He was sitting alone in a corner of the castle, curled up with his knees to his chin. It appeared as though he was pissed off at the world. Or it could have just been because she was walking by. His mood was mirrored in the dim glow of the surrounding candles and the cold, gray stone of the walls. She figured she couldn’t make things any worse, so she walked over to him. Looking sideways to make sure she was alone, she knelt down next to him and rested her hand on his shoulder. He flinched.
“Draco?” she asked timidly.
“What do you want?” he snapped.
Her look changed quickly from that of sympathy to that of offense. “I’m sorry I even tried. You just looked rather depressed. I’ll go; you apparently wouldn’t want anyone to help you.” She started to stand up, but he grabbed her arm.
“No,” he said quickly. “Don’t go.”
Slightly confused, she sat down next to him. He didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk, but her presence seemed to calm him a bit. Ever since Crabbe and Goyle had been killed, he’d seemed rather lonely. Why he missed those two idiots, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was the way they were killed that scared him: They were on a mission for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and done in by three of the opposing Aurors. Bit of a shocker when you realized your life’s dream was basically just a suicide job.
Since then, she’d noticed that he was completely withdrawn. He’d given up attempting to beat Hermione in his marks. He’d even let up some on his torturing of Harry. And he’d completely forgotten his obsession with his hair and covering it in grease every morning. It always looked tousled and scruffy now.
She didn’t know why so few people seemed to notice the change. Sure, he wasn’t very well liked, but you’d think people wouldn’t want him to completely shun himself from the world. He may have been a ferret-y bastard, but he was still a human. Mostly. That’s why she’d approached him.
Gradually, it became an understanding between the two of them that a little before curfew, she would meet him in the same secluded corner. They would just sit, not speaking. Without him telling her, she knew why he needed someone there. To keep him grounded.
He seemed to be grateful; he’d always frown less–even tilt the corners of his mouth in an almost-smile–when she showed up, and give her a small nod when she left. It became routine, comfortable.
After several weeks of this, Draco broke their sacred silence. “Why do you sit with me?” He looked genuinely confused.
“Because you want me to,” she replied simply.
“Who ever said that?” Draco spat out.
She raised her eyebrow. “We’ve been through this. If you choose to be a bastard, I have no problem leaving.”
“Well, fine then.” He glared. “I will rephrase it so as not to hurt your delicate feelings.”
She just gave him a look.
“How can you tell that I like having you here?” he asked honestly.
“Because you get less scowl-y.” She smiled. Seriously, she added, “And because I understand what it’s like to need people.”
“I don’t...”
“Everyone needs someone,” she stated. “And you just got your two someones taken from you.”
His recent neutral look quickly turned to one of horror. “They weren’t my someones!”
She laughed. “Not in that way, pervert. I meant friends.”
“In that case, there is nothing I can do about that. If you hadn’t noticed by now, I am not a people person.” He reverted back to his favorite scowl.
She sighed internally. Was the idiot really going to need convincing? He was a brilliant people person when he didn’t glare at everyone and threaten to kill their families. “That doesn’t mean you have to put yourself in a corridor that no one ever walks through and shut yourself from everything.”
He looked up from the place on the floor at which he’d been staring, and stared her in the eye. “I don’t have a choice. I’m not like you.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled.
“There’s nothing I have to live for.” He leaned farther back towards the wall so his head was against the cold stone. “You’ve got your family, and other people you actually care about. Do you know what I would give to have something that makes waking up every day worth something? That I could have something to look forward to?”
She glanced at him quickly, and answered softly. “There must be something that you’re passionate about. Something that can make all the crap that goes on suddenly less crappy, if just for a moment. What about Quidditch?”
Draco shrugged. “I never liked it, not really. And only because my father did; he expected me to do well at it.”
“Potions?”
“I only started helping Professor Snape out in the first place because it was something to do. It doesn’t move any sort of passion in me. It’s just...potions.”
“There is always something for everyone that makes you feel so content, happy, and just...full of life that it creates a purpose for putting up with everything else,” she said firmly, even noting to herself how corny it sounded. “You’ve just got to find it.”
“What if I can’t? What if there is nothing for me?”
“There is.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Ginny sighed. This was getting rather old. Perhaps if he got off of his lazy, self-pitying arse, he’d actually be able to get somewhere. She was about to tell him so, but he cut off her thoughts.
“I know you were going to say something. But I think I actually may have found what I’m looking for,” he looked down at his fingers, examining them rather closely as if they were actually doing something interesting.
“Really? What is it?” she asked curiously.
“I’d rather not say....”
“Why?”
“Because it’s you.”
“Draco?” she asked timidly.
“What do you want?” he snapped.
Her look changed quickly from that of sympathy to that of offense. “I’m sorry I even tried. You just looked rather depressed. I’ll go; you apparently wouldn’t want anyone to help you.” She started to stand up, but he grabbed her arm.
“No,” he said quickly. “Don’t go.”
Slightly confused, she sat down next to him. He didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk, but her presence seemed to calm him a bit. Ever since Crabbe and Goyle had been killed, he’d seemed rather lonely. Why he missed those two idiots, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was the way they were killed that scared him: They were on a mission for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and done in by three of the opposing Aurors. Bit of a shocker when you realized your life’s dream was basically just a suicide job.
Since then, she’d noticed that he was completely withdrawn. He’d given up attempting to beat Hermione in his marks. He’d even let up some on his torturing of Harry. And he’d completely forgotten his obsession with his hair and covering it in grease every morning. It always looked tousled and scruffy now.
She didn’t know why so few people seemed to notice the change. Sure, he wasn’t very well liked, but you’d think people wouldn’t want him to completely shun himself from the world. He may have been a ferret-y bastard, but he was still a human. Mostly. That’s why she’d approached him.
Gradually, it became an understanding between the two of them that a little before curfew, she would meet him in the same secluded corner. They would just sit, not speaking. Without him telling her, she knew why he needed someone there. To keep him grounded.
He seemed to be grateful; he’d always frown less–even tilt the corners of his mouth in an almost-smile–when she showed up, and give her a small nod when she left. It became routine, comfortable.
After several weeks of this, Draco broke their sacred silence. “Why do you sit with me?” He looked genuinely confused.
“Because you want me to,” she replied simply.
“Who ever said that?” Draco spat out.
She raised her eyebrow. “We’ve been through this. If you choose to be a bastard, I have no problem leaving.”
“Well, fine then.” He glared. “I will rephrase it so as not to hurt your delicate feelings.”
She just gave him a look.
“How can you tell that I like having you here?” he asked honestly.
“Because you get less scowl-y.” She smiled. Seriously, she added, “And because I understand what it’s like to need people.”
“I don’t...”
“Everyone needs someone,” she stated. “And you just got your two someones taken from you.”
His recent neutral look quickly turned to one of horror. “They weren’t my someones!”
She laughed. “Not in that way, pervert. I meant friends.”
“In that case, there is nothing I can do about that. If you hadn’t noticed by now, I am not a people person.” He reverted back to his favorite scowl.
She sighed internally. Was the idiot really going to need convincing? He was a brilliant people person when he didn’t glare at everyone and threaten to kill their families. “That doesn’t mean you have to put yourself in a corridor that no one ever walks through and shut yourself from everything.”
He looked up from the place on the floor at which he’d been staring, and stared her in the eye. “I don’t have a choice. I’m not like you.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled.
“There’s nothing I have to live for.” He leaned farther back towards the wall so his head was against the cold stone. “You’ve got your family, and other people you actually care about. Do you know what I would give to have something that makes waking up every day worth something? That I could have something to look forward to?”
She glanced at him quickly, and answered softly. “There must be something that you’re passionate about. Something that can make all the crap that goes on suddenly less crappy, if just for a moment. What about Quidditch?”
Draco shrugged. “I never liked it, not really. And only because my father did; he expected me to do well at it.”
“Potions?”
“I only started helping Professor Snape out in the first place because it was something to do. It doesn’t move any sort of passion in me. It’s just...potions.”
“There is always something for everyone that makes you feel so content, happy, and just...full of life that it creates a purpose for putting up with everything else,” she said firmly, even noting to herself how corny it sounded. “You’ve just got to find it.”
“What if I can’t? What if there is nothing for me?”
“There is.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Ginny sighed. This was getting rather old. Perhaps if he got off of his lazy, self-pitying arse, he’d actually be able to get somewhere. She was about to tell him so, but he cut off her thoughts.
“I know you were going to say something. But I think I actually may have found what I’m looking for,” he looked down at his fingers, examining them rather closely as if they were actually doing something interesting.
“Really? What is it?” she asked curiously.
“I’d rather not say....”
“Why?”
“Because it’s you.”
The End.
smokeline is the author of 10 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 12 members. Members who liked Passion also liked 802 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 12 members. Members who liked Passion also liked 802 other stories.
Leave a Review