Reviews: 4 | Table of Contents | - Text Size +
Peering curiously into her own eyes in the mirror over her bureau, Ginny Weasley wondered vaguely what others would see in her reflection. She knew what she herself saw: deep green eyes, the color of the ivy crawling up the side of the burrow below her bedroom window. She saw a sprinkling of creamy brown-sugar freckles across her cheeks and nose. Most important, in her expression, she saw everything she knew she felt: acceptance—of Harry’s departure, curiosity—about her future, and devotion—to everything she loved.
Ginny was startled from her thoughts by a shrill call from her mum, who was climbing up the cramped, creaky steps to Ginny’s room to wake her for school. It was the first of September and Ginny’s first school day without Harry. What a year this was going to be.
“Ginny! Wake up, love! You should be packing!” Molly cried, as though suddenly remembering Ginny’s suspiciously full closet from the previous day. Ginny darted away from the mirror and began stuffing items at random into her trunk: tall socks, pleated skirts, secondhand spellbooks and robes, various cosmetic potions, flats, a blazer (in case students were to be allowed Hogsmeade trips), a photograph of her with Harry—Ginny paused to peer at the framed picture. She was grinning coyly at Ron, who was behind the camera, as Harry leaned over and kissed her cheek. The photo’s sequence ended with Ginny’s feigned exasperation at Harry’s sudden affection.
Ginny turned and gently placed the frame on her bookshelves, adjusting her white camisole straps as she watched it again. It was time to leave him behind, just as he had done to her.
*~*
Ginny first saw Draco when he was sitting on a bench on Platform 9¾. He was reclined nonchalantly, his posture contradicting his expression. He appeared so out of place, Ginny was taken by surprise. Then he smiled his slow, insolent smirk and launched into another one of his stories, and Ginny’s confusion was banished.
Ginny wrinkled her nose in disgust at his arrogant attitude. If she’d wanted to blame someone for Harry’s departure, she could have chosen him. She knew in her heart, though, that Harry would have left her with or without Dumbledore alive. Still, Draco was so sure of himself, and Ginny was perplexed. He had nothing to be sure about. Why was he so positive he knew what his life needed? Ginny wished she herself had that assurance, but immediately took it back when she remembered where it had gotten him.
As Ginny took a seat in an empty compartment, she heard voices drifting through the open window.
“And you must behave like a gentleman, uphold your family name, show respect to your professors, don’t succumb to anyone who tries to get in your way, and, most importantly——”
“Mum,” an exasperated voice cut in. “I promise I’ll conduct myself according to your directions—though the family name bit might be past help—if you promise to stop fussing over me!”
“Draco,” the other voice sighed. Ginny guessed it to be that of Narcissa Malfoy, Draco’s mum.
“Most importantly,” she continued, as though she hadn’t been interrupted, “be careful of the Gryffindors. They’re careless, but they’ll do anything to get you to their side.”
Ginny craned her neck to look out of the window and surreptitiously glance along the train a ways to where Draco and his mum were standing. Draco had adopted a bemused expression as Narcissa spoke. Again, he looked bored. Ginny shook her head at his self-importance, and, ducking back inside the train, turned to face the empty seat across form her. He had such nerve, to be that way after what he’d done to the Headmaster, to the school. He was hopeless.
Ginny pulled her purse to her and peered inside it as Draco walked by the window of her compartment. She did not want to make eye contact. Why was he so insufferably demanding? With values as misguided as his, he should at least have the common courtesy to be repentant. Annoyed, Ginny glanced up to glare at him, though she didn’t expect him to be looking at her.
But he was. Still walking, he peered in at her as he passed her window. She was so taken aback by his look that her own glare dissolved into a wide-eyed gape. They paused there, staring at one another, frozen—until Draco’s hovering trunk bumped him from behind. He started, blinking, and continued walking along the passageway.
Ginny turned to face the seat opposite her once more, frowning. What had she just seen? What had been there in his face that she hadn’t recognized? Finally, she pinpointed it. It was the depth of his eyes: they’d never been so revealing before. All she’d ever seen of them was an expression entirely devoid of emotion. For a moment, she’d glimpsed a depth of spirit she didn’t know he possessed. Did that mean he actually did care? It seemed so impossible that she soon dismissed her notion as the product of a much-too-vivid imagination.
Two weeks later, Ginny had nearly forgotten about her brief encounter with Draco and the overheard conversation between him and his mother. She was cutting her route short by going by the greenhouses when she remembered—or rather—was reminded.
“Weasley,” Draco greeted, as though she’d arrived at his house as an invited guest. Ginny scowled at him. She hadn’t even been aware she had company until he’d addressed her.
“Malfoy?” Ginny responded, both incredulous and annoyed. Why was he there? Quirking an eyebrow, she looked at him encouragingly, wondering if he would continue. He, however, didn’t seem to have much more to say.
“What are you doing here?” she prodded, her voice icy.
“I,” he responded, unconcerned, “am only walking. There’s no need to be alarmed.”
“You’re walking. Right,” Ginny stopped abruptly and whirled on him. If she hadn’t been so frustrated, she would have caught sight of his expression, and she would have seen that, through the surface of self-importance and loftiness, he really just needed her to be understanding. Ginny, however, unleashed her anger without a second thought. Throughout the past few months, she had been incensed with everything he represented, and now he was just walking.
“You! You’re pompous, and ignorant, and… and… horrid! You have no right to even speak to me! You as good as killed the headmaster, you drove Harry off on some mission, you turned away from everyone who’s helped you all these years and toward the people who don’t care about anyone at all! And now you’re just like them! It doesn’t matter to you what you do or who you hurt, as long as it pleases him! You don’t care! You don’t care.”
Tears had come into Ginny’s eyes, and, as her torrent of frustration quieted, her control over them wavered and she was sobbing great, hoarse sobs, her shoulders shaking. She buried her face in her hands. She didn’t understand any of it. She didn’t understand why Draco was the way he was or why that made her so sad. All she knew was that—suddenly, her wave of helplessness had eased, and she felt protected.
Draco had watched and listened to her outburst with unconcealed astonishment. Ginny had turned to him when she finished, glaring, begging with her eyes for some kind of explanation. She moved toward him as if to hit him, but felt her frustration deflate as she stared at him, exposed. He wrapped his arms around her then, surprising her, drawing into him tentatively but comfortingly. She buried her tear-stained face in his warm cloak, forcing herself to breathe. Draco was talking to her, speaking gently into her hair. With a little cough, she lifted her chin to peer up at him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, almost reluctantly, as though he hadn’t known himself that his words were true.
Ginny’s tears returned in a rush when she saw that he was crying, too, in surprise and shock at his own admittance.
They remained there, she gathered into him, his chin resting on her shoulder, her cheek on his chest, taking comfort in each other and banishing their sadness.
Draco stepped back, uneasily. He looked determinedly at a spot just to the left of Ginny’s ear, preparing himself, clearly, for some sort of confession.
“I don’t want you—anyone, really— to think that of me. I did come back, after all. They shouldn’t view me that way any more. I want them to know I do care, and I always have. I could just never turn down any sort of challenge. Or my father, for that matter,” Draco trailed off, clearing his throat and glancing at Ginny’s eyes.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he continued. “I guess I just thought you’d want to know.”
“I do,” Ginny nodded, encouraging him. “I do. But you can’t—we can’t——”
“I’ve been trying to fix this,” Draco responded decisively. “And I can. I don’t want to be who I was before. I just want to be… someone else, someone I can start over as.”
Ginny shook her head, shocked. He wanted to start over? “So what does that mean? Are you just going to have everyone forget what they’ve seen you do? You can’t make people form a new opinion of you. They won’t be able to do that.”
A momentary flash of hurt passed over Draco’s face. Ginny reached up to him, her pale fingers resting comfortingly on his cheek.
“No, it’s all right, Malfoy, really. I think you can do it, if you really want to. I can help,” she comforted him.
Draco leaned down and kissed her, gently. She leaned into his touch, welcoming it. It felt perfect; they fit. She knew then that everything old wound would heal. She would be there for him. He would tear himself away from his old life, and Ginny would learn to accept him into her heart.
Ginny was startled from her thoughts by a shrill call from her mum, who was climbing up the cramped, creaky steps to Ginny’s room to wake her for school. It was the first of September and Ginny’s first school day without Harry. What a year this was going to be.
“Ginny! Wake up, love! You should be packing!” Molly cried, as though suddenly remembering Ginny’s suspiciously full closet from the previous day. Ginny darted away from the mirror and began stuffing items at random into her trunk: tall socks, pleated skirts, secondhand spellbooks and robes, various cosmetic potions, flats, a blazer (in case students were to be allowed Hogsmeade trips), a photograph of her with Harry—Ginny paused to peer at the framed picture. She was grinning coyly at Ron, who was behind the camera, as Harry leaned over and kissed her cheek. The photo’s sequence ended with Ginny’s feigned exasperation at Harry’s sudden affection.
Ginny turned and gently placed the frame on her bookshelves, adjusting her white camisole straps as she watched it again. It was time to leave him behind, just as he had done to her.
Ginny first saw Draco when he was sitting on a bench on Platform 9¾. He was reclined nonchalantly, his posture contradicting his expression. He appeared so out of place, Ginny was taken by surprise. Then he smiled his slow, insolent smirk and launched into another one of his stories, and Ginny’s confusion was banished.
Ginny wrinkled her nose in disgust at his arrogant attitude. If she’d wanted to blame someone for Harry’s departure, she could have chosen him. She knew in her heart, though, that Harry would have left her with or without Dumbledore alive. Still, Draco was so sure of himself, and Ginny was perplexed. He had nothing to be sure about. Why was he so positive he knew what his life needed? Ginny wished she herself had that assurance, but immediately took it back when she remembered where it had gotten him.
As Ginny took a seat in an empty compartment, she heard voices drifting through the open window.
“And you must behave like a gentleman, uphold your family name, show respect to your professors, don’t succumb to anyone who tries to get in your way, and, most importantly——”
“Mum,” an exasperated voice cut in. “I promise I’ll conduct myself according to your directions—though the family name bit might be past help—if you promise to stop fussing over me!”
“Draco,” the other voice sighed. Ginny guessed it to be that of Narcissa Malfoy, Draco’s mum.
“Most importantly,” she continued, as though she hadn’t been interrupted, “be careful of the Gryffindors. They’re careless, but they’ll do anything to get you to their side.”
Ginny craned her neck to look out of the window and surreptitiously glance along the train a ways to where Draco and his mum were standing. Draco had adopted a bemused expression as Narcissa spoke. Again, he looked bored. Ginny shook her head at his self-importance, and, ducking back inside the train, turned to face the empty seat across form her. He had such nerve, to be that way after what he’d done to the Headmaster, to the school. He was hopeless.
Ginny pulled her purse to her and peered inside it as Draco walked by the window of her compartment. She did not want to make eye contact. Why was he so insufferably demanding? With values as misguided as his, he should at least have the common courtesy to be repentant. Annoyed, Ginny glanced up to glare at him, though she didn’t expect him to be looking at her.
But he was. Still walking, he peered in at her as he passed her window. She was so taken aback by his look that her own glare dissolved into a wide-eyed gape. They paused there, staring at one another, frozen—until Draco’s hovering trunk bumped him from behind. He started, blinking, and continued walking along the passageway.
Ginny turned to face the seat opposite her once more, frowning. What had she just seen? What had been there in his face that she hadn’t recognized? Finally, she pinpointed it. It was the depth of his eyes: they’d never been so revealing before. All she’d ever seen of them was an expression entirely devoid of emotion. For a moment, she’d glimpsed a depth of spirit she didn’t know he possessed. Did that mean he actually did care? It seemed so impossible that she soon dismissed her notion as the product of a much-too-vivid imagination.
Two weeks later, Ginny had nearly forgotten about her brief encounter with Draco and the overheard conversation between him and his mother. She was cutting her route short by going by the greenhouses when she remembered—or rather—was reminded.
“Weasley,” Draco greeted, as though she’d arrived at his house as an invited guest. Ginny scowled at him. She hadn’t even been aware she had company until he’d addressed her.
“Malfoy?” Ginny responded, both incredulous and annoyed. Why was he there? Quirking an eyebrow, she looked at him encouragingly, wondering if he would continue. He, however, didn’t seem to have much more to say.
“What are you doing here?” she prodded, her voice icy.
“I,” he responded, unconcerned, “am only walking. There’s no need to be alarmed.”
“You’re walking. Right,” Ginny stopped abruptly and whirled on him. If she hadn’t been so frustrated, she would have caught sight of his expression, and she would have seen that, through the surface of self-importance and loftiness, he really just needed her to be understanding. Ginny, however, unleashed her anger without a second thought. Throughout the past few months, she had been incensed with everything he represented, and now he was just walking.
“You! You’re pompous, and ignorant, and… and… horrid! You have no right to even speak to me! You as good as killed the headmaster, you drove Harry off on some mission, you turned away from everyone who’s helped you all these years and toward the people who don’t care about anyone at all! And now you’re just like them! It doesn’t matter to you what you do or who you hurt, as long as it pleases him! You don’t care! You don’t care.”
Tears had come into Ginny’s eyes, and, as her torrent of frustration quieted, her control over them wavered and she was sobbing great, hoarse sobs, her shoulders shaking. She buried her face in her hands. She didn’t understand any of it. She didn’t understand why Draco was the way he was or why that made her so sad. All she knew was that—suddenly, her wave of helplessness had eased, and she felt protected.
Draco had watched and listened to her outburst with unconcealed astonishment. Ginny had turned to him when she finished, glaring, begging with her eyes for some kind of explanation. She moved toward him as if to hit him, but felt her frustration deflate as she stared at him, exposed. He wrapped his arms around her then, surprising her, drawing into him tentatively but comfortingly. She buried her tear-stained face in his warm cloak, forcing herself to breathe. Draco was talking to her, speaking gently into her hair. With a little cough, she lifted her chin to peer up at him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, almost reluctantly, as though he hadn’t known himself that his words were true.
Ginny’s tears returned in a rush when she saw that he was crying, too, in surprise and shock at his own admittance.
They remained there, she gathered into him, his chin resting on her shoulder, her cheek on his chest, taking comfort in each other and banishing their sadness.
Draco stepped back, uneasily. He looked determinedly at a spot just to the left of Ginny’s ear, preparing himself, clearly, for some sort of confession.
“I don’t want you—anyone, really— to think that of me. I did come back, after all. They shouldn’t view me that way any more. I want them to know I do care, and I always have. I could just never turn down any sort of challenge. Or my father, for that matter,” Draco trailed off, clearing his throat and glancing at Ginny’s eyes.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he continued. “I guess I just thought you’d want to know.”
“I do,” Ginny nodded, encouraging him. “I do. But you can’t—we can’t——”
“I’ve been trying to fix this,” Draco responded decisively. “And I can. I don’t want to be who I was before. I just want to be… someone else, someone I can start over as.”
Ginny shook her head, shocked. He wanted to start over? “So what does that mean? Are you just going to have everyone forget what they’ve seen you do? You can’t make people form a new opinion of you. They won’t be able to do that.”
A momentary flash of hurt passed over Draco’s face. Ginny reached up to him, her pale fingers resting comfortingly on his cheek.
“No, it’s all right, Malfoy, really. I think you can do it, if you really want to. I can help,” she comforted him.
Draco leaned down and kissed her, gently. She leaned into his touch, welcoming it. It felt perfect; they fit. She knew then that everything old wound would heal. She would be there for him. He would tear himself away from his old life, and Ginny would learn to accept him into her heart.
The End.
callmehermione is the author of 6 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 2 members. Members who liked Suddenly Love also liked 998 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 2 members. Members who liked Suddenly Love also liked 998 other stories.
Leave a Review