogsmeade with me on Saturday. I still do. Want to know, that is.’

Draco laughed out-loud and received a harsh glance and a ‘shhh’ from Pince. ‘You’re asking me to go to
Hogsmeade with you?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Yes. I don’t bite.’

Draco wanted to say yes. He really did. He could ask her to find out her brother’s height if he went to Hogsmeade with her. He wanted to ask her why she kept staring at him and how she got her hair so soft and touchable-looking. Purely so he could emulate her methods for his own hair. Of course. He had absolutely no desire to reach out and touch it. No desire whatsoever. Anyway, mind back on track, he had things planned for this Saturday and they couldn’t be changed at this late date. Draco had learned to be accommodating with his weekends but they were always planned on the preceding Sunday afternoon. They couldn’t be changed. He couldn’t go to Hogsmeade. It wasn’t planned, and therefore it couldn’t happen.

‘I can’t go to Hogsmeade. I have plans.’

‘That can’t be changed?’

‘That can’t be changed,’ he repeated. ‘Sorry.’

‘No, I understand. Could I join these plans possibly?’

Draco considered this. Although unprecedented, Draco could see no reason why Ginevra couldn’t join him on the weekend. As long as she didn’t interrupt him or take him off schedule all would be well.

‘Yes, you may join me.’

Ginevra’s expression didn’t change as much as Draco would have liked. After all, she had just been allowed to spend an entire weekend in his company. The lucky girl.

‘Where and when?’ she inquired politely.

‘After breakfast 7:30 here. I have assignments to do.’

‘Same. I’ll see you then.’

A disturbing thought filled Draco’s head. ‘Ginevra, this isn’t a …date, is it?’

For the first time ever, Draco heard Ginevra Weasley laugh, and it was beautiful. The sound seemed to roll out of her in long waves of pure enjoyment

‘No, Draco it isn’t a date. Yet,’ she said.

Then she left, leaving a confused Draco, an annoyed Pince and the faint smell of her perfume behind.

Ginny Weasley was prompt, which Draco appreciated. Too many people didn’t understand that when Draco said 7:30 he did not mean 7:31 or 7:32. He damn well meant 7:30. How difficult a concept was it, really? When you say you will be somewhere by a certain time, you are there at the designated time. You are not there two or even, shock and horror, three minutes later.

‘Good morning,’ she said as they met in the library and started to do work. And it was all she said. She did not gossip. She did not say inane things that he couldn’t have cared less about. She gave him blessed silence. Which he appreciated. A lot.

Draco would have, however, appreciated it more if she didn’t watch him like a mother hawk watching her baby hawk try to fly for the first time. It was unnerving. Her brown eyes, well that wasn’t quite true, they were actually lots of different colours – there was some blue, and a little green, and the edges of her irises were flecked with gold. Well, her lots of colours eyes were watching him attentively. It was unsettling.

She coughed. ‘Do you mind, Draco?’

‘Do I mind what?’

‘Do you mind staring at me? It’s a bit unnerving, you know,’ she said.

Obviously, in his attempt to decide on her eye colour, Draco had forgotten himself. How rude.

Then she giggled. It was the first time that Draco had heard her giggle. It wasn’t the deep laugh from yesterday. It was a different laugh, and then he realized, Ginevra was nervous. She was nervous, scared, had butterflies in her stomach. And all because of him.

That made Draco start to worry. He had agreed to meet her here today because she had asked, but he didn’t want to go on a date with her. He didn’t want her to become like all those other silly girls who giggled and pampered over him. Merlin forbid, she turn into a Pansy. Draco liked girls but they inevitably stuffed up his schedule and messed up his room. They were always late for appointments and didn’t seem to understand the gravity of their mistakes. There had been that one silly girl who had messed up his wardrobe, for goodness sakes. And she hadn’t even apologized. That other girl had turned off his alarm clock, claiming she wanted to sleep in. Draco had never slept in a day in his life. The airheads had had no idea. Draco had seen Ginny’s inquiring looks and she seemed intelligent; he hoped she could understand and appreciate his exactness. Draco wanted a girl who liked him for him, not because he was rich or had good muscles. Maybe, just maybe, that girl might be Ginevra.

He didn’t really care that she was related to the Weasel. She couldn’t be blamed for something she had entirely no control over. After all, he was related to Bellatrix Lestrange. Even the Dark Lord (the man who thought snakes were sexy, had lived without a body –eww- and had been defeated by Potter before Potter could clean his own arse) thought she was cuckoo. Really, Draco couldn’t understand how his father believed, let alone followed, such a megalomaniac. He probably didn’t even wash properly. Draco respected his father’s views (Lucius did have a tendency to demand respect – it was in the walk, something to do with the swagger) but he didn’t agree with them, whatever everyone else thought. Being the son of a Death Eater did not automatically make him a Death Eater. Everyone, including Lucius, had agreed it was probably not in Draco’s best interests to take up with a barmy half-blood who couldn’t even charm himself a proper nose. For Merlin’s sake, the man slept with a snake.

‘Draco, it’s 8:30, do you want to go somewhere or stay here?’ inquired Ginny, breaking into his thoughts.

‘We stay here until 12:30,’ said Draco. ‘Maybe you should know the schedule if you want to spend the day with me.’

‘Okay,’ said Ginny as she leaned back in the chair.

‘Well, we leave here at 12:30 for lunch at 1:00 with Professor Snape. I do this every Saturday without exception. You may eat in the Hall or you can join us. It’s up to you. We eat a bread roll each, followed by soup – this week is French onion – followed by Coq au Vin. I leave there at 3:00 and go play Quidditch for two hours. You may join me, but no interruptions to my schedule will be tolerated. At all. I will simply leave you behind.’

‘I understand. Can I ask why you have lunch with Professor Snape? I realize he is your Head of House but that seems a bit intimate for your relationship.’

‘He’s my godfather, and we happen to enjoy each other’s company.’

‘Will he not like me coming?’

‘Probably.’

‘Then I’ll come.’

Draco smirked.

‘I suggest we finish our assignments,’ said Draco as he turned back to his work.

And work he did. Draco was diligent and disgustingly hardworking. Ginny knew that Hermione was always complaining about how good Draco’s grades were, and Ginny had always assumed it was due to a combination of favoritism, bribing and/or scaring others to write his assignments for him. It wasn’t. Draco was just very smart.

He was also very organized.

His notes were subject, colour and alphabetically coordinated with margins and underlining in red pen. His quills, books and notes were all parallel to the paper he was working on. Any bookmarks were colour-coded according to importance. Ginny had also noticed that he carried a measuring tape in a pocket in his jeans. His quite tight jeans that covered a quite nice arse. The only other person that Ginny had seen this organized was Hermione but Draco seemed to have this level of co-ordination in all aspects of his life. His clothes, of the muggle variety, because it was a Saturday and far too hot for robes, were all perfectly ironed and colour co-ordinated. They looked absolutely impeccable on him. His hair, dead-straight, was flawlessly cut and he sat with ram-rod straight posture. He looked like the poster boy for organisation and order.

At 12:25 Draco glanced down at his watch and started to clear up his books. He nodded his head at Ginny to communicate they needed to leave and then with a flourish of his wand he minimized his books, placed them in his bag and walked out of the library. Luckily, Ginny spoke ‘head-nodding’ and followed quickly. This organization thing seemed to being paying off, mused Ginny as she minimized her books and placed them in her pocket. She had never finished so much work in such a short period of time. Usually gossiping, procrastination or some magical unknown force, which for some weird reason always occurred during Potions homework, got in the way.

Ginny followed Draco into the dungeons, their feet echoing loudly off the floor. Neither spoke, although Draco’s lips were moving. Was he counting something, perhaps?

Although Ginny came down into the dungeons every day for Potions, it seemed slightly more menacing this time. Perhaps the lack of her fellow Gryffindor classmates or the fact that she was going to have lunch with Professor Snape were the reason she was feeling slightly nervous. It could have nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with her being completely alone with Draco. Never before had she felt so aware of his existence. He simply filled the space around him in a way that meant he was impossible to ignore. Before in the library, there had been distractions and other people around. But now his presence was ridiculously strong and he seemed, if possible, even more perfect.

They stopped, suddenly it seemed to Ginny, in front of Snape’s door. Draco glanced at his watch and nodded in satisfaction. Obviously, it was exactly one. He knocked, twice and precise before opening the door and gesturing for Ginny to enter.

‘He knows we’re coming. Well, at least that I am. The knock is just a formality as I’m never late.’

‘Or early,’ said Ginny. It was a statement, not a question but Draco answered anyway.

‘No, I am always on time. Exactly.’

Ginny said nothing and followed Draco to a small room off the larger classroom. The room was far more homey than Ginny had expected. Though as her expectations had run towards creepy, wet torture chamber ideas, anything would have looked homey in comparison. A book shelf ran around the walls of the room and two large armchairs were positioned in the middle of the room around a small table. It looked exactly like an old bachelor’s room. Ginny supposed that was exactly what it was. All it needed was for Snape to smoke a pipe.

Snape stood as they entered. Ginny was almost upset to notice the absence of a pipe. No surprise showed on his face as he watched Ginny enter his room.

‘I believe this is the first time that a heroic Gryffindor has ever ventured into my private rooms. Could I be so rude as to ask why I have the pleasure of your company, Ms Weasley?’ asked Snape, one eyebrow raised.

Draco answered before Ginny could speak. ‘I invited her as we were studying together. I assumed you wouldn’t mind.’

‘Of course not. And if I did, I could hardly raise my opposition with you both here.’

‘Naturally, you would be far too polite to do that, Professor,’ said Draco with a slight smile. ‘Ginny, take a seat.’

Ginny obliged, feeling slightly like a pawn in a chess game. Snape pursed his lips and spelled another armchair with a sniff of disdain and a sharp look at Ginny. Both Draco and Snape sat down. Snape waved his wand without an incantation (which impressed both Draco and Ginny, but neither voiced this appreciation) and a pot of tea, soup and bread rolls appeared on the table. Draco had been right, Ginny decided with a quiet sniff, it was french onion.

‘Are my rooms what you expected, Ms Weasley?’ asked Snape as he begin to pour tea.

‘Not really, though I don’t believe I had any real expectation. I thought they’d be gloomier, more like the Potions classroom. I thought the seats would be harder,’ said Ginny truthfully and with an appreciative wiggle in the soft armchair.

‘I am so pleased you find them satisfactory,’ said Snape dryly. ‘How is your charms work coming along, Draco?’

With that obvious change of topic Snape completely ignored Ginny.

And continued to ignore her through the bread rolls, very yummy french onion soup and coq au vin which was served as dinner. It was a true showing of Snape’s determination that not once did he even glance in Ginny’s direction. From the way that Snape acted, Ginny might as well not have been there.

And it was starting to piss her off just a tiny bit.

But Ginny manfully (or femalely) pushed through her annoyance. If Draco’s godfather wanted to be rude and pretended she wasn’t there that was fine with her. Even if it really wasn’t. Snape and Draco kept up a rather heated conversation about grades, cauldrons and the new Defence Professor. Ginny who had never really formed an opinion on cauldrons (she had tended to ignore Percy when he started to rant) was surprised to learn that Professor Snape and Draco both had very firm opinions on the subject. Apparently, glass ones were the best as you could see the entire potion. When Ginny inquired why then if glass cauldrons were so good were they not used at Hogwarts, Snape looked at her for the first time since she had entered the room.

‘Ms Weasley, do you have any idea of the cost of a glass cauldron, one that has been spelled to prevent the glass from reacting with any potions? To put it in terms you can understand, the cost of a single glass cauldron would be roughly the same as your house,’ said Snape with a faint sneer.

Ginny said nothing; because really it was possible it was true. Not that she cared about her family’s monetary situation but she wished Snape hadn’t brought it up. To her surprise, Ginny heard Draco speaking.

‘There’s no need to be nasty, sir.’

Ginny raised her head to turn to stare at Draco. Snape was doing very much the same thing, his eyes were bulging and he seemed to not know what to say.

‘Perhaps you are right, Draco. That was uncalled for,’ said Snape with a very slight dip of his head.

Ginny was sure her mouth was hanging open. Nobody, nobody had ever chastised - for that was exactly what that slightly ‘correct’ tone in Draco’s voice had done - Professor Severus Tobias Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts and survived.

Neither Ginny nor Snape spoke to each other throughout the rest of the meal but Ginny could feel Snape’s eyes on her, evaluating her.

Draco stood abruptly at 3:00 after a glance down at his watch. ‘It’s time to go, Ginny.’

Ginny nodded, rising until Snape spoke.

‘Actually, I need to speak to Ms Weasley about her potions Assignment.’

Ginny turned to Draco. ‘You can go. I’ll meet you on the Quidditch field. I don’t want you to be late,’ she said as she noticed his anxious glance at his watch.

He nodded in relief and left quickly. Ginny didn’t Snape’s speculative glance as he watched Draco leave.

‘Professor, I don’t have a potions Assignment currently so…’

‘I do know your curriculum, Ms Weasley, but thank you for reminding me about my own subject. As you have no doubt guessed with your cutting intellect, the Potions Assignment was a ruse so that I can speak to you alone. You see, Ms Weasley, I don’t like you. To be frank, I find you an exasperating, immature student with a terrible disposition who does not respect her elders. But for reasons beyond me, Draco seems to like you. So I cannot allow this game you are playing to continue. Draco is my godson, Ms Weasley, and I like him. He may appear as if nothing can harm him, but Draco has weaknesses and he does not deserve to be hurt simply because you are after his money. So I am warning you, I will not tolerate you hurting him.’

‘Professor Snape, can I be frank?’

‘Have you ever been otherwise? You never seem to stop speaking your mind.’

‘Professor Snape, I don’t like you either. But I don’t really know you. Just like you don’t really know me. That’s why I find it offensive for you to make assumptions. For starters, I am not after Draco. We are not dating. We are simply tentative friends at this point. Secondly, I am not interested in Draco for his money. I may not have a lot of money, Professor, but I can make money by myself. I don’t have to marry a rich husband, and I find it offensive for women everywhere that you immediately assume I’m a gold-digger.’

‘Then you admit you are interested in Draco.’

‘Yes. Yes, I am. I like him. I didn’t intend to when we first met, but I do like him. He’s nice, has good manners and he is, well, rather, good-looking. I am attracted to him. I do not have any attention of hurting him.’

‘I may have misjudged this situation, Ms Weasley. I may not have. Whatever the case, I will be watching you in the future.’

‘If you want to, Professor, but that doesn’t change the fact that I like Draco and that’s none of your business,’ said Ginny as she turned to leave.

‘Ms Weasley, this does not have to go beyond this room. Draco would dislike the idea of my trying to protect him.’

‘Of course, Professor,’ said Ginny with her back still facing Snape. Ginny stomped her way out of the dungeons. How dare he? How could Snape assume that she was some sort of mercenary, out to get her hooks into Draco and marry him, for Merlin’s sake? The damn man had no idea. Marry? Marry? Ginny was sixteen, and she wasn’t after Draco’s money. The thought hadn’t entered her head. Weasleys had more pride. Ginny paused as she left Hogwarts. She could see a small figure flying around the pitch and the anger rushed out of her. She supposed she could understand why Snape was trying to protect Draco. He looked so small and defenseless up in the air, like a single strong wind could knock him to his death. It was rather a nice thought that Snape cared about Draco enough to intervene when he though Ginny was going to hurt him. But not nice enough to get Ginny out of her bad mood.

Ginny hurried down to the pitch. A good game of Quidditch was exactly what she needed after that infuriating talk with Snape. Draco landed as soon as he saw Ginny. His hair was, somehow, still perfectly groomed. Ginny wondered how he’d achieved that. Was there a spell or something?

‘Do you want to play? I play until 5:00,’ Draco said.

‘Sure.’

‘Are you okay?’ asked Draco. ‘You seem rather… annoyed.’

‘It’s just Snape being a bastard as usual. Nothing to worry about.’

‘He’s actually not that bad,’ defended Draco as they walked towards the goal posts where Draco had left a spare broom for her. ‘He’s a good Head of House, makes sure the younger kids are okay.’ Draco paused as if deciding whether or not to continue. He obviously decided in favor of honesty. ‘Lately, he’s been helping seventh years that have Death Eaters as parents to escape and get away.’

Ginny didn’t really know what to say. ‘Umm… I guess there’s a lot of pressure from some parents.’

Draco laughed. ‘That’s an understatement,’ he said bitterly. ‘I’m okay. My parents don’t want me to join, but Goyle’s parents are sending threatening letters. Crabbe’s parents are also pressuring him. None of us want to join, you know. Professor Snape helps.’

‘That’s good of him. I’m glad you felt you could tell me that,’ said Ginny with a small smile towards Draco.

‘You’re trustworthy, Ginevra. I only just decided, but you are. That’s very important to me.’ Draco glanced towards Ginny and their eyes met. Draco smiled. ‘Last to the other posts is a crooked wand,’ said Draco as he jumped on his broom and raced off. Ginny laughed and raced after him.

They practiced, played and (if Ginny was honest with herself) flirted until 5:00.

‘I have to go to dinner now,’ announced Draco as he checked his watch.

‘I know. I’m not really hungry. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,’ said Ginny as they started to head back to the castle.

‘I suppose so. I’ll be in my dorm until 11 tomorrow. I have three hours allotted to spend time with my other housemates. It helps foster house-spirit and lets the younger ones know who I am. But I’ll be in the library and at the Green Houses after that. I guess I’ll see you sometime.’

‘Yes, I can’t see myself invading the Slytherin dorms, so I’ll see you after 11.’

Draco and Ginny paused outside of the Great Hall. ‘Bye, then,’ said Ginny as she left Draco to walk back to Gryffindor tower. She didn’t know he watched her bottom as she walked away.

When Ginny got to her dorm she changed into her pajamas and unpacked her pockets and spelled her books back to their normal size. As soon as Ginny placed them on her bedside table she realized something was wrong. She had a book that obviously wasn’t hers. For starters, it was much cleaner and neat than any of her hand-me-down books, and secondly she didn’t even do its subject, Arithmancy. Draco, however, did. Ginny remembered him doing some number chart thing in the library today. It had looked like utter hogwash to her, but presumably Draco knew what he was doing.

Sure enough, when Ginny opened the front cover there were the words ‘Draco Abraxas Malfoy’ printed in small, orderly letters. He was probably still eating, thought Ginny. She could return it to him now. Then Ginny glanced down at her unicorn covered pajamas (in Ginny's defence - they were warm). Oh, she couldn’t be bothered to get changed. Now was probably not the best time to give it to him anyway. No, she would just have to brave the Slytherin common room tomorrow morning when she could be sure of finding him. And when she would be better dressed.

Ginny stood in the dungeons, staring at the entrance to the Slytherin common room, realizing that she hadn’t thought this through properly. She didn’t have a clue what the password was, and the last Slytherin she had asked, politely, to help had told her had told her to get stuffed and had emphasized his comment with his middle finger. Ginny had not asked politely again. Instead, she had threatened a first-year, but apparently first-year Slytherins were made of tougher stuff than the first years in the rest of the school. He had sneered and closed the portal behind him with a deafening bang. The little twerp.

Ginny then decided that something sneaky was in order. However, being a Gryffindor, she was still pondering what exactly that sneaky thing would consist of when Blaise Zabini stuck his head out of the portal. The head was quickly followed by the rest of his lanky body. He paused delicately when he saw Ginny.

‘Let me guess. You’re looking for Draco,’ he said with a faint sneer.

‘Um, yes. I need to return his book.’

‘I knew I was right,’ muttered Blaise to himself. ‘His book? Why would you have Draco’s book? Unless you were studying together,’ Blaise mused aloud. ‘And you know what they say about study buddies, don’t ‘cha, Weasley?’

‘No, I don’t, Zabini. Why don’t you enlighten me?’

‘They never stay only study buddies for long,’ said Blaise in a sing-song voice. ‘Watch your heart, Weasley.’

‘My heart is none of your concern, Blaise. Would you please let me in?’

‘Of course. Who am I to stand in the way of true love?’

‘You’re such a prick, Blaise.’

‘But a big prick, my dear Weasley,’ said Blaise before he leant into the door and whispered something Ginny couldn’t quite hear. ‘You only get the password when you and Draco are an actual couple.’

‘I don’t have time to listen to you, Blaise. Can you please move and let me enter?’

‘Of course.’ With a gallant bow, Blaise moved to the side and gestured Ginny into the Slytherin common room.

When Ginny entered the common room, the first thing that hit her was that, accepting the colour scheme, it looked nearly exactly the same as the Gryffindor common room. The noise, the furniture, the people. It made Ginny wonder what she had subconsciously been expecting. Did she think that it would be a torture chamber or covered in snakes? Really, she thought being around Draco had broken her of most of her Slytherin preconceptions. It seemed she had more to work on there. Then the noise level changed. The room went utterly silent. It appeared that the Slytherins were not used to well-known Gryffindors dropping by to return books on a Sunday morning. Ginny stood, unsure of what to say, as every person in the room turned to stare at her.

She cleared her throat. ‘Umm, I’m looking for Draco Malfoy. Where he is?’

Nobody answered at first. Then a seventh year stood up. ‘Why do you want to know?’

Ginny wrinkled her face at the rude question. ‘I need to return a book. Is that a crime?’

He paused, evaluating her. ‘His room is the last up those stairs,’ he said finally, with a gesture to a nearby staircase.

‘Thank you.’

The voices started up hesitantly as Ginny started to make her way up the stairs. Ginny distinctly heard her surname.

At last, Ginny came to a door marked ‘seventh-years’. She knocked gingerly upon the door. ‘Blaise, I told you to fuck off,’ came a voice from inside the room. Draco’s voice.

Ginny smiled and bit her lip. She pushed the door open. ‘I said fuck off,’ Draco repeated. He was sitting on his bed, shirtless, reading a book. Ginny couldn’t read the title from the door (possibly because the room contained way more interesting things to look at - that is, Draco’s chest). He didn’t raise his eyes from the page.

‘It isn’t Blaise,’ said Ginny quietly. ‘He left a while ago. Actually, he let me in.’ Draco’s head came up so fast Ginny was scared he hurt himself.

‘Ginevra,’ Draco said in shock. And for the first time ever that Ginny had seen, Draco turned a delightful shade of red. Ginny thought it was very cute.

‘Yes, Ginny. Sorry to impose on your morning, but I just wanted to return your book. I must have picked it up yesterday.’

Draco said nothing.

‘When we were studying,’ Ginny added nervously to fill up the silence.

‘Oh, I hadn’t noticed.’

‘I gather you didn’t need it then. I got it back so fast because I thought you might need it. But I guess you didn’t,’ said Ginny feeling the most awkward she had in her entire life.

Draco nodded his head.

‘I guess I’ll go then.’

Ginny started to turn but Draco shook his head violently. ‘Don’t go. We can…talk.’

‘Okay,’ said Ginny as she perched herself on the end of his bed.

‘I might just put a shirt on.’

Ginny smiled. ‘You don’t need to do that for me.’

Draco smiled. ‘Yes, I do. I feel strange.’

Then he laughed. Then Ginny laughed. And the awkwardness dissolved as easily as it had begun.

Draco went to the cupboard and pulled out a shirt which he swiftly buttoned up before joining Ginny on the bed.

‘Thanks for the book. I would have been lost without it on Monday.’

‘It was nothing. What are you reading?’

‘It’s called Pilgrim’s Progress. It’s by some Muggle called John Bunyan. I like it.’

‘I haven’t heard of it.’

‘Not many wizards have. I can lend it to you when I finish it.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘Ginny, I have to ask you something. Blaise sort of brought it up and I can’t stop thinking about it, especially since you came here this morning. I know it seems sort of quick since we only really started talking yesterday but… you said that thing about if we had gone to Hogsmeade, it wouldn’t have been a date. Yet. And I just wondered…’

‘You can say it, Draco,’ encouraged Ginny.

Draco was twisting his hands together in his lap.

‘Do you like-like me, Ginevra.’

‘I think I do, Draco Malfoy. I think I do,’ said Ginny quietly.

Draco’s hands stilled.

‘I like you too, Ginny. I have to tell you, though, I don’t do very well in relationships. Girls tend to want to change me, and I don’t like change, Ginny. You might have noticed that.’

Ginny smiled. ‘Just a little, but that’s you, Draco. I like you as you.’

‘Then, would you like to be my girlfriend, Ginevra?’

‘I would like that, Draco. Very much.’ With that Ginny launched herself across the bed and hugged Draco hard before kissing him softly on the lips.

After a while, Draco pulled away and said, ‘Can I measure you, Ginevra?’

‘Measure me?’

‘Yes, measure you. I like knowing the measurements of the people that are important to me, and I think you may well become one of them.’

‘It would be an honour.’

Solemnly and quietly, Draco went to his bed-side table and picked up a measuring tape and a small notebook. He gestured for Ginny to stand up, and then he moved toward her, holding the tape. He started at the top by pulling a length of hair out and placing the measuring tape beside it. He flicked his wand and the numbers were recorded in his book. Next he measured the length of her arms and legs, width of her waist and length of her fingers.

‘It tickles,’ complained Ginny as Draco held the tape beside her body.

Draco smiled and shushed her. Lastly, he measured her entire length. ‘You’re so small. I forget that most of the time.’

‘I’m small, not delicate,’ chided Ginny.

‘After playing Quidditch with you, I know that for sure,’ Draco laughed. Draco glanced at his clock. ‘Do you want to go and sit with me in the common room? I have to do that now, but you don’t have to come.’

‘I’d like to.’

‘People are probably going to whisper.’

‘Let them whisper. I don’t care, Draco. I don’t care what they think,’ Ginny said as she reached up to wrap her arms around Draco’s neck. ‘We are the only ones who matter.’

Draco leant down slightly and joined his mouth to Ginny’s, and they stood in the middle of his room kissing until Ginny glanced down at the watch she had decided to wear that morning. ‘It’s time to go downstairs, Draco,’ she said as she led him out of the room to face the Slytherins and the rest of the school.