THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHAPTER 7
“So what you’re saying is that you actually enjoy shoveling?”
“No, what I’m saying is that I don’t mind shoveling. I used to help my brothers do it all the time when I was little.”
“I’m so sorry,” he drawled, emphasizing his words in that Malfoy-like manner that was so distinct.
The conversation had been going on like this for awhile. After finally teaching Draco how to pronounce the word shovel, I made the mistake of commenting about how we could have gotten stuck doing something a lot worse for our detention. Naturally that had progressed into a conversation about how I obviously really enjoyed shoveling, and how wrong that was. I know, I know—he’s ridiculous. Cut him some slack, people. He is a man. That detail alone was the only thing that kept me from beating the tar out of him with my shovel. Well, that and the fact that I didn’t want to bloody his pearly skin.
“Oh, come off it. The only thing you know about my brothers is that they have red hair and the same last name as me,” I said, trying my best to sound exasperated in hopes of discouraging him. Draco was anything but, instead tossing his current load aside in order to use the shovel to support his body weight. I followed his lengthy form down to his toes, and my own foot twitched at the enticing opportunity to make him fall flat on his face. Just one kick to that shovel and that glorious poise of his would be shattered.
“On the contrary; I know that King Weasel is not only incredibly incompetent at jinxing, but he’s fiercely loyal to Pothead and Granger. He even has the hots for that one.”
I looked at him curiously.
“And no, despite the popular theory that commonly circulates throughout my House, I’m not referring to Potter,” Draco smirked, and this time I knew without a doubt that it was the arrogant sort. The twit. Before I knew what I was doing, I had opened my mouth to retort.
“Well—” I cut my sentence off abruptly as I actually took in what he had said about Ron. I decided to perform a quick evaluation. Ron was right horrid at jinxing; I should know, having tried to teach him on numerous occasions. It was kind of embarrassing for him to be so incompetent, you see, but I had finally deemed him hopeless. He was indeed also fiercely loyal to Harry and Hermione. As for the last bit, anyone who knew anything about Ron beyond his name could see he had it bad for the latter.
“You know, I think that right there is one of the main reasons you don’t get along with people,” I commented thoughtfully.
“What the devil are you talking about?” he questioned, probing eyes narrowing as he remained propped up against his shovel.
“You just have this way of making ordinary things sound…insulting when they’re not really. They’re the truth,” I finished, making sure to meet his confused partial glare in order to drive my point home. I saw his eyes soften in understanding, and something else sparked in them.
“Sometimes insults are the truth. And even more often, the truth is insulting,” he spoke slowly, and I got the distinct impression he knew he had proven a valid point.
I had to give him credit. At least he did that in a subtle manner. So Draco Malfoy knew how to have an intellectual debate, did he? Moreover, he knew how to have one without making it personal. That caught me off guard. I hadn’t been expecting him to say something deep, and I felt my mind become clouded as intrigue got the best of me. Hearing him say intelligent things like that made me think that I was right in believing there was more than pride beneath those silver locks, and lord knows that wasn’t helping my self-control. A sexy man I could handle, but a sexy intelligent man? Well, that was another story.
“I agree. It just seems that sometimes you disregard peoples’ feelings when being that way,” I answered, just then realizing that I too had abandoned shoveling.
“What are you saying? That I’m honest to a fault? If that’s what you mean, I’m going to nip this in the bud and tell you straightaway that I don’t believe there is such a thing. Honesty is honesty.” He looked mildly interested when he realized I had more to say on the matter.
“Yes but you have to differentiate between the moments when you’re trying to use the truth as an insult and when you’re just telling someone something they may not like to hear. It makes people think you’re being rude when I don’t think you are trying to be.”
“How would you know how these,” he paused as if to consider what he was about to say, “people think?”
“Because I’m well acquainted with three of them. Not to mention I’ve technically known you for years, and have observed it happen many a time.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Weasley. The only thing you know about me is that you’re supposed to hate me because my father hates your father and the feeling is mutual. That doesn’t mean you know anything about my character.”
I was grateful that my cheeks were no doubt already pink from the cold, for a blush tinged them as I realized just how weird it was that I did know things about him. If only he knew…
“I know more about you than that, and as a side note, just because I’m supposed to hate you doesn’t mean I do. People are supposed to do a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean they do them.” And then, as if an afterthought, “I don’t hate a lot of things.”
“Oh please,” he sneered, lips curling, “you don’t know a damned thing about me.”
I was a little hurt by that. God knows why, but I was. It was then that my idiotic subconscious decided that the best thing to do was to prove him wrong. Apparently it had taken control of my mouth, for in classic Ginny Weasley style, it opened before I was even aware I was contemplating saying anything.
“Apples.” Oh hell.
“Wuzzat?” Draco asked, cocking an eyebrow. He looked either alarmed or shocked, and I severely hoped that it was the second one.
“You like apples.” Oh shit.
“No I don’t!” he exclaimed defiantly.
“You eat one every day after second hour classes.” Oh, for the love of — why not just tattoo the word stalker to your forehead, Ginny? It’d be a lot easier!
He looked at me a moment, his lips barely parted as if meant to say something. After awhile he seemed to realize that he had no way out, and swallowed, eyes relaxing.
“How the bloody hell do you know that I eat an apple everyday after second hour classes?” he demanded, his tone one of disbelief instead of the disgust and downright horror I had been dreading. I could have sworn I saw a shadow of the arrogant grin begin to take over his features, but decided that I was most likely delusional, as I had already lost my sense of control.
Still, this was the question I had been afraid of, as he had effectively turned the tables in his favor. I strongly considered cursing aloud this time, but decided against it as that would no doubt worsen my position. A stalker who talks to oneself is bordering precariously close to downright psychotic, and I doubt Draco would think me any less creepy if he thought I was such.
He was beginning to grow impatient, as he had now raised his eyebrows in a quizzical manner and was staring at me persistently. I gathered up every ounce of resourcefulness and wit I had, but still could only come up with something that I knew wouldn’t even fool Ron on his daftest day.
“Because I see you eat one everyday.”
Hey, you weren’t the one melting underneath his stare, were you? It messes with your mind, I tell you. I’d like to see you go through that and come up with something that even resembled English, let alone topped mine. Hell, I was lucky that came out.
Draco laughed, shaking his head as he picked up his shovel to resume working.
“As if that answers the question. Fine, I’ll play your game. Why do you see me every day after second hour classes, Weasley? And hey, get back to work. We’re almost to the end of the courtyard. Can’t have you slacking off,” he grinned.
I stood there for a second, during which I felt incredibly manipulated, before numbly obeying. Not like I had much of a choice, was it? He was good, and I needed to get him back for that one. If my brain hadn’t kicked in at that moment, I would have been done for.
“I guess I’m just observant,” I said to his back, silently rejoicing at the fact that it sounded even remotely nonchalant. He continued lofting large shovelfuls to the side as he worked ahead of me. I let out a sigh as we reached the last few feet of the courtyard before the much more manageable road to Hogsmeade.
“I’ve noticed that,” he called over his shoulder. Was he mocking me? It didn’t sound like it. Perhaps he was implying that he was observant. Perhaps he was implying that he was observant in regards to me. I rolled my eyes. Right, and maybe he also found me alarming attractive and incredibly intriguing.
Just then, an idea for revenge on account of his prat-like earlier comment popped into my head. Quite frankly, I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t thought of it sooner. It was genius. It was simplistic. It was perfect.
“You know what I’ve noticed, Malfoy?” I asked loudly, scooping a small mound of harmless snowy fluff.
“Hmm?” came the muffled reply. I smiled rather demonically. He took the hint and turned around to face me. Call me cheap for striking when the enemy is off-guard, but I like to think of it as strategic. I sprang into action, launching the snowy goodness right over Draco’s lovely head. It rained down on him in slow motion, and I could see him close his eyes calmly right before the whiteness completely obstructed my view of his features.
“That calling me a slacker tends to have nasty consequences.”
Normally after pulling something like that, I would have been feeling pretty damned confident. For some reason, however, I couldn’t quite shake the discerning feeling that I was about to be hit back ten fold. Something about that calm confident smile of his told me I should run for my life.
END CHAPTER 7
“So what you’re saying is that you actually enjoy shoveling?”
“No, what I’m saying is that I don’t mind shoveling. I used to help my brothers do it all the time when I was little.”
“I’m so sorry,” he drawled, emphasizing his words in that Malfoy-like manner that was so distinct.
The conversation had been going on like this for awhile. After finally teaching Draco how to pronounce the word shovel, I made the mistake of commenting about how we could have gotten stuck doing something a lot worse for our detention. Naturally that had progressed into a conversation about how I obviously really enjoyed shoveling, and how wrong that was. I know, I know—he’s ridiculous. Cut him some slack, people. He is a man. That detail alone was the only thing that kept me from beating the tar out of him with my shovel. Well, that and the fact that I didn’t want to bloody his pearly skin.
“Oh, come off it. The only thing you know about my brothers is that they have red hair and the same last name as me,” I said, trying my best to sound exasperated in hopes of discouraging him. Draco was anything but, instead tossing his current load aside in order to use the shovel to support his body weight. I followed his lengthy form down to his toes, and my own foot twitched at the enticing opportunity to make him fall flat on his face. Just one kick to that shovel and that glorious poise of his would be shattered.
“On the contrary; I know that King Weasel is not only incredibly incompetent at jinxing, but he’s fiercely loyal to Pothead and Granger. He even has the hots for that one.”
I looked at him curiously.
“And no, despite the popular theory that commonly circulates throughout my House, I’m not referring to Potter,” Draco smirked, and this time I knew without a doubt that it was the arrogant sort. The twit. Before I knew what I was doing, I had opened my mouth to retort.
“Well—” I cut my sentence off abruptly as I actually took in what he had said about Ron. I decided to perform a quick evaluation. Ron was right horrid at jinxing; I should know, having tried to teach him on numerous occasions. It was kind of embarrassing for him to be so incompetent, you see, but I had finally deemed him hopeless. He was indeed also fiercely loyal to Harry and Hermione. As for the last bit, anyone who knew anything about Ron beyond his name could see he had it bad for the latter.
“You know, I think that right there is one of the main reasons you don’t get along with people,” I commented thoughtfully.
“What the devil are you talking about?” he questioned, probing eyes narrowing as he remained propped up against his shovel.
“You just have this way of making ordinary things sound…insulting when they’re not really. They’re the truth,” I finished, making sure to meet his confused partial glare in order to drive my point home. I saw his eyes soften in understanding, and something else sparked in them.
“Sometimes insults are the truth. And even more often, the truth is insulting,” he spoke slowly, and I got the distinct impression he knew he had proven a valid point.
I had to give him credit. At least he did that in a subtle manner. So Draco Malfoy knew how to have an intellectual debate, did he? Moreover, he knew how to have one without making it personal. That caught me off guard. I hadn’t been expecting him to say something deep, and I felt my mind become clouded as intrigue got the best of me. Hearing him say intelligent things like that made me think that I was right in believing there was more than pride beneath those silver locks, and lord knows that wasn’t helping my self-control. A sexy man I could handle, but a sexy intelligent man? Well, that was another story.
“I agree. It just seems that sometimes you disregard peoples’ feelings when being that way,” I answered, just then realizing that I too had abandoned shoveling.
“What are you saying? That I’m honest to a fault? If that’s what you mean, I’m going to nip this in the bud and tell you straightaway that I don’t believe there is such a thing. Honesty is honesty.” He looked mildly interested when he realized I had more to say on the matter.
“Yes but you have to differentiate between the moments when you’re trying to use the truth as an insult and when you’re just telling someone something they may not like to hear. It makes people think you’re being rude when I don’t think you are trying to be.”
“How would you know how these,” he paused as if to consider what he was about to say, “people think?”
“Because I’m well acquainted with three of them. Not to mention I’ve technically known you for years, and have observed it happen many a time.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Weasley. The only thing you know about me is that you’re supposed to hate me because my father hates your father and the feeling is mutual. That doesn’t mean you know anything about my character.”
I was grateful that my cheeks were no doubt already pink from the cold, for a blush tinged them as I realized just how weird it was that I did know things about him. If only he knew…
“I know more about you than that, and as a side note, just because I’m supposed to hate you doesn’t mean I do. People are supposed to do a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean they do them.” And then, as if an afterthought, “I don’t hate a lot of things.”
“Oh please,” he sneered, lips curling, “you don’t know a damned thing about me.”
I was a little hurt by that. God knows why, but I was. It was then that my idiotic subconscious decided that the best thing to do was to prove him wrong. Apparently it had taken control of my mouth, for in classic Ginny Weasley style, it opened before I was even aware I was contemplating saying anything.
“Apples.” Oh hell.
“Wuzzat?” Draco asked, cocking an eyebrow. He looked either alarmed or shocked, and I severely hoped that it was the second one.
“You like apples.” Oh shit.
“No I don’t!” he exclaimed defiantly.
“You eat one every day after second hour classes.” Oh, for the love of — why not just tattoo the word stalker to your forehead, Ginny? It’d be a lot easier!
He looked at me a moment, his lips barely parted as if meant to say something. After awhile he seemed to realize that he had no way out, and swallowed, eyes relaxing.
“How the bloody hell do you know that I eat an apple everyday after second hour classes?” he demanded, his tone one of disbelief instead of the disgust and downright horror I had been dreading. I could have sworn I saw a shadow of the arrogant grin begin to take over his features, but decided that I was most likely delusional, as I had already lost my sense of control.
Still, this was the question I had been afraid of, as he had effectively turned the tables in his favor. I strongly considered cursing aloud this time, but decided against it as that would no doubt worsen my position. A stalker who talks to oneself is bordering precariously close to downright psychotic, and I doubt Draco would think me any less creepy if he thought I was such.
He was beginning to grow impatient, as he had now raised his eyebrows in a quizzical manner and was staring at me persistently. I gathered up every ounce of resourcefulness and wit I had, but still could only come up with something that I knew wouldn’t even fool Ron on his daftest day.
“Because I see you eat one everyday.”
Hey, you weren’t the one melting underneath his stare, were you? It messes with your mind, I tell you. I’d like to see you go through that and come up with something that even resembled English, let alone topped mine. Hell, I was lucky that came out.
Draco laughed, shaking his head as he picked up his shovel to resume working.
“As if that answers the question. Fine, I’ll play your game. Why do you see me every day after second hour classes, Weasley? And hey, get back to work. We’re almost to the end of the courtyard. Can’t have you slacking off,” he grinned.
I stood there for a second, during which I felt incredibly manipulated, before numbly obeying. Not like I had much of a choice, was it? He was good, and I needed to get him back for that one. If my brain hadn’t kicked in at that moment, I would have been done for.
“I guess I’m just observant,” I said to his back, silently rejoicing at the fact that it sounded even remotely nonchalant. He continued lofting large shovelfuls to the side as he worked ahead of me. I let out a sigh as we reached the last few feet of the courtyard before the much more manageable road to Hogsmeade.
“I’ve noticed that,” he called over his shoulder. Was he mocking me? It didn’t sound like it. Perhaps he was implying that he was observant. Perhaps he was implying that he was observant in regards to me. I rolled my eyes. Right, and maybe he also found me alarming attractive and incredibly intriguing.
Just then, an idea for revenge on account of his prat-like earlier comment popped into my head. Quite frankly, I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t thought of it sooner. It was genius. It was simplistic. It was perfect.
“You know what I’ve noticed, Malfoy?” I asked loudly, scooping a small mound of harmless snowy fluff.
“Hmm?” came the muffled reply. I smiled rather demonically. He took the hint and turned around to face me. Call me cheap for striking when the enemy is off-guard, but I like to think of it as strategic. I sprang into action, launching the snowy goodness right over Draco’s lovely head. It rained down on him in slow motion, and I could see him close his eyes calmly right before the whiteness completely obstructed my view of his features.
“That calling me a slacker tends to have nasty consequences.”
Normally after pulling something like that, I would have been feeling pretty damned confident. For some reason, however, I couldn’t quite shake the discerning feeling that I was about to be hit back ten fold. Something about that calm confident smile of his told me I should run for my life.
END CHAPTER 7
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