Ginny sometimes thinks that Draco is very much like a storm. He is neither good nor bad, cannot be placed so simply into either category. He is chaotic, like the weather. A natural disaster, poised on the edge of destruction, waiting for the right moment to come crashing down on you. It's part of his charm. But he is not just a bad boy, someone you don't take home to Mother. The fact is that if she took him home to Mother, he'd probably be very polite and charm Mother off her feet, so that by the end of the visit, Mother would probably love him more than Ginny does.
Yet for all his grace and control, he is uncontrollable. There is no magic or machine that can stop a tempest. The same is for Draco. He changes when he is feeling deep emotion, whether it be anger, or sadness, or passion. His eyes darken from silver to the black-gray of storm clouds, and it sends shivers up her spine. He doesn't say much then; his eyes say enough. This is how he looks when he makes love to her, a bolt of lightning about to strike, and it thrills her, although her excitement is tinged very slightly with fear. That's another part of his attraction, that she does not feel entirely safe with him. And he knows it.
He is a contradiction, like a ray of sunlight breaking through the black clouds. His hair is bright and soft, but his body is hard, his eyes fierce, almost overpowering, so that she can just barely stand to match his gaze. But she makes herself, thinking wildly that if she does this for too long, she'll go blind, as if she was looking into the sun. But then he kisses her, and she automatically closes her eyes, giving herself over to the storm. Her last conscious thought is that she hopes she will survive.
But she always does. And when she wakes, it's like the clouds clearing and the glory of the sun warming her, shining down on calm waters. She suspects that this is her favorite part. She watches him sleep and something deep within her hums with satisfaction.
She thinks that perhaps it is love.
Yet for all his grace and control, he is uncontrollable. There is no magic or machine that can stop a tempest. The same is for Draco. He changes when he is feeling deep emotion, whether it be anger, or sadness, or passion. His eyes darken from silver to the black-gray of storm clouds, and it sends shivers up her spine. He doesn't say much then; his eyes say enough. This is how he looks when he makes love to her, a bolt of lightning about to strike, and it thrills her, although her excitement is tinged very slightly with fear. That's another part of his attraction, that she does not feel entirely safe with him. And he knows it.
He is a contradiction, like a ray of sunlight breaking through the black clouds. His hair is bright and soft, but his body is hard, his eyes fierce, almost overpowering, so that she can just barely stand to match his gaze. But she makes herself, thinking wildly that if she does this for too long, she'll go blind, as if she was looking into the sun. But then he kisses her, and she automatically closes her eyes, giving herself over to the storm. Her last conscious thought is that she hopes she will survive.
But she always does. And when she wakes, it's like the clouds clearing and the glory of the sun warming her, shining down on calm waters. She suspects that this is her favorite part. She watches him sleep and something deep within her hums with satisfaction.
She thinks that perhaps it is love.
The End.
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