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A/N – This is officially my Halloween fic of the year lol. Very different from last year’s (Trick or Treat). I know it’s early, but I have no patience. If you’re stronger than me, you can save it for when it’s actually Halloween haha.
Oh yeah, it was inspired by my favorite poem of all time, “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost. It’s not really obvious how or anything, but I thought someone might find it interesting how I come up with some of this stuff. Or something, lol…I’m always curious, at least. About other people’s stories, that is (obviously haha).
Ahem, ANYWAY, it follows HBP.
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Dancing on Rooftops
Autumn swept over Scotland in a shower of dry, rustling leaves. They whispered in the wind and drifted around Ginny in little spirals where she stood alone in the middle of a lawn that they had colored brown and gold and crimson. The crimson matched her hair, the gold the glow on her skin from the setting sun, and the brown her eyes, fixed and unfocused on that distant star. The breeze chilled her, but she remained statue-like.
The crackle of dead leaves betrayed the otherwise silent approach of someone behind her, but she ignored the newcomer.
“Has someone petrified you, Weasley?” a familiar drawl inquired, sounding unconcerned by the possibility.
She sighed. “No, Malfoy. I’m thinking.”
He stepped up beside her. Her gaze stayed glued to the sunset, but from the corners of her eyes she saw that he stood relaxed with both hands in the pockets of his black slacks. He wore his oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and the top buttons open, his tie draped unknotted around his collar, fluttering occasionally in the crisp air. The usually put-together Slytherin hardly ever let people see him looking like this, not even her.
“You do that a lot. Too much, if you ask me.”
Ginny allowed a small smile at that. She liked that about Malfoy, that he never asked questions. He knew she would explain herself if she wanted to, and if she chose against it, that was her business. The same held true for him, and so they shared what they considered an ideal, if unexpected, understanding.
“Maybe you just think too little,” she proposed.
Malfoy shook his head, little halos of sunshine bouncing around on his platinum head. She thought it ironic that such a devil could appear so angel-like. But then, she didn’t really know the extent of his sins. He never volunteered, and so, as per their silent agreement, she never asked. “You can never think too little,” he insisted. “Thinking leads to all the trouble in the world.”
“You think so?”
He hunched his shoulders a little as a cold wind rushed down from the castle. “Absolutely. Thinking lets you realize problems you never noticed before, which makes you worry, which makes you try and do something because, let’s face it, we like to have control of a situation, which leads us to do silly things because most of the time we can’t fix whatever’s wrong anyway, and then you make an even bigger blunder, which you of course try to reverse, and it just keeps going in a vicious cycle that could’ve been avoided had you just not thought in the first place.”
Ginny laughed. “So we’d all be much happier if we just shut our brains down.”
“We would be positively euphoric.”
She finally pulled her eyes away from sunset, finding them a little watery from staring into the glare. She blinked a few times to clear her vision and saw that the sun now claimed Malfoy’s gray, unreadable eyes, the boy obviously contemplating something.
“Hey, stop thinking,” she teased, giving him a playful little shove. “It’ll only lead to trouble, remember?”
He looked down at her and smirked, then turned back to the horizon. On impulse Ginny plopped down in the grass, on top of the leaves, and bent her knees so that she could prop her elbows on them. Malfoy joined her a moment later, and she studied his profile, the proud, strong features that never did quite outgrow the pointy look from his youth.
Their current relationship started taking shape on the first day of her Sixth year, his Seventh, when they had both retreated to the same compartment on the train in an effort to avoid the “good-intentioned” prying of their peers. From her everyone had wanted to know what had happened with Harry, and as for Malfoy…well, she could imagine. Their unlikely association was months old now, so she supposed that made him a friend, but it was hard to know for sure.
She still never called him Draco.
She wondered idly what that would feel like, how it would form on her tongue and what it might taste like on her lips. Out of curiosity she silently mouthed it a few times, but it wasn’t the same as actually using it to address him.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her, and she realized with a flush that he’d been watching. “What on earth are you doing?” he asked, suppressed laughter in his voice. She liked the sound. It surfaced too rarely in his sarcastic tone.
“Nothing.” Embarrassed, she avoided eye-contact by looking back at the sun. “Just…remembering what I was thinking about earlier,” she lied.
“Mmm hmmm.” He didn’t believe her, but he wouldn’t press the matter. He never did.
She looked at him again and felt such a surge of gratitude for his patience that she felt the need to share those earlier musings. “I was thinking about the Halloween Ball tomorrow night.”
He met her eyes, giving his full attention, but said nothing, simply waited for her to go at her own pace.
She didn’t have to go on; she could stop at any time and she knew he would let it drop. Knowing that comforted her and allowed her to go on, despite the fear of appearing silly. “I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to go or not.”
“I thought you already bought a costume.”
“I didn’t buy one. I made one, yes.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I don’t know. I wanted to go, but now I can’t decide if I really want to.”
“What made you change your mind?” Not breaking eye contact, he leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs out in front of him. Ginny recognized it as his “serious talk” position.
“It’s just that Hermione and I were talking about it — she’s helping McGonagall plan it this year, you know — and it got me thinking is all. I mean I love to dance and the food is always good, I’ll admit that, but it’s just…awkward.”
“Awkward.”
She frowned a little, laying her head sideways on her knees so she could still see him. “Well, yeah. I hardly know my friends anymore. Ever since last year we just sort of drifted…” she trailed off, catching the way Malfoy looked away for the first time, his face expressionless as he stared at the sunset.
She winced; he hated any reminders of last year. He never told her as much (he refused to discuss it at all, really), but it was obvious from instances just like this. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe that was just her giving him too much credit.
She swallowed the urge to apologize (he didn’t appreciate apologies much; he said they made him uncomfortable), and retrieved her earlier train of thought. “So now you and the Trio are pretty much it. But Hermione and Ron are going to want to be left alone, I’m sure, and I think Harry has a date as well, so he doesn’t need me bothering him, and you…well, you know how that goes.”
“I still say we just shock them all.” He looked up and caught her eyes again. “Hell, we could even go together and really send ‘em into an uproar.”
Ginny giggled. “Are you kidding? It would be scandal. We’d cause a sensation.”
He smirked. “Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”
Smiling, Ginny shook her head. Another strong breeze blew up a mini-cyclone of leaves, and she paused to watch the swirling dance. When the wind died and the cyclone collapsed lazily once again, she turned and flopped onto her stomach, burying her head in her arms with a groan. “I just have this feeling it’s going to be miserable.”
“So don’t go.”
She rested her cheek on her forearms so she could see him again. “But everyone’s expecting me to.”
“If you live your whole life by other people’s expectations, you’ll never be happy.”
Ginny wanted to point out that maybe he should take his own advice, but managed to bite her tongue. She suspected most of his nasty behavior was a result of other people’s expectations, but Draco Malfoy did not take well to criticism. “I suppose,” she said instead. “But I want to do something to celebrate Halloween.”
Malfoy said nothing, and Ginny let the silence hang. Quiet between them always felt as natural as the talking. Eventually, though, the horizon finally rose up to claim the last slivers of sun, and Malfoy climbed to his feet, pulling her up after him. They walked wordlessly back to the castle, Ginny calm and content. She still didn’t have a solution, but the simple act of complaining about it made her feel at least a little lighter.
When they reached the Entrance Hall, Malfoy offered her his usual nod of farewell, which she returned with a smile and a tiny wave, and he started down the stairs to the dungeon. Ginny chose the staircase leading up instead, and several minutes later stepped into her dormitory.
The soft snores of her dorm mates already filled the room, so she tip-toed very carefully over to her trunk and pulled out her costume, a mixture of old-fashioned sowing, Transfiguration (done with Hermione’s help), and a few glamours. It was an Arabian princess outfit, actually Hermione’s idea, and one that Ginny had a lot of initial skepticism for. Once Hermione got an idea in her head, though, that was the end of it. For once, Ginny was actually glad for her friend’s stubbornness. Unable to help herself, she decided to try it on.
The fabric was typically light and gauzy, practically floating around her in shades of earthy brown and rich, ruby red. Hermione had wanted to make it “traditional” and leave her midsection bare, but Ginny had put her foot down there. They compromised by adding some barely transparent chiffon to go over her stomach. A sheer veil covered her lower face, and a brown band with one brilliant ruby at the front rested on her head.
Ginny sighed; it would be a shame if she didn’t get to wear it after all.
The next day, all Hallow’s eve itself, crawled by in restless anticipation for the evening, the entire student body squirming with impatience. When that night finally arrived, it found Ginny standing in front of her dormitory’s one full length mirror, admiring her costume and still wracked with indecision. All the other girls were already gone with their dates.
Ginny raised a hand to adjust the veil when a small clink ricocheted off the window. She froze, then shrugged and went back to torturing herself with the decision she needed to make in the next few minutes. Then the clink came again, and Ginny knew it was no coincidence. Someone was throwing stones at her window.
Always wary, she picked up her wand from her nightstand and edged towards the window. The light inside made it impossible to see into the dark outside, so she cautiously unlatched the window and let it swing open. There, almost even with the sill, floated a broomstick. Ginny blinked. Tightening her fingers around the wand, she stepped forward and leaned out, straining to see into the night, but nobody was in sight. She realized the clink hadn’t been stones at all, but the broom handle tapping against the window.
Nonplussed, she straightened out and regarded the broom suspiciously. A slip of parchment, tucked in the broom’s bristles, caught her eye. After just a moment’s hesitation, she stretched out and plucked it free with her index and middle finger. Perching on the window sill, she unfolded the note and read the words written in an unspectacular but precise hand: If the Ball is what you want, pretend none of this happened and go on as you planned. If you’re looking for a little something different, hop on.
Ginny turned the message over and re-read it several times, mind abuzz with questions. A knock sounded at the door.
“Ginny?” Hermione’s voice floated in. “Are you almost ready?”
She glanced up at the door, back to the note, then out to the broom. If you’re looking for a little something different…. And Ginny made up her mind.
“I’ve got a few things I need to do,” Ginny called back. “Go on without me, okay?”
There was a pause, and Ginny could clearly picture the other girl wringing her hands, unsure of the proper thing to do. Finally, Hermione relented. “Well…all right. I’ll see you when you come down.”
“Sure, now go on! You’re going to miss the beginning,” Ginny urged, then waited for the sound of the girl’s footsteps to fade away. As soon as they did, Ginny shoved the note into the band of her trousers and hoisted herself into a crouch on the window sill. From there she shifted positions so she sat directly on the sill, her legs dangling free seven stories above the ground, then lifting herself with her arms, slid onto the broom.
“Now what?” she muttered.
The broom answered her question almost right away, lurching into motion so fast she had to grab on with both hands to keep her seat. She braced herself for a wild ride, but after the initial take-off it slowed down, moving at a more comfortable pace. Experimentally, Ginny tried to alter its course, but the broom remained unresponsive to all of her best efforts. Wherever it planned on taking her, that was where she was going.
She soared far above the grounds, the stars a brilliant dusting of glitter and diamonds in the night sky and the world quiet and peaceful. The wind tugged at the gauzy, free-flowing material of her costume, making her glad of the warming charms she and Hermione had cast on it. Caught up in the beauty of the trip, she didn’t realize just how far the broom carried her until it slowed to a stop, and she realized she hovered above a rooftop in Hogsmeade.
She swung her legs around to one side and jumped down the few inches to the roof, eyes immediately drawn to the one source of light — a pair of candles floating over a small, circle table at the far edge of the roof. Two place settings sat ready and waiting, the plates shielded by ornately decorated covers of real silver.
Malfoy stepped out of the shadows and into the soft sphere of light from the candles. He raised an eyebrow at her attire. “You do realize that outfit is absolutely ridiculous,” he informed her.
“Malfoy?” She looked back and forth between the tall blond, dressed simply in black, and the elaborate table, trying to take it all in. Then she registered his comment and looked down at herself, smiling weakly. “Oh, yeah.”
He walked up casually, his eyes absorbing every inch of her, making her feel oddly vulnerable. He added, “It’s ridiculous, but you look stunning in it.”
Ginny had no idea what to say to that, could hardly believe she’d heard correctly in the first place. He took her hand, and she almost panicked wondering what he intended, but she relaxed when he only led her over to the table.
He pulled out a chair for her that she accepted and, finding her voice at last, she asked, “What is all this?”
He sat down across from her, taking his napkin and giving it a practiced shake before placing it in his lap. “You said you didn’t want to go to the Ball because of all the people, but you wanted to celebrate. So I put together our own private Halloween Ball.”
“Starting with the feast.” She smiled, catching on, then shook her head in wonder. “I can’t believe you went through all this trouble. When I said all that, I didn’t mean for you to give up your night.”
He shrugged. “It was easy. I just threw a few things together last minute.”
Ginny knew he was lying, but pressing the matter would only embarrass him, as would gushing over his actions. Instead, she resolved to simply act like dining with the boy who used to be her worst enemy on top of a roof in Hogsmeade was completely normal and asked, “So what are we having?”
He gestured to her plate. “See for yourself.”
Given the formal theme of everything, she expected to find something similar to what her mother prepared at holidays, roasted meats and potatoes with vegetables and gravy and that sort of fare. She laughed out loud when she removed the silver cover to see fish and chips heaped underneath, newspaper and all. “Fish and chips?”
He chuckled. “I know it’s not the fancy meal they’re eating at Hogwarts, but I took a gamble since it’s your favorite.”
She removed the veil on her costume, popped a chip into her mouth, and closed her eyes. “Mmm, very smart gamble. This is amazing.”
He smiled, seeming relieved, and uncovered his own plate of the greasy food. They chatted comfortably through the meal, Ginny bursting into laughter more than once, and by the time it was over Ginny knew she’d made the right decision in skiving off the Hogwarts version of the Halloween Ball. A flick of Malfoy’s wand and a murmured word cleared their plates and replaced them with dessert, which again surprised her. No fancy custards or puddings, but twin miniature bowls brimming with wrapped sweets.
Malfoy shrugged. “More traditional,” he explained simply.
Ginny agreed and immediately went for a caramel. When she felt like she might burst if she took another bite, Draco stood up and held out his hand to her.
She looked at him suspiciously. “What?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so paranoid. Come on.”
Cautiously, she lightly placed her hand in his, somewhat enjoying the way his fingers immediately wrapped around hers and lifted her effortlessly out of the chair. With his free hand he made a complicated gesture with his wand, and a slow, beautiful melody blossomed around them. He left his wand on the table and led her towards the center of the roof.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” He still held her hand in his, and he now placed the other on her hip; Ginny could easily feel the warmth spread through the thin, gossamer material. “We’re dancing.”
“Dancing?”
“You said you loved to,” he reminded her.
She nodded. “I do, but I didn’t think you did.”
He just shrugged and led her into the first steps of the dance. He moved them effortlessly over the rooftop, never missing a beat, and time ceased to exist for Ginny. The only thing left of reality was the feel of Malfoy’s hands gently guiding her, the smell of his spice cologne, and the sound of the symphonic music cascading around them.
“How did you get to be such a good dancer?” she asked almost dreamily.
He adopted a long-suffering expression. “Mother insisted I take lessons.”
Ginny giggled.
“Think that’s funny, do you, Weasley?”
She fought and failed to hold in more laughter. “A bit, yeah.”
Suddenly, he wrapped one of his arms around her waist and dipped her sharply back, so fast that she squeaked in alarm and clutched at his shoulders.
“Malfoy!” she cried when he stopped her descent mere inches from the ground.
He smirked, not pulling back up. “Still think it’s funny?”
She sighed. “You are an utter prat. Now let me up, my back doesn’t bend this way. And can I just say again? You are a prat.”
His arm around her waist flexed, but rather than stand her upright, he simply pulled her closer so that they were pressed torso-to-torso.
Voice oddly low, he murmured, “True, but you love it.”
Ginny felt acutely aware of everywhere they touched, and even more so of how intimately close his face was to hers. When she spoke, the words came out very soft without her quite intending it. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
The moment hung suspended as did Ginny in Malfoy’s arms, the music still flowing on and oblivious to the two teenagers. Then, without warning as if Malfoy registered some signal unknown to Ginny, he lowered his mouth to hers.
His lips were cold from the chill October air, but smooth and still tasting of sweets. Her heart slammed against her ribs, and her hold around his neck went a little weak, but Malfoy picked up the slack with his own strong arms, keeping her close. Then, gently, he began to move his mouth over hers, encouraging her to respond. That’s when Ginny realized exactly what was happening. She broke away, struggling upright and wrenching out of his arms.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, wrapping her arms around her middle. “I can’t.”
Off-balance, Malfoy took a second to gather his wits, shook his head slowly. “No,” he finally said. “I…I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t…I didn’t plan for that to happen.” He closed his eyes, expression pained, then reopened them to find hers. After a moment, he held out his hand again. “Can we just…forget it? Keep on as we were?”
Ginny stared at his hand, waiting palm up for her to accept it, but slowly shook her head instead, retreating back a step. It was just too much to process right now. She needed time, space. She needed to think. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’ve…I just have to go.”
Then she turned and ran for the broom still hovering over the roof.
“Wait! Please, Ginny!”
She froze at that, feeling her breath catch in her throat. That was the first time he had ever used her given name, and the sound of it now momentarily arrested her. She never guessed that it could sound so…beautiful. Then the tide of emotion swelled up to overwhelm her once again, and she kept running. This time when she urged the broom in the direction she wanted to go, it obeyed her commands.
She intended to go directly to her dormitory, but once she arrived at the castle the thoughts of her empty room depressed her more than she could stand. Choosing the lesser of two evils, she left the broom outside by the entrance and walked into the Great Hall.
All manner of inventive, spooky, and beautiful decorations filled the hall, from jack-o-lanterns suspended high like chandeliers to orange and black sparks that glimmered randomly all around the students. It would take anyone’s breath away; Ginny thought that Malfoy’s version easily surpassed it.
“Ginny!”
She turned and forced a smile for Hermione who was squeezing her way through the crowd, dressed up to resemble a cat. It was an inside joke among the Trio that Ginny never entirely understood. Ron found it hilarious, though.
“This all looks brilliant, Hermione,” Ginny complimented her.
The girl beamed. “Thanks, but I can’t take all the credit. I just helped.” She looked out over the assemblage, and the proud expression she bore contradicted the words. Her attention snapped back to Ginny. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to come.”
“Sorry about that. I got held up.”
Hermione frowned. “What happened to your veil?”
Ginny’s hand reflexively went to her cheek, and she remembered she never put it back on after eating. “Oh, it, um…itched.”
The other girl pouted. “Shame. It really tied the whole thing together perfectly.”
“Yeah….”
Someone called Hermione’s name, and she twisted around to give Ron a huge smile and a wave. “Hey, Gin, I’m really sorry but…”
“Go,” Ginny said, shooing the older girl with her hands. “Just don’t snog in front of me. I have a weak stomach.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn’t quite stifle a giggle. “We’ll refrain. Have fun!”
Ginny watched her skip off and sighed. Why couldn’t it be that easy for her? Harry was supposed to be her soul mate, but after he ended things and it occurred to her that she wasn’t overly devastated by it, that idea went down the drain.
A vision of Malfoy flashed behind her eyes, but she blinked it away. He definitely wasn’t it, no matter what kissing him felt like. They came from different worlds. Slytherins and Gryffindors just…didn’t mesh. No one else would ever accept it. The two of them wouldn’t even tell people they were friendly towards each other for that reason.
Feeling her eyes burn and angry at it, she walked briskly over to the refreshment table. She had a glass half-full of punch when a dreamy voice at her shoulder murmured, “Hello, Ginny.”
She cried out and jumped, dropping the ladle and splashing punch everywhere. Hand clutched to her chest, she whipped around and exhaled sharply, shaking her head at Luna Lovegood. “Merlin, Luna, don’t do that.” She vanished the mess from her drink and looked more closely at Luna. The girl was decked out in an assortment of patchy furs and scale-like material, twin horns protruding from a headband stuck in her hair. “Umm, Luna…what are you?”
The girl blinked. “I’m a girl. Well, and a Ravenclaw. And a witch. Are you feeling all right, Ginny?”
She shook her head, smiling. “No, I mean what’s your costume.”
Luna stared as if that answer should be even more obvious. “A Crumple-Horned Snorkack.”
Ginny’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, right. Of course. Silly me.”
“Maybe you aren’t feeling well,” Luna suggested.
Ginny laughed, but it came out sounding tired. “No, maybe I’m not.” Before Luna could press her for more, someone bumped into the wide-eyed girl from behind and called out some taunt, its exact words lost in the din but the tone unmistakable. Ginny glared after the student, having half a mind to go after him.
Luna must have read her thoughts because she said simply, “Don’t Ginny. It doesn’t bother me.”
Ginny looked back at her, then shook her head slowly in wonderment. “How do you do it, Luna? How do you put up with it?”
“With what?”
Ginny gestured widely to the whole room. “With people. With their immaturity and narrow-mindedness that makes them miss out on something extraordinary just because it’s a little different. Doesn’t it depress you?”
“No, not really,” she answered, and Ginny could easily see she wasn’t lying.
“But how is that even possible?” Ginny insisted.
Luna scrunched up her eyebrows as if confused by Ginny’s lack of understanding. “I don’t live for them,” she stated simply. She tilted her head. “Then I might be depressed, I suppose. I would have dreadful fashion sense.” Her gaze drifted over to the dance floor, and she smiled. “Oh look, it’s Neville. I’m going to go say hello.”
Luna wandered off, but Ginny hardly noticed, too busy replaying the girl’s words over and over again in her mind. I don’t live for them.
She gazed out over the mass of students, all of them either dancing or laughing or chatting or stealing kisses when the chaperones weren’t looking. All of them happy and carefree, even if just for tonight. Ginny suddenly felt like she would suffocate if she stayed another second, so she sat down her untouched cup of punch and left the room in a walk just short of a jog. Having nowhere else to go, she made for her dormitory.
Predictably, she was the first back. Wanting nothing more than to just go to sleep and forget this entire evening, she stripped off her costume and left it lying in a heap by her bed, exchanging the outfit for soft flannel pajamas. She crawled under the covers and closed her eyes.
Sleep eluded her. Her mind worked ceaselessly, reliving the one, perfect instant when Malfoy’s lips touched hers, torturing her with the memory of that moment when she realized it was a mistake. Ginny curled onto her side. It was a mistake, too. Unspoken friendship was one thing, romance an entirely different story. She understood that. She was a realist. So why did she hurt so badly?
In the whirlwind of confusion, she couldn’t resist asking herself why it was such a terrible mistake. Because of how nasty he used to act all the time? People changed, matured, and he at least treated her civilly now. Because of his actions last year, then? True, that was bad, but she didn’t really know the story behind it either. And anyway, it was obvious he regretted it now. She always did believe that people deserved second chances.
No, if she were honest with herself, the real reason, the one, overwhelming thing that made her pull away tonight, was the thoughts of everyone else. The Trio would have a conniption. Her parents would probably disown her. All of Gryffindor — hell, probably the whole school — would shun her. Did she have enough strength to endure all of that?
I don’t live for them…Then I might be depressed, I suppose.
Ginny turned over onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow, hot tears of frustration and confusion scalding her cheeks.
One question still went unasked, the one she’d stubbornly ignored up until now and that she could no longer avoid: What did she actually feel for Malfoy? Did she care for him? She knew instantly that she did. But enough to undergo the abuse they would surely face from all sides? Did she even really want more than friendship from him?
Abruptly, she threw back the covers and strode out of the room, snatching up a light robe on her way out and throwing it around her shoulders. She moved through the halls, initially at a brisk walk, then a jog, then finally she broke into an all out run. She arrived in the dungeons out of breath but determined, wearing a fierce expression on her face. That was the picture to greet Malfoy when he opened the door to his Head Boy dormitory in response to her insistent knock.
“Weasley?” he asked, clearly disbelieving.
Not waiting for an invitation, Ginny shoved past him and into the room, turning around and crossing her arms at him. Malfoy glanced out the door and down the empty corridor, then closed the door and turned around to face her.
Ginny saw him taking a breath to speak, and she knew instantly that she had to do it now, before he could say a word and she lost her nerve. She was finally going to appease the curiosity she’d carried for a long, long time. Unfolding her arms, she opened her mouth, and quite simply said, “Hi…Draco.”
It felt like everything she imagined it might and at the same time completely different, actually using his real name. It glided smooth as honey over her tongue and tasted just as sweet, just like the candy his kiss had tasted of earlier that night. It felt natural, not at all awkward as she always suspected it would, but undeniably right. And just like that, she had her answer.
He blinked at her, confusion plain on his face, but something else in his eyes as well, a reaction that looked much like the one Ginny remembered from when he first used her given name. He seemed to struggle with a response before settling on, “Did I miss something?”
Ignoring the question, she announced abruptly, “I don’t do flings.”
His expression remained nonplussed, but then as understanding dawned, his eyes widened, and she could clearly see him searching for a safe answer. Finally, he said carefully, “Maybe I’m not looking for a fling.”
A thrill of excitement raced through her, making her stomach lurch, but she kept her face and voice carefully neutral as she warned, “It won’t be easy. They’ll all make it as hard as they can.”
He smiled mischievously. “True, but won’t it be fun to see their faces?”
Ginny laughed, shook her head because she couldn’t find words just then, and deciding words really were overrated anyway, simply walked over and crushed her lips to his. This time Ginny needed no encouragement, Draco certainly asked for none, and the tiny fraction of her mind still capable of thought wondered why previous snogging never made her stomach feel like she was in the middle of a Wronski Feint and never drained the strength from her limbs like this.
When they broke apart, Draco stared at her in wonder. She could see his curiosity raging just below the surface, probably driving the poor boy insane…but he wouldn’t ask. He never did.
Ginny knew it would be cruel not to tell him. And she would…sometime. Just not right now. She didn’t want to explain her fears, didn’t want to think about the trials in their future. They could have that discussion later. She just wanted this moment.
Ginny stood on tip-toe to deliver him a feather light brush of the mouth, falling back with a smile. He understood that meant she wouldn’t be talking just yet and acknowledged the fact with a small smile of his own.
Keeping her body flush to his with a hand on her hip, he brought up the free one and brushed his thumb over her cheek, his hand continuing down to cup her neck and then move around to touch her hair. “So I’m forgiven for earlier, I assume?”
Ginny laughed. “Yes, I think it’s safe to say so.”
He nodded. “Good. I just have one more question.”
She raised her eyebrows, wondering if he was going to break their unspoken understanding and ask for explanations. “Yes?”
He smirked wickedly, running the hand in her hair down to her other hip. “Do you still have that costume you were wearing earlier?”
Ginny rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t quite prevent a smile. “Did we already establish that you’re a prat?”
“Yes, in fact, we did.” His arms wound tightly around her. “We also established that you love it.”
She looked up at him through lowered lashes, smiling slowly. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
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A/N – Well, it’s not one of my favorites or anything (personally, my favorite still has to be The Different Days of Draco Malfoy. That was just one fun story to write haha), but I suppose I like it well enough to post.
Thanks so much for reading! (Oh, and just a reminder, this was a oneshot in case you're hoping for updates or something. They're not coming lol, sorry.)
Oh yeah, it was inspired by my favorite poem of all time, “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost. It’s not really obvious how or anything, but I thought someone might find it interesting how I come up with some of this stuff. Or something, lol…I’m always curious, at least. About other people’s stories, that is (obviously haha).
Ahem, ANYWAY, it follows HBP.
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Dancing on Rooftops
Autumn swept over Scotland in a shower of dry, rustling leaves. They whispered in the wind and drifted around Ginny in little spirals where she stood alone in the middle of a lawn that they had colored brown and gold and crimson. The crimson matched her hair, the gold the glow on her skin from the setting sun, and the brown her eyes, fixed and unfocused on that distant star. The breeze chilled her, but she remained statue-like.
The crackle of dead leaves betrayed the otherwise silent approach of someone behind her, but she ignored the newcomer.
“Has someone petrified you, Weasley?” a familiar drawl inquired, sounding unconcerned by the possibility.
She sighed. “No, Malfoy. I’m thinking.”
He stepped up beside her. Her gaze stayed glued to the sunset, but from the corners of her eyes she saw that he stood relaxed with both hands in the pockets of his black slacks. He wore his oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and the top buttons open, his tie draped unknotted around his collar, fluttering occasionally in the crisp air. The usually put-together Slytherin hardly ever let people see him looking like this, not even her.
“You do that a lot. Too much, if you ask me.”
Ginny allowed a small smile at that. She liked that about Malfoy, that he never asked questions. He knew she would explain herself if she wanted to, and if she chose against it, that was her business. The same held true for him, and so they shared what they considered an ideal, if unexpected, understanding.
“Maybe you just think too little,” she proposed.
Malfoy shook his head, little halos of sunshine bouncing around on his platinum head. She thought it ironic that such a devil could appear so angel-like. But then, she didn’t really know the extent of his sins. He never volunteered, and so, as per their silent agreement, she never asked. “You can never think too little,” he insisted. “Thinking leads to all the trouble in the world.”
“You think so?”
He hunched his shoulders a little as a cold wind rushed down from the castle. “Absolutely. Thinking lets you realize problems you never noticed before, which makes you worry, which makes you try and do something because, let’s face it, we like to have control of a situation, which leads us to do silly things because most of the time we can’t fix whatever’s wrong anyway, and then you make an even bigger blunder, which you of course try to reverse, and it just keeps going in a vicious cycle that could’ve been avoided had you just not thought in the first place.”
Ginny laughed. “So we’d all be much happier if we just shut our brains down.”
“We would be positively euphoric.”
She finally pulled her eyes away from sunset, finding them a little watery from staring into the glare. She blinked a few times to clear her vision and saw that the sun now claimed Malfoy’s gray, unreadable eyes, the boy obviously contemplating something.
“Hey, stop thinking,” she teased, giving him a playful little shove. “It’ll only lead to trouble, remember?”
He looked down at her and smirked, then turned back to the horizon. On impulse Ginny plopped down in the grass, on top of the leaves, and bent her knees so that she could prop her elbows on them. Malfoy joined her a moment later, and she studied his profile, the proud, strong features that never did quite outgrow the pointy look from his youth.
Their current relationship started taking shape on the first day of her Sixth year, his Seventh, when they had both retreated to the same compartment on the train in an effort to avoid the “good-intentioned” prying of their peers. From her everyone had wanted to know what had happened with Harry, and as for Malfoy…well, she could imagine. Their unlikely association was months old now, so she supposed that made him a friend, but it was hard to know for sure.
She still never called him Draco.
She wondered idly what that would feel like, how it would form on her tongue and what it might taste like on her lips. Out of curiosity she silently mouthed it a few times, but it wasn’t the same as actually using it to address him.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her, and she realized with a flush that he’d been watching. “What on earth are you doing?” he asked, suppressed laughter in his voice. She liked the sound. It surfaced too rarely in his sarcastic tone.
“Nothing.” Embarrassed, she avoided eye-contact by looking back at the sun. “Just…remembering what I was thinking about earlier,” she lied.
“Mmm hmmm.” He didn’t believe her, but he wouldn’t press the matter. He never did.
She looked at him again and felt such a surge of gratitude for his patience that she felt the need to share those earlier musings. “I was thinking about the Halloween Ball tomorrow night.”
He met her eyes, giving his full attention, but said nothing, simply waited for her to go at her own pace.
She didn’t have to go on; she could stop at any time and she knew he would let it drop. Knowing that comforted her and allowed her to go on, despite the fear of appearing silly. “I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to go or not.”
“I thought you already bought a costume.”
“I didn’t buy one. I made one, yes.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I don’t know. I wanted to go, but now I can’t decide if I really want to.”
“What made you change your mind?” Not breaking eye contact, he leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs out in front of him. Ginny recognized it as his “serious talk” position.
“It’s just that Hermione and I were talking about it — she’s helping McGonagall plan it this year, you know — and it got me thinking is all. I mean I love to dance and the food is always good, I’ll admit that, but it’s just…awkward.”
“Awkward.”
She frowned a little, laying her head sideways on her knees so she could still see him. “Well, yeah. I hardly know my friends anymore. Ever since last year we just sort of drifted…” she trailed off, catching the way Malfoy looked away for the first time, his face expressionless as he stared at the sunset.
She winced; he hated any reminders of last year. He never told her as much (he refused to discuss it at all, really), but it was obvious from instances just like this. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe that was just her giving him too much credit.
She swallowed the urge to apologize (he didn’t appreciate apologies much; he said they made him uncomfortable), and retrieved her earlier train of thought. “So now you and the Trio are pretty much it. But Hermione and Ron are going to want to be left alone, I’m sure, and I think Harry has a date as well, so he doesn’t need me bothering him, and you…well, you know how that goes.”
“I still say we just shock them all.” He looked up and caught her eyes again. “Hell, we could even go together and really send ‘em into an uproar.”
Ginny giggled. “Are you kidding? It would be scandal. We’d cause a sensation.”
He smirked. “Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”
Smiling, Ginny shook her head. Another strong breeze blew up a mini-cyclone of leaves, and she paused to watch the swirling dance. When the wind died and the cyclone collapsed lazily once again, she turned and flopped onto her stomach, burying her head in her arms with a groan. “I just have this feeling it’s going to be miserable.”
“So don’t go.”
She rested her cheek on her forearms so she could see him again. “But everyone’s expecting me to.”
“If you live your whole life by other people’s expectations, you’ll never be happy.”
Ginny wanted to point out that maybe he should take his own advice, but managed to bite her tongue. She suspected most of his nasty behavior was a result of other people’s expectations, but Draco Malfoy did not take well to criticism. “I suppose,” she said instead. “But I want to do something to celebrate Halloween.”
Malfoy said nothing, and Ginny let the silence hang. Quiet between them always felt as natural as the talking. Eventually, though, the horizon finally rose up to claim the last slivers of sun, and Malfoy climbed to his feet, pulling her up after him. They walked wordlessly back to the castle, Ginny calm and content. She still didn’t have a solution, but the simple act of complaining about it made her feel at least a little lighter.
When they reached the Entrance Hall, Malfoy offered her his usual nod of farewell, which she returned with a smile and a tiny wave, and he started down the stairs to the dungeon. Ginny chose the staircase leading up instead, and several minutes later stepped into her dormitory.
The soft snores of her dorm mates already filled the room, so she tip-toed very carefully over to her trunk and pulled out her costume, a mixture of old-fashioned sowing, Transfiguration (done with Hermione’s help), and a few glamours. It was an Arabian princess outfit, actually Hermione’s idea, and one that Ginny had a lot of initial skepticism for. Once Hermione got an idea in her head, though, that was the end of it. For once, Ginny was actually glad for her friend’s stubbornness. Unable to help herself, she decided to try it on.
The fabric was typically light and gauzy, practically floating around her in shades of earthy brown and rich, ruby red. Hermione had wanted to make it “traditional” and leave her midsection bare, but Ginny had put her foot down there. They compromised by adding some barely transparent chiffon to go over her stomach. A sheer veil covered her lower face, and a brown band with one brilliant ruby at the front rested on her head.
Ginny sighed; it would be a shame if she didn’t get to wear it after all.
The next day, all Hallow’s eve itself, crawled by in restless anticipation for the evening, the entire student body squirming with impatience. When that night finally arrived, it found Ginny standing in front of her dormitory’s one full length mirror, admiring her costume and still wracked with indecision. All the other girls were already gone with their dates.
Ginny raised a hand to adjust the veil when a small clink ricocheted off the window. She froze, then shrugged and went back to torturing herself with the decision she needed to make in the next few minutes. Then the clink came again, and Ginny knew it was no coincidence. Someone was throwing stones at her window.
Always wary, she picked up her wand from her nightstand and edged towards the window. The light inside made it impossible to see into the dark outside, so she cautiously unlatched the window and let it swing open. There, almost even with the sill, floated a broomstick. Ginny blinked. Tightening her fingers around the wand, she stepped forward and leaned out, straining to see into the night, but nobody was in sight. She realized the clink hadn’t been stones at all, but the broom handle tapping against the window.
Nonplussed, she straightened out and regarded the broom suspiciously. A slip of parchment, tucked in the broom’s bristles, caught her eye. After just a moment’s hesitation, she stretched out and plucked it free with her index and middle finger. Perching on the window sill, she unfolded the note and read the words written in an unspectacular but precise hand: If the Ball is what you want, pretend none of this happened and go on as you planned. If you’re looking for a little something different, hop on.
Ginny turned the message over and re-read it several times, mind abuzz with questions. A knock sounded at the door.
“Ginny?” Hermione’s voice floated in. “Are you almost ready?”
She glanced up at the door, back to the note, then out to the broom. If you’re looking for a little something different…. And Ginny made up her mind.
“I’ve got a few things I need to do,” Ginny called back. “Go on without me, okay?”
There was a pause, and Ginny could clearly picture the other girl wringing her hands, unsure of the proper thing to do. Finally, Hermione relented. “Well…all right. I’ll see you when you come down.”
“Sure, now go on! You’re going to miss the beginning,” Ginny urged, then waited for the sound of the girl’s footsteps to fade away. As soon as they did, Ginny shoved the note into the band of her trousers and hoisted herself into a crouch on the window sill. From there she shifted positions so she sat directly on the sill, her legs dangling free seven stories above the ground, then lifting herself with her arms, slid onto the broom.
“Now what?” she muttered.
The broom answered her question almost right away, lurching into motion so fast she had to grab on with both hands to keep her seat. She braced herself for a wild ride, but after the initial take-off it slowed down, moving at a more comfortable pace. Experimentally, Ginny tried to alter its course, but the broom remained unresponsive to all of her best efforts. Wherever it planned on taking her, that was where she was going.
She soared far above the grounds, the stars a brilliant dusting of glitter and diamonds in the night sky and the world quiet and peaceful. The wind tugged at the gauzy, free-flowing material of her costume, making her glad of the warming charms she and Hermione had cast on it. Caught up in the beauty of the trip, she didn’t realize just how far the broom carried her until it slowed to a stop, and she realized she hovered above a rooftop in Hogsmeade.
She swung her legs around to one side and jumped down the few inches to the roof, eyes immediately drawn to the one source of light — a pair of candles floating over a small, circle table at the far edge of the roof. Two place settings sat ready and waiting, the plates shielded by ornately decorated covers of real silver.
Malfoy stepped out of the shadows and into the soft sphere of light from the candles. He raised an eyebrow at her attire. “You do realize that outfit is absolutely ridiculous,” he informed her.
“Malfoy?” She looked back and forth between the tall blond, dressed simply in black, and the elaborate table, trying to take it all in. Then she registered his comment and looked down at herself, smiling weakly. “Oh, yeah.”
He walked up casually, his eyes absorbing every inch of her, making her feel oddly vulnerable. He added, “It’s ridiculous, but you look stunning in it.”
Ginny had no idea what to say to that, could hardly believe she’d heard correctly in the first place. He took her hand, and she almost panicked wondering what he intended, but she relaxed when he only led her over to the table.
He pulled out a chair for her that she accepted and, finding her voice at last, she asked, “What is all this?”
He sat down across from her, taking his napkin and giving it a practiced shake before placing it in his lap. “You said you didn’t want to go to the Ball because of all the people, but you wanted to celebrate. So I put together our own private Halloween Ball.”
“Starting with the feast.” She smiled, catching on, then shook her head in wonder. “I can’t believe you went through all this trouble. When I said all that, I didn’t mean for you to give up your night.”
He shrugged. “It was easy. I just threw a few things together last minute.”
Ginny knew he was lying, but pressing the matter would only embarrass him, as would gushing over his actions. Instead, she resolved to simply act like dining with the boy who used to be her worst enemy on top of a roof in Hogsmeade was completely normal and asked, “So what are we having?”
He gestured to her plate. “See for yourself.”
Given the formal theme of everything, she expected to find something similar to what her mother prepared at holidays, roasted meats and potatoes with vegetables and gravy and that sort of fare. She laughed out loud when she removed the silver cover to see fish and chips heaped underneath, newspaper and all. “Fish and chips?”
He chuckled. “I know it’s not the fancy meal they’re eating at Hogwarts, but I took a gamble since it’s your favorite.”
She removed the veil on her costume, popped a chip into her mouth, and closed her eyes. “Mmm, very smart gamble. This is amazing.”
He smiled, seeming relieved, and uncovered his own plate of the greasy food. They chatted comfortably through the meal, Ginny bursting into laughter more than once, and by the time it was over Ginny knew she’d made the right decision in skiving off the Hogwarts version of the Halloween Ball. A flick of Malfoy’s wand and a murmured word cleared their plates and replaced them with dessert, which again surprised her. No fancy custards or puddings, but twin miniature bowls brimming with wrapped sweets.
Malfoy shrugged. “More traditional,” he explained simply.
Ginny agreed and immediately went for a caramel. When she felt like she might burst if she took another bite, Draco stood up and held out his hand to her.
She looked at him suspiciously. “What?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so paranoid. Come on.”
Cautiously, she lightly placed her hand in his, somewhat enjoying the way his fingers immediately wrapped around hers and lifted her effortlessly out of the chair. With his free hand he made a complicated gesture with his wand, and a slow, beautiful melody blossomed around them. He left his wand on the table and led her towards the center of the roof.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” He still held her hand in his, and he now placed the other on her hip; Ginny could easily feel the warmth spread through the thin, gossamer material. “We’re dancing.”
“Dancing?”
“You said you loved to,” he reminded her.
She nodded. “I do, but I didn’t think you did.”
He just shrugged and led her into the first steps of the dance. He moved them effortlessly over the rooftop, never missing a beat, and time ceased to exist for Ginny. The only thing left of reality was the feel of Malfoy’s hands gently guiding her, the smell of his spice cologne, and the sound of the symphonic music cascading around them.
“How did you get to be such a good dancer?” she asked almost dreamily.
He adopted a long-suffering expression. “Mother insisted I take lessons.”
Ginny giggled.
“Think that’s funny, do you, Weasley?”
She fought and failed to hold in more laughter. “A bit, yeah.”
Suddenly, he wrapped one of his arms around her waist and dipped her sharply back, so fast that she squeaked in alarm and clutched at his shoulders.
“Malfoy!” she cried when he stopped her descent mere inches from the ground.
He smirked, not pulling back up. “Still think it’s funny?”
She sighed. “You are an utter prat. Now let me up, my back doesn’t bend this way. And can I just say again? You are a prat.”
His arm around her waist flexed, but rather than stand her upright, he simply pulled her closer so that they were pressed torso-to-torso.
Voice oddly low, he murmured, “True, but you love it.”
Ginny felt acutely aware of everywhere they touched, and even more so of how intimately close his face was to hers. When she spoke, the words came out very soft without her quite intending it. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
The moment hung suspended as did Ginny in Malfoy’s arms, the music still flowing on and oblivious to the two teenagers. Then, without warning as if Malfoy registered some signal unknown to Ginny, he lowered his mouth to hers.
His lips were cold from the chill October air, but smooth and still tasting of sweets. Her heart slammed against her ribs, and her hold around his neck went a little weak, but Malfoy picked up the slack with his own strong arms, keeping her close. Then, gently, he began to move his mouth over hers, encouraging her to respond. That’s when Ginny realized exactly what was happening. She broke away, struggling upright and wrenching out of his arms.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, wrapping her arms around her middle. “I can’t.”
Off-balance, Malfoy took a second to gather his wits, shook his head slowly. “No,” he finally said. “I…I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t…I didn’t plan for that to happen.” He closed his eyes, expression pained, then reopened them to find hers. After a moment, he held out his hand again. “Can we just…forget it? Keep on as we were?”
Ginny stared at his hand, waiting palm up for her to accept it, but slowly shook her head instead, retreating back a step. It was just too much to process right now. She needed time, space. She needed to think. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’ve…I just have to go.”
Then she turned and ran for the broom still hovering over the roof.
“Wait! Please, Ginny!”
She froze at that, feeling her breath catch in her throat. That was the first time he had ever used her given name, and the sound of it now momentarily arrested her. She never guessed that it could sound so…beautiful. Then the tide of emotion swelled up to overwhelm her once again, and she kept running. This time when she urged the broom in the direction she wanted to go, it obeyed her commands.
She intended to go directly to her dormitory, but once she arrived at the castle the thoughts of her empty room depressed her more than she could stand. Choosing the lesser of two evils, she left the broom outside by the entrance and walked into the Great Hall.
All manner of inventive, spooky, and beautiful decorations filled the hall, from jack-o-lanterns suspended high like chandeliers to orange and black sparks that glimmered randomly all around the students. It would take anyone’s breath away; Ginny thought that Malfoy’s version easily surpassed it.
“Ginny!”
She turned and forced a smile for Hermione who was squeezing her way through the crowd, dressed up to resemble a cat. It was an inside joke among the Trio that Ginny never entirely understood. Ron found it hilarious, though.
“This all looks brilliant, Hermione,” Ginny complimented her.
The girl beamed. “Thanks, but I can’t take all the credit. I just helped.” She looked out over the assemblage, and the proud expression she bore contradicted the words. Her attention snapped back to Ginny. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to come.”
“Sorry about that. I got held up.”
Hermione frowned. “What happened to your veil?”
Ginny’s hand reflexively went to her cheek, and she remembered she never put it back on after eating. “Oh, it, um…itched.”
The other girl pouted. “Shame. It really tied the whole thing together perfectly.”
“Yeah….”
Someone called Hermione’s name, and she twisted around to give Ron a huge smile and a wave. “Hey, Gin, I’m really sorry but…”
“Go,” Ginny said, shooing the older girl with her hands. “Just don’t snog in front of me. I have a weak stomach.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn’t quite stifle a giggle. “We’ll refrain. Have fun!”
Ginny watched her skip off and sighed. Why couldn’t it be that easy for her? Harry was supposed to be her soul mate, but after he ended things and it occurred to her that she wasn’t overly devastated by it, that idea went down the drain.
A vision of Malfoy flashed behind her eyes, but she blinked it away. He definitely wasn’t it, no matter what kissing him felt like. They came from different worlds. Slytherins and Gryffindors just…didn’t mesh. No one else would ever accept it. The two of them wouldn’t even tell people they were friendly towards each other for that reason.
Feeling her eyes burn and angry at it, she walked briskly over to the refreshment table. She had a glass half-full of punch when a dreamy voice at her shoulder murmured, “Hello, Ginny.”
She cried out and jumped, dropping the ladle and splashing punch everywhere. Hand clutched to her chest, she whipped around and exhaled sharply, shaking her head at Luna Lovegood. “Merlin, Luna, don’t do that.” She vanished the mess from her drink and looked more closely at Luna. The girl was decked out in an assortment of patchy furs and scale-like material, twin horns protruding from a headband stuck in her hair. “Umm, Luna…what are you?”
The girl blinked. “I’m a girl. Well, and a Ravenclaw. And a witch. Are you feeling all right, Ginny?”
She shook her head, smiling. “No, I mean what’s your costume.”
Luna stared as if that answer should be even more obvious. “A Crumple-Horned Snorkack.”
Ginny’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, right. Of course. Silly me.”
“Maybe you aren’t feeling well,” Luna suggested.
Ginny laughed, but it came out sounding tired. “No, maybe I’m not.” Before Luna could press her for more, someone bumped into the wide-eyed girl from behind and called out some taunt, its exact words lost in the din but the tone unmistakable. Ginny glared after the student, having half a mind to go after him.
Luna must have read her thoughts because she said simply, “Don’t Ginny. It doesn’t bother me.”
Ginny looked back at her, then shook her head slowly in wonderment. “How do you do it, Luna? How do you put up with it?”
“With what?”
Ginny gestured widely to the whole room. “With people. With their immaturity and narrow-mindedness that makes them miss out on something extraordinary just because it’s a little different. Doesn’t it depress you?”
“No, not really,” she answered, and Ginny could easily see she wasn’t lying.
“But how is that even possible?” Ginny insisted.
Luna scrunched up her eyebrows as if confused by Ginny’s lack of understanding. “I don’t live for them,” she stated simply. She tilted her head. “Then I might be depressed, I suppose. I would have dreadful fashion sense.” Her gaze drifted over to the dance floor, and she smiled. “Oh look, it’s Neville. I’m going to go say hello.”
Luna wandered off, but Ginny hardly noticed, too busy replaying the girl’s words over and over again in her mind. I don’t live for them.
She gazed out over the mass of students, all of them either dancing or laughing or chatting or stealing kisses when the chaperones weren’t looking. All of them happy and carefree, even if just for tonight. Ginny suddenly felt like she would suffocate if she stayed another second, so she sat down her untouched cup of punch and left the room in a walk just short of a jog. Having nowhere else to go, she made for her dormitory.
Predictably, she was the first back. Wanting nothing more than to just go to sleep and forget this entire evening, she stripped off her costume and left it lying in a heap by her bed, exchanging the outfit for soft flannel pajamas. She crawled under the covers and closed her eyes.
Sleep eluded her. Her mind worked ceaselessly, reliving the one, perfect instant when Malfoy’s lips touched hers, torturing her with the memory of that moment when she realized it was a mistake. Ginny curled onto her side. It was a mistake, too. Unspoken friendship was one thing, romance an entirely different story. She understood that. She was a realist. So why did she hurt so badly?
In the whirlwind of confusion, she couldn’t resist asking herself why it was such a terrible mistake. Because of how nasty he used to act all the time? People changed, matured, and he at least treated her civilly now. Because of his actions last year, then? True, that was bad, but she didn’t really know the story behind it either. And anyway, it was obvious he regretted it now. She always did believe that people deserved second chances.
No, if she were honest with herself, the real reason, the one, overwhelming thing that made her pull away tonight, was the thoughts of everyone else. The Trio would have a conniption. Her parents would probably disown her. All of Gryffindor — hell, probably the whole school — would shun her. Did she have enough strength to endure all of that?
I don’t live for them…Then I might be depressed, I suppose.
Ginny turned over onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow, hot tears of frustration and confusion scalding her cheeks.
One question still went unasked, the one she’d stubbornly ignored up until now and that she could no longer avoid: What did she actually feel for Malfoy? Did she care for him? She knew instantly that she did. But enough to undergo the abuse they would surely face from all sides? Did she even really want more than friendship from him?
Abruptly, she threw back the covers and strode out of the room, snatching up a light robe on her way out and throwing it around her shoulders. She moved through the halls, initially at a brisk walk, then a jog, then finally she broke into an all out run. She arrived in the dungeons out of breath but determined, wearing a fierce expression on her face. That was the picture to greet Malfoy when he opened the door to his Head Boy dormitory in response to her insistent knock.
“Weasley?” he asked, clearly disbelieving.
Not waiting for an invitation, Ginny shoved past him and into the room, turning around and crossing her arms at him. Malfoy glanced out the door and down the empty corridor, then closed the door and turned around to face her.
Ginny saw him taking a breath to speak, and she knew instantly that she had to do it now, before he could say a word and she lost her nerve. She was finally going to appease the curiosity she’d carried for a long, long time. Unfolding her arms, she opened her mouth, and quite simply said, “Hi…Draco.”
It felt like everything she imagined it might and at the same time completely different, actually using his real name. It glided smooth as honey over her tongue and tasted just as sweet, just like the candy his kiss had tasted of earlier that night. It felt natural, not at all awkward as she always suspected it would, but undeniably right. And just like that, she had her answer.
He blinked at her, confusion plain on his face, but something else in his eyes as well, a reaction that looked much like the one Ginny remembered from when he first used her given name. He seemed to struggle with a response before settling on, “Did I miss something?”
Ignoring the question, she announced abruptly, “I don’t do flings.”
His expression remained nonplussed, but then as understanding dawned, his eyes widened, and she could clearly see him searching for a safe answer. Finally, he said carefully, “Maybe I’m not looking for a fling.”
A thrill of excitement raced through her, making her stomach lurch, but she kept her face and voice carefully neutral as she warned, “It won’t be easy. They’ll all make it as hard as they can.”
He smiled mischievously. “True, but won’t it be fun to see their faces?”
Ginny laughed, shook her head because she couldn’t find words just then, and deciding words really were overrated anyway, simply walked over and crushed her lips to his. This time Ginny needed no encouragement, Draco certainly asked for none, and the tiny fraction of her mind still capable of thought wondered why previous snogging never made her stomach feel like she was in the middle of a Wronski Feint and never drained the strength from her limbs like this.
When they broke apart, Draco stared at her in wonder. She could see his curiosity raging just below the surface, probably driving the poor boy insane…but he wouldn’t ask. He never did.
Ginny knew it would be cruel not to tell him. And she would…sometime. Just not right now. She didn’t want to explain her fears, didn’t want to think about the trials in their future. They could have that discussion later. She just wanted this moment.
Ginny stood on tip-toe to deliver him a feather light brush of the mouth, falling back with a smile. He understood that meant she wouldn’t be talking just yet and acknowledged the fact with a small smile of his own.
Keeping her body flush to his with a hand on her hip, he brought up the free one and brushed his thumb over her cheek, his hand continuing down to cup her neck and then move around to touch her hair. “So I’m forgiven for earlier, I assume?”
Ginny laughed. “Yes, I think it’s safe to say so.”
He nodded. “Good. I just have one more question.”
She raised her eyebrows, wondering if he was going to break their unspoken understanding and ask for explanations. “Yes?”
He smirked wickedly, running the hand in her hair down to her other hip. “Do you still have that costume you were wearing earlier?”
Ginny rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t quite prevent a smile. “Did we already establish that you’re a prat?”
“Yes, in fact, we did.” His arms wound tightly around her. “We also established that you love it.”
She looked up at him through lowered lashes, smiling slowly. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
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A/N – Well, it’s not one of my favorites or anything (personally, my favorite still has to be The Different Days of Draco Malfoy. That was just one fun story to write haha), but I suppose I like it well enough to post.
Thanks so much for reading! (Oh, and just a reminder, this was a oneshot in case you're hoping for updates or something. They're not coming lol, sorry.)
The End.
Hearts Cadence is the author of 15 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 42 members. Members who liked Dancing on Rooftops also liked 1598 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 42 members. Members who liked Dancing on Rooftops also liked 1598 other stories.
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