Draco Malfoy couldn’t help but tense at the lack of anger and frustration running through his body. Arthur Weasley, who he had been taught was a Muggle-loving fool and a maniac to boot, had magically enlarged a Muggle car to transport Draco and the others back to Hogwarts at the end of the Christmas holiday. Draco knew he should have been furious. Draco Malfoy didn’t ride in Muggle contraptions. Draco Malfoy didn’t settle for being told that he would listen to an overly chubby woman telling him to do chores on the day he was returning to school. Draco Malfoy didn’t touch the same things Weasleys had touched; it was considered blood contamination.
But, that was the old Draco Malfoy, if there even was such a thing. He grimaced as he thought back to the way he had been when he had first traveled to Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire for the Christmas holiday. He had been bitter and morose and ready to bite off the head of any person that disrespected his ‘power’. He had been, in some senses, excited to see his mother although he cloaked it with resentment. She had, although grudgingly, allowed him to deal with his father, a man who he (regardless of popular opinion) detested to all means. She had allowed him to almost follow down the path he had been trying so hard his entire life to move past.
Now none of that mattered. His old resentment for life no longer mattered. His mother was dead, his father a murderer, and he was holed up with a bunch of people who didn’t seem to understand him the slightest. For the first time in close to seven years, Draco had the slightest idea of what it was like to be Harry Potter. He didn’t enjoy thinking that way, but the thought lingered in the back of his mind as he sat down on the crumbling cobblestones leading to the Weasley’s driveway. The sky was unusually blue for New Years in Great Britain and he couldn’t help but scowl at the unusual cheerfulness of the day. Why did the afternoon have to mock him so?
He saw, just out of the corner of his eye, a small tuft of bright red hair bob above the hedges directly in front of him. He remembered Arthur had told him that Ginny would be going out to town for the day to pick up a few things to make them inconspicuous on the ride back to Hogwarts. Draco, however, had not been anticipating her arrival so early. He looked about quickly, wondering if he could escape somewhere before she made it into the front yard. He realized, with a very loud groan, that he was trapped as she turned the corner and came face to face with him.
He hadn’t been purposely ‘ignoring’ her since their meeting on Christmas Eve, although it may have come off that way. In fact, he had tried everything in his power the first few days to get up the nerve to speak to her. Draco didn’t find himself cowardly; simply befuddled. While a part of himself wanted to pull her close since the kiss in the moonlight, the other part of him wanted to push her away. The pureblood in him wanted to keep her as distanced from him as possible. The human in him wanted to bury his face into her sweet smelling hair.
She was studying him now as she placed her bags on the ground and moved to sit next to him, balancing carefully on the edge of one of the fallen stones of the walk. Her hair had been put up intricately and fell only slightly in her face, edging her in a wonderful rosy glow. She was wearing the navy jumper her mother had made her for Christmas and a pair of trousers that he was sure was a few sizes to small because they clung to her curves far too much. Weasleys were not supposed to have curves.
“You all right?” she asked cautiously, “Mum said you came out here before I left.”
“I needed some time to think,” he snapped back, not meaning to sound childish.
“Oh,” was all she said as she looked down at her trainers. He was surprised; Ginny rarely ever allowed anyone to get off without talking to her. He had watched over the Christmas holiday her tell off Harry on more than one occasion. She didn’t like people bottling up and her acceptance of him simply brushing her off was slightly unnerving.
“What, not going to try to get me to talk to you?” he murmured sarcastically, casting a quick glance in her direction.
“No,” she said simply, “if you wanted to talk to me about anything you would. Whatever you are thinking about is obviously not my concern Malfoy, and I won’t pry into it.” She stood and nodded her head at him as if attempting to convince herself of her own convictions before turning and heading for the door behind him. Draco sighed angrily and turned towards her, his eyes raking up and down her back.
“I was thinking about…you know…”
“No, no I don’t,” she replied simply, not turning around to face him.
“Come on Weasel, do I need to say it?” He groaned. He wasn’t denying that it had happened, but he wasn’t about to go announcing it to the world either. He was surprised, however, when she turned around and faced him; her brown eyes blazing with fury.
“Yes you have to,” she spat furiously, glaring at him, “what is the point of thinking about it if you can’t even admit that it happened?"
Her outburst, although probably righteous, only made him angry. She was insinuating that he was afraid of admitting that he had kissed her. No, he was not afraid. Draco Malfoy might have changed, but his mindset on courage had stayed the same. He was rarely, if ever, afraid of anything. He had kissed her hadn’t he? The sworn enemy of the Weasleys had kissed their only daughter in their own backyard right under Potter’s sodding nose. No, Draco Malfoy was not afraid.
He stood up quickly and grabbed her arm, pulling her around to the side of the house where he knew they were well out of the view of almost everyone. The Burrow significantly leaned in that direction and the large shadows of the many chimneys kept them practically covered in darkness. She was grimacing and tugging at his fingers, attempting to make him unhand her.
“Let go Malfoy,” she growled. He couldn’t help but smile at the fact that she was still calling him Malfoy; at least he hadn’t lost everything. Whatever it was he was afraid of losing, he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to hold on to it.
“No,” he replied simply, staring at her, “you aren’t giving me a chance to explain. You want me to explain, don’t you?” She nodded and he continued, “Look Weasel; lets be frank here. We kissed. No matter how much it pains me to admit it, it was a good kiss. No matter how much I hate to admit it, you were actually civil to me that night.”
“You didn’t do anything to deserve any less,” she muttered.
“Yes well, that is beside the point,” he responded, allowing her arm to fall as he shuffled about a bit, “I’ve tried thinking of a way to talk to you. I have. Don’t go about thinking that I’m some sort of bloody coward. I’m not about to go around denying the fact that we kissed.” He stopped again and looked up at her, studying her face, “But honestly Weasel, think about this. Your family isn’t exactly thrilled to have me here and I have no doubts that they would enjoy pummeling me to tiny bits for coming within meters of you…let alone kissing you…”
This seemed to only spur the fire in her eyes more. She was glaring at him fiercely, her brown eyes lit up and her cheeks flushed causing her freckles to stand out. She moved towards him and stuck a finger in his chest, poking him hard, “Do you honestly think I care what my family thinks? Do you honestly think their opinions on a matter would change mine?”
He wanted to say ‘no’ but the, “yes”, answer rolled out before he could stop it. Her expression immediately dropped and she pulled away from him; recoiling as if touching him burned.
“And I thought we might have figured each other out. I guess I was wrong,” she gulped and turned away and left the safety of the side of the house, moving back to the discarded walkway.
“Fuck,” Draco muttered before running a hand through his blonde hair.
She was flying. He wasn’t too sure why she had retreated to the back of the Burrow; she knew he was aware of that place. He had, originally, assumed she would seek solace in her room that she shared with Hermione. Any of the Weasley boys, particularly Ron, would have pummeled him for going near it. He had also considered that she wouldn’t have run at all, that when he had traveled to the front door she would be waiting there for him. No, she had been outside in the very place that should have seemed the most obvious.
Although she was high above him, Draco could just make out the look of concentration and frustration that was etched all over her features. She was biting her bottom lip as she did difficult maneuvers in the air. From his perspective she didn’t possess a Quaffle or any type of Qudditich ball and she was quite far from the nearest three ringed hoops. She was spinning in the air over and over, her hair swinging out wildly behind her. Draco considered the idea of shouting up to her and telling her to come down or even to be careful. However, this notion was only slightly considered. The backyard of the Burrow was wide and spacious minus the lake and the small hedge that lined the property. His voice would be heard by any of the Weasleys on the property and that was something he would not gamble with.
The sun had begun to set into the trees by the time she finally settled to the ground and dismounted. Her cheeks were tinted with a light pink blush as she smoothed out her shorts and her blouse. She had been wearing disguising trousers before compared to these, trousers that definitely hid the contour of her long legs. Her arms were muscular too; a lovely feminine but strong shape that had Draco somewhat entranced. She stretched them liberally as she moved towards him, a bit of her tummy showing from beneath her blouse. The skin there was tanner than the skin on the rest of her body and had a slight but very appealing curve to it.
“You can stop staring Malfoy,” she murmured as she walked by him, barely flinching as his eyes followed her.
“What makes you think I was staring at you?” he shot back, not really sure where the comment had come from. It had been more than obvious that he had been ogling her. Instead of responding, however, she simply shook her head at him and made for the very large oak tree at the right of her property. He followed, more out of a need to feel like he had gotten the last word than out of actual desire. Or at least, that’s what he attempted to make himself believe.
The swing that was suspended from the lowest branch of the tree moved just slightly as Ginny fastened herself in it. It seemed like a very childish toy. Or at least, that’s what his mother had always told him. He had wanted a swing when he was very little. It had been large and red with a safety harness just for him and a handle to hold on too. His father, upon seeing the device, had spent the entire rest of the evening arguing in his study with his mother. Upon their exit his mother had insisted that swings were childish; that only babies still had them. He had agreed heartedly; at the time he had wanted anything in the world to grow up. Looking back as he watched Ginny swing quietly in the setting sun, he couldn’t imagine why.
He moved around to her back and withdrew his wand carefully. He could legally perform magic and, with a swish of his wand, completely disillusioned himself behind Ginny. He knew she would know his presence but the rest of her obnoxious family would know nothing of the sort.
“You must really have self esteem issues if you can’t even come over here without making yourself invisible,” she smirked, not bothering to look back at him as he grabbed the chains of the swing and slowly started to push her. He wondered if she would be surprised, pushing a girl in a swing…a Weasley girl…didn’t exactly fall under a Malfoy’s compassionate list.
“I’m doing you a favor, so I advise you just let me get out what I have to say.” She stilled for a second as he continued to push her, “Look, I’m not trying to ignore what happened…the other night. I’m not afraid either, if you think that. I’m just…” he sighed loudly into the air and looked down at the back of her head. What was he anyway? Sure, he was a bit worried that starting up anything with a Weasley would cause problems for him. He was already a target for his father and their followers, being involved with a Weasley would only make it that much worse. Sure, he was pretty sure that the letter he had sent her only caused more bad than good. But Draco wasn’t eloquent with words, it was one of the few reasons Granger had beaten him so many times in marks. He had wanted to thank her and had ended up saying so much more. But, regardless, none of that explained his predicament. He could keep himself well hidden from the likes of those his father called buddies for the time being. He could take back what he had said in the letter, she wouldn’t be happy but she would understand. He knew she would. And yet, it was definitely something else, “…I’m confused.” He finally finished.
“It’s natural to be confused,” she responded simply, “I’m confused too.”
“That’s bloody helpful.”
“Well what do you want me to say!” she screamed suddenly, still not looking at him, “Do you want me to tell you how I feel? Do you? Because you aren’t going to like it!” She breathed for a minute before starting again in a quieter tone, “I’m afraid….and confused…and everything…all rolled up into one large ball. You kissed me, out of nowhere you kissed me and now I have to deal with everything that’s become of it. Then, then you go and write me this amazing letter that for one second made me actually believed that you might…” she sniffed loudly and he felt his stomach drop, Draco hated crying girls, “I actually thought you weren’t going to turn out to be another Michael or Dean or any of them. I actually considered…”
“Considered what?” he asked, pulling her swing to a stop. He was curious. Yes, simply curious.
“…I actually considered the fact that you might actually want me,” she sniffed again, “I actually thought for the briefest of seconds on Christmas morning that you had felt something that night…that Draco Malfoy might have actually felt something for someone other than himself…”
“I did feel something!” he yelled, turning her around in her swing so that she was facing him, her eyes level with his as she swung just slightly from the wind.
“Then why did you ignore me?” she asked sincerely, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. He did it for her, smoothing his fingers across her cheeks delicately, much more delicately than he should have.
“I told you I wasn’t trying to. I was just…confused…”
“Did you mean to kiss me?”
“Yes,” he replied honestly, “It was…bloody nice.” She laughed cautiously and he studied her face again. She really did have beautiful eyes, even for a Weasley. They were a color he never could imagine, like cocoa and honey swirled together with amber and something that resembled gold. They were large and full of the most unbelievable emotions he had ever seen. Sadness, anger, bitterness, lust, and something just under the surface he couldn’t quite recognize. It was then that it hit him. It was there, in the back of the Burrow with his hands on Ginny Weasley’s face, that he realized why it was he had trouble talking to her. He genuinely cared about her.
Genuinely caring about someone was very foreign to Draco. Sure, there had been the few girls he had invited into his bed over the years, but those were teenage hormonal things. They had bid him goodbye as quickly as he had let them leave and it had ended there and always there. But, simply from a kiss, he found himself longing to be around Ginny. He found himself noticing things he didn’t notice about other girls. Maybe it was the fact that she had allowed him to freely talk to her that night. Maybe it was because she had seen him as an individual, not as the stereotyped Slytherin pureblood he had become to be known as. Maybe it was because she was spunky and intelligent and full of nerve. But he cared for her in some sense, he knew that much, and that was the thing that was bothering him.
“I care about you,” he blurted out, looking her directly in the eyes, “That’s why I’m so confused…”
“Malfoy…”
“No you don’t get it. I…I care about you. I’m not supposed to care about people. I…I don’t have the room in my life to care about people. I’m…I’m…I’m supposed to hate you,” he mumbled. She was staring at him, the emotions swirling about in the color pools of her eyes. Her hands, which had remained laced in her lap the entire time, suddenly moved to brush a lock of hair from his face. He stilled, watching her hand as it traced patterns up and down his face.
“…I’m supposed to hate you too,” she whispered, looking at him, “But I don’t. I can’t. I don’t know why, I can’t explain it, and I’m not about to try. Something happened that night. Maybe…maybe its some sort of evil type of fate. But it happened.” She lowered his face down closer to hers, locking their eyes better, “Now you listen to me. I don’t want you to go into a long speech about how I could be hurt or what not. Because I really won’t have that. We…we can work this out...if…if you want it.”
He heard it in the back of his head before it fully registered. The very loud, distinctive, count-down clock of the Weasley family. It was New Year’s Eve, another holiday, and he was outside again with Ginny Weasley impossibly close as the night counted down.
Twelve
Eleven
Ten
Nine
Eight
Seven
Six
Five
“So what do you say Malfoy…are we doing this or not?” she asked, her brow raised expectantly. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her, running his fingers up to tangle into the hair at the nape of her neck.
Four
Three
Two
“If we’re going to, I think it should be on better terms,” he smirked, pulling her to his lips as the final bell rang out and a chorus of shouts rang out from within the Burrow. She was sweeter than he expected and the hands that had been on his face moved down his chest, scratching along his shirt and entangling themselves in his waist. She moaned into his mouth as a bunch of fireworks shot off into the night sky and he smiled broadly underneath her lips. He could get used to this.
As he pulled away from her to watch the final rocket explode above them, he gently pulled her against him. He knew that if the Weasleys were to come outside she would look just a bit silly, standing by herself with her arms wrapped around an invisible someone. But he didn’t care, he noticed, as she pulled herself deeper into his embrace and sighed into his arms.
“This will work, I promise,” she whispered again, her voice sounding very breathy against his tee shirt. He ruffled her hair a bit and turned his face back up to the sky, feeling very content for the first of January.
“I’m going to hold you too that…Ginny.”
But, that was the old Draco Malfoy, if there even was such a thing. He grimaced as he thought back to the way he had been when he had first traveled to Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire for the Christmas holiday. He had been bitter and morose and ready to bite off the head of any person that disrespected his ‘power’. He had been, in some senses, excited to see his mother although he cloaked it with resentment. She had, although grudgingly, allowed him to deal with his father, a man who he (regardless of popular opinion) detested to all means. She had allowed him to almost follow down the path he had been trying so hard his entire life to move past.
Now none of that mattered. His old resentment for life no longer mattered. His mother was dead, his father a murderer, and he was holed up with a bunch of people who didn’t seem to understand him the slightest. For the first time in close to seven years, Draco had the slightest idea of what it was like to be Harry Potter. He didn’t enjoy thinking that way, but the thought lingered in the back of his mind as he sat down on the crumbling cobblestones leading to the Weasley’s driveway. The sky was unusually blue for New Years in Great Britain and he couldn’t help but scowl at the unusual cheerfulness of the day. Why did the afternoon have to mock him so?
He saw, just out of the corner of his eye, a small tuft of bright red hair bob above the hedges directly in front of him. He remembered Arthur had told him that Ginny would be going out to town for the day to pick up a few things to make them inconspicuous on the ride back to Hogwarts. Draco, however, had not been anticipating her arrival so early. He looked about quickly, wondering if he could escape somewhere before she made it into the front yard. He realized, with a very loud groan, that he was trapped as she turned the corner and came face to face with him.
He hadn’t been purposely ‘ignoring’ her since their meeting on Christmas Eve, although it may have come off that way. In fact, he had tried everything in his power the first few days to get up the nerve to speak to her. Draco didn’t find himself cowardly; simply befuddled. While a part of himself wanted to pull her close since the kiss in the moonlight, the other part of him wanted to push her away. The pureblood in him wanted to keep her as distanced from him as possible. The human in him wanted to bury his face into her sweet smelling hair.
She was studying him now as she placed her bags on the ground and moved to sit next to him, balancing carefully on the edge of one of the fallen stones of the walk. Her hair had been put up intricately and fell only slightly in her face, edging her in a wonderful rosy glow. She was wearing the navy jumper her mother had made her for Christmas and a pair of trousers that he was sure was a few sizes to small because they clung to her curves far too much. Weasleys were not supposed to have curves.
“You all right?” she asked cautiously, “Mum said you came out here before I left.”
“I needed some time to think,” he snapped back, not meaning to sound childish.
“Oh,” was all she said as she looked down at her trainers. He was surprised; Ginny rarely ever allowed anyone to get off without talking to her. He had watched over the Christmas holiday her tell off Harry on more than one occasion. She didn’t like people bottling up and her acceptance of him simply brushing her off was slightly unnerving.
“What, not going to try to get me to talk to you?” he murmured sarcastically, casting a quick glance in her direction.
“No,” she said simply, “if you wanted to talk to me about anything you would. Whatever you are thinking about is obviously not my concern Malfoy, and I won’t pry into it.” She stood and nodded her head at him as if attempting to convince herself of her own convictions before turning and heading for the door behind him. Draco sighed angrily and turned towards her, his eyes raking up and down her back.
“I was thinking about…you know…”
“No, no I don’t,” she replied simply, not turning around to face him.
“Come on Weasel, do I need to say it?” He groaned. He wasn’t denying that it had happened, but he wasn’t about to go announcing it to the world either. He was surprised, however, when she turned around and faced him; her brown eyes blazing with fury.
“Yes you have to,” she spat furiously, glaring at him, “what is the point of thinking about it if you can’t even admit that it happened?"
Her outburst, although probably righteous, only made him angry. She was insinuating that he was afraid of admitting that he had kissed her. No, he was not afraid. Draco Malfoy might have changed, but his mindset on courage had stayed the same. He was rarely, if ever, afraid of anything. He had kissed her hadn’t he? The sworn enemy of the Weasleys had kissed their only daughter in their own backyard right under Potter’s sodding nose. No, Draco Malfoy was not afraid.
He stood up quickly and grabbed her arm, pulling her around to the side of the house where he knew they were well out of the view of almost everyone. The Burrow significantly leaned in that direction and the large shadows of the many chimneys kept them practically covered in darkness. She was grimacing and tugging at his fingers, attempting to make him unhand her.
“Let go Malfoy,” she growled. He couldn’t help but smile at the fact that she was still calling him Malfoy; at least he hadn’t lost everything. Whatever it was he was afraid of losing, he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to hold on to it.
“No,” he replied simply, staring at her, “you aren’t giving me a chance to explain. You want me to explain, don’t you?” She nodded and he continued, “Look Weasel; lets be frank here. We kissed. No matter how much it pains me to admit it, it was a good kiss. No matter how much I hate to admit it, you were actually civil to me that night.”
“You didn’t do anything to deserve any less,” she muttered.
“Yes well, that is beside the point,” he responded, allowing her arm to fall as he shuffled about a bit, “I’ve tried thinking of a way to talk to you. I have. Don’t go about thinking that I’m some sort of bloody coward. I’m not about to go around denying the fact that we kissed.” He stopped again and looked up at her, studying her face, “But honestly Weasel, think about this. Your family isn’t exactly thrilled to have me here and I have no doubts that they would enjoy pummeling me to tiny bits for coming within meters of you…let alone kissing you…”
This seemed to only spur the fire in her eyes more. She was glaring at him fiercely, her brown eyes lit up and her cheeks flushed causing her freckles to stand out. She moved towards him and stuck a finger in his chest, poking him hard, “Do you honestly think I care what my family thinks? Do you honestly think their opinions on a matter would change mine?”
He wanted to say ‘no’ but the, “yes”, answer rolled out before he could stop it. Her expression immediately dropped and she pulled away from him; recoiling as if touching him burned.
“And I thought we might have figured each other out. I guess I was wrong,” she gulped and turned away and left the safety of the side of the house, moving back to the discarded walkway.
“Fuck,” Draco muttered before running a hand through his blonde hair.
She was flying. He wasn’t too sure why she had retreated to the back of the Burrow; she knew he was aware of that place. He had, originally, assumed she would seek solace in her room that she shared with Hermione. Any of the Weasley boys, particularly Ron, would have pummeled him for going near it. He had also considered that she wouldn’t have run at all, that when he had traveled to the front door she would be waiting there for him. No, she had been outside in the very place that should have seemed the most obvious.
Although she was high above him, Draco could just make out the look of concentration and frustration that was etched all over her features. She was biting her bottom lip as she did difficult maneuvers in the air. From his perspective she didn’t possess a Quaffle or any type of Qudditich ball and she was quite far from the nearest three ringed hoops. She was spinning in the air over and over, her hair swinging out wildly behind her. Draco considered the idea of shouting up to her and telling her to come down or even to be careful. However, this notion was only slightly considered. The backyard of the Burrow was wide and spacious minus the lake and the small hedge that lined the property. His voice would be heard by any of the Weasleys on the property and that was something he would not gamble with.
The sun had begun to set into the trees by the time she finally settled to the ground and dismounted. Her cheeks were tinted with a light pink blush as she smoothed out her shorts and her blouse. She had been wearing disguising trousers before compared to these, trousers that definitely hid the contour of her long legs. Her arms were muscular too; a lovely feminine but strong shape that had Draco somewhat entranced. She stretched them liberally as she moved towards him, a bit of her tummy showing from beneath her blouse. The skin there was tanner than the skin on the rest of her body and had a slight but very appealing curve to it.
“You can stop staring Malfoy,” she murmured as she walked by him, barely flinching as his eyes followed her.
“What makes you think I was staring at you?” he shot back, not really sure where the comment had come from. It had been more than obvious that he had been ogling her. Instead of responding, however, she simply shook her head at him and made for the very large oak tree at the right of her property. He followed, more out of a need to feel like he had gotten the last word than out of actual desire. Or at least, that’s what he attempted to make himself believe.
The swing that was suspended from the lowest branch of the tree moved just slightly as Ginny fastened herself in it. It seemed like a very childish toy. Or at least, that’s what his mother had always told him. He had wanted a swing when he was very little. It had been large and red with a safety harness just for him and a handle to hold on too. His father, upon seeing the device, had spent the entire rest of the evening arguing in his study with his mother. Upon their exit his mother had insisted that swings were childish; that only babies still had them. He had agreed heartedly; at the time he had wanted anything in the world to grow up. Looking back as he watched Ginny swing quietly in the setting sun, he couldn’t imagine why.
He moved around to her back and withdrew his wand carefully. He could legally perform magic and, with a swish of his wand, completely disillusioned himself behind Ginny. He knew she would know his presence but the rest of her obnoxious family would know nothing of the sort.
“You must really have self esteem issues if you can’t even come over here without making yourself invisible,” she smirked, not bothering to look back at him as he grabbed the chains of the swing and slowly started to push her. He wondered if she would be surprised, pushing a girl in a swing…a Weasley girl…didn’t exactly fall under a Malfoy’s compassionate list.
“I’m doing you a favor, so I advise you just let me get out what I have to say.” She stilled for a second as he continued to push her, “Look, I’m not trying to ignore what happened…the other night. I’m not afraid either, if you think that. I’m just…” he sighed loudly into the air and looked down at the back of her head. What was he anyway? Sure, he was a bit worried that starting up anything with a Weasley would cause problems for him. He was already a target for his father and their followers, being involved with a Weasley would only make it that much worse. Sure, he was pretty sure that the letter he had sent her only caused more bad than good. But Draco wasn’t eloquent with words, it was one of the few reasons Granger had beaten him so many times in marks. He had wanted to thank her and had ended up saying so much more. But, regardless, none of that explained his predicament. He could keep himself well hidden from the likes of those his father called buddies for the time being. He could take back what he had said in the letter, she wouldn’t be happy but she would understand. He knew she would. And yet, it was definitely something else, “…I’m confused.” He finally finished.
“It’s natural to be confused,” she responded simply, “I’m confused too.”
“That’s bloody helpful.”
“Well what do you want me to say!” she screamed suddenly, still not looking at him, “Do you want me to tell you how I feel? Do you? Because you aren’t going to like it!” She breathed for a minute before starting again in a quieter tone, “I’m afraid….and confused…and everything…all rolled up into one large ball. You kissed me, out of nowhere you kissed me and now I have to deal with everything that’s become of it. Then, then you go and write me this amazing letter that for one second made me actually believed that you might…” she sniffed loudly and he felt his stomach drop, Draco hated crying girls, “I actually thought you weren’t going to turn out to be another Michael or Dean or any of them. I actually considered…”
“Considered what?” he asked, pulling her swing to a stop. He was curious. Yes, simply curious.
“…I actually considered the fact that you might actually want me,” she sniffed again, “I actually thought for the briefest of seconds on Christmas morning that you had felt something that night…that Draco Malfoy might have actually felt something for someone other than himself…”
“I did feel something!” he yelled, turning her around in her swing so that she was facing him, her eyes level with his as she swung just slightly from the wind.
“Then why did you ignore me?” she asked sincerely, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. He did it for her, smoothing his fingers across her cheeks delicately, much more delicately than he should have.
“I told you I wasn’t trying to. I was just…confused…”
“Did you mean to kiss me?”
“Yes,” he replied honestly, “It was…bloody nice.” She laughed cautiously and he studied her face again. She really did have beautiful eyes, even for a Weasley. They were a color he never could imagine, like cocoa and honey swirled together with amber and something that resembled gold. They were large and full of the most unbelievable emotions he had ever seen. Sadness, anger, bitterness, lust, and something just under the surface he couldn’t quite recognize. It was then that it hit him. It was there, in the back of the Burrow with his hands on Ginny Weasley’s face, that he realized why it was he had trouble talking to her. He genuinely cared about her.
Genuinely caring about someone was very foreign to Draco. Sure, there had been the few girls he had invited into his bed over the years, but those were teenage hormonal things. They had bid him goodbye as quickly as he had let them leave and it had ended there and always there. But, simply from a kiss, he found himself longing to be around Ginny. He found himself noticing things he didn’t notice about other girls. Maybe it was the fact that she had allowed him to freely talk to her that night. Maybe it was because she had seen him as an individual, not as the stereotyped Slytherin pureblood he had become to be known as. Maybe it was because she was spunky and intelligent and full of nerve. But he cared for her in some sense, he knew that much, and that was the thing that was bothering him.
“I care about you,” he blurted out, looking her directly in the eyes, “That’s why I’m so confused…”
“Malfoy…”
“No you don’t get it. I…I care about you. I’m not supposed to care about people. I…I don’t have the room in my life to care about people. I’m…I’m…I’m supposed to hate you,” he mumbled. She was staring at him, the emotions swirling about in the color pools of her eyes. Her hands, which had remained laced in her lap the entire time, suddenly moved to brush a lock of hair from his face. He stilled, watching her hand as it traced patterns up and down his face.
“…I’m supposed to hate you too,” she whispered, looking at him, “But I don’t. I can’t. I don’t know why, I can’t explain it, and I’m not about to try. Something happened that night. Maybe…maybe its some sort of evil type of fate. But it happened.” She lowered his face down closer to hers, locking their eyes better, “Now you listen to me. I don’t want you to go into a long speech about how I could be hurt or what not. Because I really won’t have that. We…we can work this out...if…if you want it.”
He heard it in the back of his head before it fully registered. The very loud, distinctive, count-down clock of the Weasley family. It was New Year’s Eve, another holiday, and he was outside again with Ginny Weasley impossibly close as the night counted down.
Twelve
Eleven
Ten
Nine
Eight
Seven
Six
Five
“So what do you say Malfoy…are we doing this or not?” she asked, her brow raised expectantly. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her, running his fingers up to tangle into the hair at the nape of her neck.
Four
Three
Two
“If we’re going to, I think it should be on better terms,” he smirked, pulling her to his lips as the final bell rang out and a chorus of shouts rang out from within the Burrow. She was sweeter than he expected and the hands that had been on his face moved down his chest, scratching along his shirt and entangling themselves in his waist. She moaned into his mouth as a bunch of fireworks shot off into the night sky and he smiled broadly underneath her lips. He could get used to this.
As he pulled away from her to watch the final rocket explode above them, he gently pulled her against him. He knew that if the Weasleys were to come outside she would look just a bit silly, standing by herself with her arms wrapped around an invisible someone. But he didn’t care, he noticed, as she pulled herself deeper into his embrace and sighed into his arms.
“This will work, I promise,” she whispered again, her voice sounding very breathy against his tee shirt. He ruffled her hair a bit and turned his face back up to the sky, feeling very content for the first of January.
“I’m going to hold you too that…Ginny.”
To Be Continued.
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