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Disclaimer: Anything that is in the Harry Potter books that is mentioned in this fanfic belongs to J.K. Rowling!
Our Own Little World
By Aubree and Lia
Chapter One: Ginny's Point Of View
I never thought that Draco Malfoy would become so important in my life. He’s arrogant, egotistical, cruel, and my idea of a true ass.
When I first laid eyes on him, I knew he’d be trouble. Ron (my older brother, but the one closest to my age) had filled me in about the Malfoy family during the summer before my first year—warning me to keep clear away from the lot. All Slytherins were considered bad news, the followers of You-Know-Who, the works. I had my first encounter with the blonde haired dolt at Flourish and Blotts right before my first year. He was horrible, making Harry feel bad (yes, Harry Potter—my first love). Ron had also warned me that Harry and Malfoy were hard core enemies.
Throughout my years at Hogwarts, I learned to hate Draco Malfoy. My surname was not to have anything to do with his own—but it was hard, I must admit. I’m not one for violence (however, when someone gets the dumb idea to try and hex me, you better believe I’ll fight back) and I tried to avoid the Slytherins.
Things between Malfoy and Harry seemed to get more and more heated as their second year passed into their third and fourth. When Harry became the Hogwarts champion along with Cedric Diggory, it hit Malfoy pretty damn hard. And then he took it out on me.
“Aww, wittle bitty Weasel’s crush is going to get eaten by the wee dragon,” he would coo maliciously.
“Shove off, Malfoy,” I would retort back with.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Firecracker. Potty’ll probably survive once again. He just can't die off without a fight, can he?”
And Harry did survive. I was still completely infatuated with the boy (of course) but I actually (for the first time) felt something other than hatred for Malfoy: pity. His father was so cruel to him and treated him as if he were dirt under his feet. Everyone knew what kind of a man Lucius Malfoy was—and Malfoy was stuck doing his father’s bidding. What if he didn’t want to help with You-Know-Who? What if what he really wanted was to just… I don’t know.
I, however, couldn’t show my sympathy for him. Harry felt like Cedric’s death at the end of his fourth year was his fault, and it was just a trying time for everyone against evil. If I even uttered a kind word about Malfoy, I would’ve gotten cursed by every anti-Malfoy around.
I wanted to be strong for Harry. I wanted so much for him to get through everything, but what could I do? I was Ginny Weasley, the youngest of a poor shamed pure-blood family. Hermione and Ron were Harry’s best friends—and it hurt to know that I was only a shadow from his ever closing window. My title would forever be the annoying younger sibling of Ron.
That’s when Malfoy started coming into the picture.
I had been crying one evening in my fourth year (his fifth) near the lake. The stress had been piling on slowly and finally—POW, I’d felt the sharp blow of reality. I couldn’t talk to Hermione about it because she was too busy studying for her OWL’s, and Ron was always practicing Quidditch. Harry didn’t even register with me as someone to confide in because I was tired of having to put up with his moodiness. I HAD thought about Luna or perhaps Neville, but I didn’t want to bore them. Who wants to hear about a fourteen year old girl’s problems, anyways? Well, besides Tom Riddle.
That was why I was sitting at the edge of the lake. The sun was still out, but light was fading quickly. It was as if I was all alone for the first time in months. Christmas was approaching, my brothers Fred and George were having slight difficulties in shipments on their crazy creations, and Mum was going mental about everything. I considered staying at Hogwarts for Christmas just so I could be out of everyone’s way, but that could never be a realistic option.
So I sat there with my feet dangling in the freezing water. I was alone—or so I thought.
“Looks like I was wrong about everyone being in their dorms at this hour,” I heard a cold voice say behind me. I didn’t even need to turn around.
“What do you want, Malfoy?”
“I wanted to sit in my spot and read, but you’re in the way.”
I rolled my eyes. Real mature. “Your spot?” I asked coolly. “Your spot doesn’t have your name on it.”
“Maybe that’s what I came out here to do, then.”
“Yeah, because that makes sense.”
“Weasel, if I wanted your opinion—“
“The first opinion is free.”
I loved getting the last word in. I could see the vein in Malfoy’s forehead pulsing in rage at being talked to with such disrespect.
“Get out of my spot.”
“No.”
“Weasel, don’t make me do something I’ll regret.”
“Whatever, Malfoy.” I sent him a grin formed out of evil revenge and snuggled in closer on the grass. “I’m rather comfortable here.”
“Move.”
“Why do men insist on making the women move? Do they not have any proper etiquette training?"
Malfoy looked livid, and I couldn’t help but smile. Ron would’ve killed to hear me at that moment. “I don’t need etiquette, you filthy—“
“Can’t call me a Mudblood, now can you, Malfoy?”
He opened his mouth but no sound escaped. I laughed openly and looked away, tears from the silliness of the situation streaming down my face. It was stupid, really. I was jovial though in the fact that I was pissing Malfoy off.
“Fine,” the blonde scowled after a long pause. “Take the spot.”
I expected him to storm off in a Slytherin-esque fury, but to my surprise, he sat down across from me. My mouth must have dropped three feet as I gaped at him.
“What?” he asked as he took the book he’d been holding and opened it to about half way.
“Nothing,” I responded shortly. “I just wasn’t counting on you joining me.”
“Be honored, Weasel,” Malfoy drawled. “You’re lucky to even be in my presence.”
I bit back my sarcastic remark and remained silent for a little while. Malfoy was quiet as well and seemed content reading his book. Strange, I thought to myself as Harry’s name drifted out of my head, I didn’t know he liked to read. “What book is that?” I asked and pointed to it.
Malfoy glanced up in an annoyed fashion and then stared at the book. “Madame Bovary,” he mumbled.
“Is that,” I grinned, “a Muggle book?”
Malfoy nodded and shrugged his shoulders. “Mother sent it to me because it’s supposed to be a classic. Besides, Flaubert wasn’t really a Muggle. He was a follower of the dark arts. It’s only known to few people.”
I choked back a laugh. “Okay then, if that’s what you’re into.”
“Into?” Malfoy questioned, scrunching up his brows.
“I didn’t know you were a book person, Malfoy.”
“I’m not like Granger, if that’s what you’re implying—“
“Nobody’s like Hermione.” I smiled genuinely for the first time and sighed. “May I ask you something?”
Malfoy sighed as well, but his smile told me that he wasn’t mad—and it was funny because his smile wasn’t even a real smile. It was the trademark Malfoy smirk.
“Okay,” I continued, “I was just… how come you feel as if you have to hate us? Mostly Harry I mean.”
“I really don’t feel like talking to you,” he replied as he slipped back into his normal Malfoy behaviour.
That conversation, though short, became the beginning of our friendship. I know it sounds like a weird start. Considering we weren’t even friends to begin with, we didn’t know what to label ourselves. Malfoy and I couldn’t possibly talk in public or swap books to read in the Great Hall. Ron would’ve killed me—and that would have been the nice part compared to what Harry’s reaction would be.
Malfoy and I just… coincidentally kept showing up at the lake around the same time every day. Sometimes we talked, and sometimes we just sat there in our own little world.
Our Own Little World
By Aubree and Lia
Chapter One: Ginny's Point Of View
I never thought that Draco Malfoy would become so important in my life. He’s arrogant, egotistical, cruel, and my idea of a true ass.
When I first laid eyes on him, I knew he’d be trouble. Ron (my older brother, but the one closest to my age) had filled me in about the Malfoy family during the summer before my first year—warning me to keep clear away from the lot. All Slytherins were considered bad news, the followers of You-Know-Who, the works. I had my first encounter with the blonde haired dolt at Flourish and Blotts right before my first year. He was horrible, making Harry feel bad (yes, Harry Potter—my first love). Ron had also warned me that Harry and Malfoy were hard core enemies.
Throughout my years at Hogwarts, I learned to hate Draco Malfoy. My surname was not to have anything to do with his own—but it was hard, I must admit. I’m not one for violence (however, when someone gets the dumb idea to try and hex me, you better believe I’ll fight back) and I tried to avoid the Slytherins.
Things between Malfoy and Harry seemed to get more and more heated as their second year passed into their third and fourth. When Harry became the Hogwarts champion along with Cedric Diggory, it hit Malfoy pretty damn hard. And then he took it out on me.
“Aww, wittle bitty Weasel’s crush is going to get eaten by the wee dragon,” he would coo maliciously.
“Shove off, Malfoy,” I would retort back with.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Firecracker. Potty’ll probably survive once again. He just can't die off without a fight, can he?”
And Harry did survive. I was still completely infatuated with the boy (of course) but I actually (for the first time) felt something other than hatred for Malfoy: pity. His father was so cruel to him and treated him as if he were dirt under his feet. Everyone knew what kind of a man Lucius Malfoy was—and Malfoy was stuck doing his father’s bidding. What if he didn’t want to help with You-Know-Who? What if what he really wanted was to just… I don’t know.
I, however, couldn’t show my sympathy for him. Harry felt like Cedric’s death at the end of his fourth year was his fault, and it was just a trying time for everyone against evil. If I even uttered a kind word about Malfoy, I would’ve gotten cursed by every anti-Malfoy around.
I wanted to be strong for Harry. I wanted so much for him to get through everything, but what could I do? I was Ginny Weasley, the youngest of a poor shamed pure-blood family. Hermione and Ron were Harry’s best friends—and it hurt to know that I was only a shadow from his ever closing window. My title would forever be the annoying younger sibling of Ron.
That’s when Malfoy started coming into the picture.
I had been crying one evening in my fourth year (his fifth) near the lake. The stress had been piling on slowly and finally—POW, I’d felt the sharp blow of reality. I couldn’t talk to Hermione about it because she was too busy studying for her OWL’s, and Ron was always practicing Quidditch. Harry didn’t even register with me as someone to confide in because I was tired of having to put up with his moodiness. I HAD thought about Luna or perhaps Neville, but I didn’t want to bore them. Who wants to hear about a fourteen year old girl’s problems, anyways? Well, besides Tom Riddle.
That was why I was sitting at the edge of the lake. The sun was still out, but light was fading quickly. It was as if I was all alone for the first time in months. Christmas was approaching, my brothers Fred and George were having slight difficulties in shipments on their crazy creations, and Mum was going mental about everything. I considered staying at Hogwarts for Christmas just so I could be out of everyone’s way, but that could never be a realistic option.
So I sat there with my feet dangling in the freezing water. I was alone—or so I thought.
“Looks like I was wrong about everyone being in their dorms at this hour,” I heard a cold voice say behind me. I didn’t even need to turn around.
“What do you want, Malfoy?”
“I wanted to sit in my spot and read, but you’re in the way.”
I rolled my eyes. Real mature. “Your spot?” I asked coolly. “Your spot doesn’t have your name on it.”
“Maybe that’s what I came out here to do, then.”
“Yeah, because that makes sense.”
“Weasel, if I wanted your opinion—“
“The first opinion is free.”
I loved getting the last word in. I could see the vein in Malfoy’s forehead pulsing in rage at being talked to with such disrespect.
“Get out of my spot.”
“No.”
“Weasel, don’t make me do something I’ll regret.”
“Whatever, Malfoy.” I sent him a grin formed out of evil revenge and snuggled in closer on the grass. “I’m rather comfortable here.”
“Move.”
“Why do men insist on making the women move? Do they not have any proper etiquette training?"
Malfoy looked livid, and I couldn’t help but smile. Ron would’ve killed to hear me at that moment. “I don’t need etiquette, you filthy—“
“Can’t call me a Mudblood, now can you, Malfoy?”
He opened his mouth but no sound escaped. I laughed openly and looked away, tears from the silliness of the situation streaming down my face. It was stupid, really. I was jovial though in the fact that I was pissing Malfoy off.
“Fine,” the blonde scowled after a long pause. “Take the spot.”
I expected him to storm off in a Slytherin-esque fury, but to my surprise, he sat down across from me. My mouth must have dropped three feet as I gaped at him.
“What?” he asked as he took the book he’d been holding and opened it to about half way.
“Nothing,” I responded shortly. “I just wasn’t counting on you joining me.”
“Be honored, Weasel,” Malfoy drawled. “You’re lucky to even be in my presence.”
I bit back my sarcastic remark and remained silent for a little while. Malfoy was quiet as well and seemed content reading his book. Strange, I thought to myself as Harry’s name drifted out of my head, I didn’t know he liked to read. “What book is that?” I asked and pointed to it.
Malfoy glanced up in an annoyed fashion and then stared at the book. “Madame Bovary,” he mumbled.
“Is that,” I grinned, “a Muggle book?”
Malfoy nodded and shrugged his shoulders. “Mother sent it to me because it’s supposed to be a classic. Besides, Flaubert wasn’t really a Muggle. He was a follower of the dark arts. It’s only known to few people.”
I choked back a laugh. “Okay then, if that’s what you’re into.”
“Into?” Malfoy questioned, scrunching up his brows.
“I didn’t know you were a book person, Malfoy.”
“I’m not like Granger, if that’s what you’re implying—“
“Nobody’s like Hermione.” I smiled genuinely for the first time and sighed. “May I ask you something?”
Malfoy sighed as well, but his smile told me that he wasn’t mad—and it was funny because his smile wasn’t even a real smile. It was the trademark Malfoy smirk.
“Okay,” I continued, “I was just… how come you feel as if you have to hate us? Mostly Harry I mean.”
“I really don’t feel like talking to you,” he replied as he slipped back into his normal Malfoy behaviour.
That conversation, though short, became the beginning of our friendship. I know it sounds like a weird start. Considering we weren’t even friends to begin with, we didn’t know what to label ourselves. Malfoy and I couldn’t possibly talk in public or swap books to read in the Great Hall. Ron would’ve killed me—and that would have been the nice part compared to what Harry’s reaction would be.
Malfoy and I just… coincidentally kept showing up at the lake around the same time every day. Sometimes we talked, and sometimes we just sat there in our own little world.
To Be Continued.
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