Reviews: 7 | Table of Contents | - Text Size +
It was the next to last day of Christmas holiday and practically everyone was home. Draco Malfoy was at Hogwarts, having opted not to return to Malfoy Manor.
Sitting in the Slytherin common room, alone but for a couple of first-years had lost its charm quite quickly. There was a limit to the time he could spend merely relishing the fact that Pansy Parkinson wasn’t clinging to him. He had spent the last hour wandering the vacant corridors, heading up from the chilly dungeons to the slightly warmer stories of the castle.
As he reached the seventh floor, the light gleaming off a curtain of long, red hair caught his eye. The girl Weasel had apparently come back a little early. He decided to follow her. He didn’t really have anything better to do. After a while, he noticed that she kept turning her head and looking at him pointedly, but she didn’t say anything.
Finally, Ginny turned around exasperatedly. “Leave me alone, Malfoy. Why don’t you run along and get back to Parkinson?”
“Oh, so you can go to Potter? I always knew you had a crush on Pothead, think he’s divine, don’t you?” But the remark lacked his usual enthusiasm. The Girl Weasel was different. Something must have happened. Were those tear streaks on her face? He wished he were able to find out what it was. The knowledge of what was capable of making the imperturbable Weasley girl cry would present him with the power to provoke her to tears, as he had been trying to do for years. And maybe, if she told him what was wrong, he could lay a comforting arm around her shoulder, and maybe his fingers would creep a little lower, and he could touch… he shook away those treacherous thoughts and realized that she was answering him.
“Why on earth would I think such a thing?”
“It was quite clear in that lovely poem you wrote him. Oh- excuse me, did I say lovely? I meant the love poem you wrote him in second year- it wasn’t lovely at all.” He felt gratified as the tips of her ears turned red and her eyes began to sparkle – with amusement or annoyance, he couldn’t tell.
“Surely you can do better than that, Malfoy! That was nowhere near your usual standard.”
She smirked at him. “Anyway, since you seem so interested, that poem I wrote at the age of eleven was where my affection ended.” Ginny emphasized, both a little amused and quite a bit annoyed that nobody seemed to be able to just let the awfully embarrassing crush she’d had on Harry go.
“There has been many a crush overcome in the same way,” she continued. “I wonder whether I am the first one to realize how effective poetry is in getting over crushes….”
“Isn’t poetry supposed to be the food of love? ” Malfoy scoffed.
“Oh, how sweet,” Ginny mocked in a sickeningly saccharine voice, “I always knew big, bad Malfoy was a romantic at heart… But no. I mean, of a good healthy love, maybe. Everything feeds what’s already strong. But if it’s only a little crush, I think that one good poem is enough to completely drive it away.”
Ginny could tell that Malfoy didn’t understand what she was saying but she knew he’d never ask. Overcome by a charitable impulse towards the boy who had probably been taught that showing emotion was weakness, she decided to elaborate. “Look, Malfoy. Let’s say there’s someone you like, and instead of pulling her hair like a little boy, you sit down to write her a rhyming Valentine. You want to be at least a bit original, you know, not ‘ Roses are red, your eyes are blue, I love chocolate and I love you.”
Ginny could see Malfoy rolling his eyes, but he didn’t interrupt – he actually seemed curious, despite his eye-rolling, so Ginny continued. “As you write this lovely piece of literature you realize that you don’t really know anything about her, other than that you think she is pretty. You have no idea of her past, her family, her likes and dislikes… You do not even know anything about her level of intelligence, or whether she is capable of understanding if you include long words in your little masterpiece. Even a thick git like you has to see why that can’t be love. One good poem can make or break a crush.”
For a moment he looked quite pensive, as if absorbing and agreeing with her words. It didn’t last.
“That was not a good poem,” he smirked. “It was actually a very bad poem. ‘Fresh pickled toad’? Where do you get such imagery?”
“I like potions.” Ginny was grinning at breaking Draco Malfoy’s icy façade. Somehow, when they were alone, fighting verbal battles, she occasionally managed to catch a glimpse of what lay behind his usually tightly controlled expressions. She liked to think that he was showing his real feelings, as opposed to his cold, calculated sneer or nasty, nefarious smirk. Oddly, the verbal sparring with Malfoy had made her feel better. It was good for her to take out her frustration on some one who didn’t seem to mind or take it personally, even when he was meant to.
Malfoy just stood there, dazed. The Girl Weasel always had that effect on him. She distracted him with her bright hair and shining eyes and all those freckles that made him wonder how far they continued beneath her shabby robes… She was the only one who could make him stand like a fool, staring after her. Her hips swayed so enticingly when she walked… He snapped himself out of it abruptly – he couldn’t think this way about a Weasley! But she liked potions, and she had smirked at him earlier and she was grinning at him now… That was very interesting….
What was more interesting was the fact that she wasn’t wearing any shabby robes today, and as she raised an arm to sweep her long hair behind her back, a stretch of skin between her shirt and her jeans became exposed.
“Can’t your family afford enough clothing to keep all of you covered at once? ” he said nastily.
“Oh no, not again!” she whispered. She could feel another crying spell coming on. This was getting pathetic. It wasn’t really such a big deal, and here she was, acting like a leaky faucet… She couldn’t let Malfoy see her cry. She started walking away from him with increasing speed.
The girl Weasel had never turned down the opportunity to engage in a dispute or to insult him. Draco considered following her for a bit more - maybe he could see who or what had been bothering her earlier – but he scrapped that idea when he heard her start to cry again. He headed toward the Room of Requirement, hoping it would conjure up a means for him to entertain himself.
Ginny wandered the castle corridors, ending up in front of a huge, revolting tapestry depicting a barmy-looking wizard and a bunch of trolls in tutus. She grimaced at it and began to pace, trying to walk off the unfamiliar frustration and hurt she felt.
“I just need some one to talk to! I need some one to understand why I’m so worked up about such a little thing! I need somewhere to be until I calm down!”
As she turned to retrace her steps for the fourth time, a door appeared in the wall. Feeling reckless and disregarding every warning she’d been given in her childhood, she opened the door. She walked into the room and immediately felt at home – which was odd, since the room did not resemble the Burrow in the slightest.
Ginny threw herself down on one of the dark green couches, her shirt riding up again and exposing her midriff. Thinking she was alone, she didn’t bother to tug it down, not having noticed the pale, blond boy who was now enjoying the view.
Draco eyed the small glimpse of skin. His eyes traveled up and he was pleased to note that her shirt was tight in addition to being short. He had only ever seen her in loose hand me down school robes before. As he had suspected for a while now, Weasley was no longer shaped like a little girl. Nor was she shaped like one of her brothers – he shuddered at the thought. She had perfectly proportioned curves. It had been on his mind… his teenaged male hormone-driven mind – any attention he paid to Ginny Weasley was strictly as a result of her spectacular assets. He ignored the nagging part of him that said he hadn’t looked at any other girl half as much as he’d looked at her, and didn’t receive half as much pleasure from bickering with anyone else – he actually enjoyed hearing her. She was lively and peppery when he insulted her, funny and original even when she was insulting him.
Draco shook himself mentally, evading that train of thought. He couldn’t just sit there staring at her all day, much as he was tempted to. It was time to make his presence known. He cleared his throat softly.
Ginny jumped, registered that there was another person in the room and promptly burst into tears. Draco wasn’t as intimidated by weeping girls as the majority of the male species, having spent most of his younger years making girls and boys cry. But he wished Ginny would stop – her face would get all red and blotchy if she kept this up.
Ginny was lying on the couch facedown, sobbing into the cushions. Now that Draco couldn’t ogle her chest anymore, he found himself looking at her arse before shook his head, mentally. Enjoying the view as he was, he scolded himself for thinking about touching her while she was obviously distressed. He refused to think about how un-Slytherin the sentiment was.
He tapped her on the shoulder and offered her his monogrammed handkerchief with a hand that itched to skim over her curves.
“What’s wrong?” Draco asked.
“You wouldn’t understand,” she sighed.
Ginny dabbed at her tear-streaked cheeks with his handkerchief. “Where am I, anyway?”
“We are in the Room of Requirement, which is why I think I might understand whatever it is – providing that is what you were looking for when you came here.”
“Ohhh… I read about this place in Hogwarts: A History.”
Draco raised an eyebrow – he had thought Granger was the only one besides him to plough through the hundreds of pages in that book. The Weasley girl was getting more and more interesting: she liked potions, had read Hogwarts: A History…
“So tell me what’s bothering you,” he demanded.
“It’s stupid. Just something some one said. I can’t believe I’m crying about it!” Ginny exclaimed.
* * *
It was the day before Christmas. The Burrow was bedecked in jolly reds and greens. Ginny was up in her room, trying on her clothes to see what fit and what she needed, in preparation for the shopping she would do when she got her Christmas money.
Her mother walked in as she was putting on a pair of Ron’s old pajama pants. She estimated that they would be too tight, since they were made for a skinny boy butt, but had figured she might as well try them. She could feel her Mum’s eyes on her, and caught the dismayed look on her mother’s face before she turned away, telling Ginny to come down and set the table for lunch.
“I need to buy a few new things, Mum,” she said as she put a cup next to each plate. “Last year’s clothes don’t fit me anymore – I’ve gotten taller.”
“You have also gotten a bit wider, Ginny. You’re still not large, but you have to be careful. I say this to you as some one whose mother didn’t warn her. You’re at a dangerous age – I’m on you’re side, dear.”
Ginny silently finished setting the table and went up to her room. She shoved all the clothes back into the closet and sat on her bed. She refused to allow herself to cry. Only three tears leaked out and dropped on her pillow. She couldn’t believe her mother thought she was fatter. Who was she to talk anyway?
* * *
Draco was stunned. He knew girls had an irrational fear of being fat. That was probably the worst thing Ginny’s mum could have said, especially right before Christmas. He was bemused, since Ginny was not even near being plump. Her mother was probably paranoid that her daughter would end up dumpy like her.
He smirked at the thought.
Ginny groaned. “I can’t believe I told you. I suppose fat jokes are all I’ll hear from you from now on.”
“No! I don’t think you’re fat at all,” Draco blurted.
“I don’t believe you. I saw you staring at me earlier. What was that about?”
“Your arse is larger.” Draco was having serious trouble keeping his mouth shut.
Ginny narrowed her eyes. She looked like she was going to hex him.
“I mean, it’s less like a little girl’s, you know… I think it’s sexy.” He took a deep breath. He had not meant to tell her that he found her attractive – it just flew out of his mouth. But it seemed to have been the right thing to say. She was no longer glaring at him murderously. She was actually smiling.
“Thank you, Draco.”
She was gone before he realized she had used his first name. It sounded so good when she said it…
The next morning, as Ginny left breakfast, she heard some one following her for the second time in two days. A glance over her shoulder as she tossed her hair back confirmed that it was indeed Draco Malfoy tailing her. She hung back and he swiftly caught up with her. He eyed her nervously for a moment, and then shoved a piece of parchment into her hand. “I’ll be in the Room of Requirement,” he announced, somewhat anxiously, and took off running.
Bemused by this extremely uncharacteristic behavior, Ginny unfolded the parchment and read.
“Look, I know I’m going about this half-arsed
But I cared enough to learn about your past:
About the Chamber of Secrets and the basilisk,
All the names of your brothers, even though you have six.
I’ve become obsessed with your callipygian form
And with how, when you’re angry, you can scream up a storm.
With a temper to match your hair: just like fire
The peril of hacking you off is quite dire -
So before you move in for the kill
Let me write four more lines with this quill:
Tell me if my infatuation is reciprocated
Or if I am doomed forever to be hated
By the one and only witch, wench, missy
Who could reduce me to a pathetic, rhyming sissy?”
Ginny raced to the Room of Requirement. She had to find out: was this a joke? It didn’t seem like something Draco would do… But then again, she would never have thought Malfoy likely to write her poetry. It was sweet of him – although she had to admit he was no Shakespeare. Still, he had obviously put a lot of thought into it and seemed confident of her understanding long words. She had no idea what “callipygian” meant, though.
Draco was slouching on a green couch, nervously running his hand through his blond hair, completely disregarding his posture and the state of his coif. He could hardly believe that he had actually written poetry. For a girl. A Weasley girl! He had just handed her blackmail material of the most dangerous sort. His reputation would be ruined and he didn’t even want to think about his father’s reaction to his soppiness. Why had he let himself be hypnotized by her spirit and her hair, drawn to her like a moth to a flame?
The door flew open to reveal the same flame haired girl to which he had foolishly presented the blackmail opportunity. Draco straightened up, anxious for her reaction, but she paid no attention to him. She strode over to a bookshelf he hadn’t even noticed was in the room and pulled down what looked like a huge dictionary. He stared as she rapidly leafed through the pages of the heavy book. Suddenly she burst out laughing. Draco gaped. “What is so funny?” he finally demanded.
“You think I have a shapely rear!” she gasped, and started laughing again at the look on her face.
“Because you do. I don’t see why it is so hilarious that I would like you or the way you look, ” Draco said quietly. He was dismayed that Ginny’s reaction to his confession of affection and attraction toward her was to burst out laughing, as though the very idea was ludicrous.
Ginny stopped laughing abruptly when she heard the barely concealed hurt in his tone.
“Oh, Draco, I wasn’t laughing at that!” He didn’t look any happier, so she rushed to continue. “I am here to make you cognizant of the repercussion of your amorousness.” She grinned at him and he grinned back feeling as though an oppressive load had been lifted.
“I thought you were laughing at me. It is rather funny that a Malfoy could fancy a Weasley.”
“Then I suppose it is doubly funny, because she fancies him back.”
Draco’s face was flooded with relief for a moment, but an arrogant expression took over his features right away. “Obviously. Who could possibly resist me?”
Ginny swatted his arm playfully. “You’re so full of yourself. Don’t pretend you weren’t nervous!”
Draco took a step forward. “I might not have been so anxious had you come to the point right away, rather than cackling over the dictionary,” He retorted.
“I didn’t know what callipygian meant. I was laughing because it was a funny choice of words and I would never have expected you to pay attention.”
“I pay a lot of attention.” Draco’s voice was low and husky. Ginny suddenly realized how close to each other they were.
When his no longer smirking lips finally broke away from her smiling ones, Draco rested his forehead on Ginny’s. “What was it that you said about one good poem making or breaking a crush?”
“That was not a good poem,” she replied, her eyes sparkling. “But it was lovely. Very sweet.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Malfoys aren’t sweet.”
“Don’t worry; I don’t think you’re a sissy. But I won’t tell anyone how sweet you are,” She cooed at him.
They had the whole rest of the day to be together with no classes or other students to interfere. He could wait for a little while to hear what it sounded like to have a conversation with her where they weren’t insulting each other, so Draco did the best thing he could think of to shut her up.
Sitting in the Slytherin common room, alone but for a couple of first-years had lost its charm quite quickly. There was a limit to the time he could spend merely relishing the fact that Pansy Parkinson wasn’t clinging to him. He had spent the last hour wandering the vacant corridors, heading up from the chilly dungeons to the slightly warmer stories of the castle.
As he reached the seventh floor, the light gleaming off a curtain of long, red hair caught his eye. The girl Weasel had apparently come back a little early. He decided to follow her. He didn’t really have anything better to do. After a while, he noticed that she kept turning her head and looking at him pointedly, but she didn’t say anything.
Finally, Ginny turned around exasperatedly. “Leave me alone, Malfoy. Why don’t you run along and get back to Parkinson?”
“Oh, so you can go to Potter? I always knew you had a crush on Pothead, think he’s divine, don’t you?” But the remark lacked his usual enthusiasm. The Girl Weasel was different. Something must have happened. Were those tear streaks on her face? He wished he were able to find out what it was. The knowledge of what was capable of making the imperturbable Weasley girl cry would present him with the power to provoke her to tears, as he had been trying to do for years. And maybe, if she told him what was wrong, he could lay a comforting arm around her shoulder, and maybe his fingers would creep a little lower, and he could touch… he shook away those treacherous thoughts and realized that she was answering him.
“Why on earth would I think such a thing?”
“It was quite clear in that lovely poem you wrote him. Oh- excuse me, did I say lovely? I meant the love poem you wrote him in second year- it wasn’t lovely at all.” He felt gratified as the tips of her ears turned red and her eyes began to sparkle – with amusement or annoyance, he couldn’t tell.
“Surely you can do better than that, Malfoy! That was nowhere near your usual standard.”
She smirked at him. “Anyway, since you seem so interested, that poem I wrote at the age of eleven was where my affection ended.” Ginny emphasized, both a little amused and quite a bit annoyed that nobody seemed to be able to just let the awfully embarrassing crush she’d had on Harry go.
“There has been many a crush overcome in the same way,” she continued. “I wonder whether I am the first one to realize how effective poetry is in getting over crushes….”
“Isn’t poetry supposed to be the food of love? ” Malfoy scoffed.
“Oh, how sweet,” Ginny mocked in a sickeningly saccharine voice, “I always knew big, bad Malfoy was a romantic at heart… But no. I mean, of a good healthy love, maybe. Everything feeds what’s already strong. But if it’s only a little crush, I think that one good poem is enough to completely drive it away.”
Ginny could tell that Malfoy didn’t understand what she was saying but she knew he’d never ask. Overcome by a charitable impulse towards the boy who had probably been taught that showing emotion was weakness, she decided to elaborate. “Look, Malfoy. Let’s say there’s someone you like, and instead of pulling her hair like a little boy, you sit down to write her a rhyming Valentine. You want to be at least a bit original, you know, not ‘ Roses are red, your eyes are blue, I love chocolate and I love you.”
Ginny could see Malfoy rolling his eyes, but he didn’t interrupt – he actually seemed curious, despite his eye-rolling, so Ginny continued. “As you write this lovely piece of literature you realize that you don’t really know anything about her, other than that you think she is pretty. You have no idea of her past, her family, her likes and dislikes… You do not even know anything about her level of intelligence, or whether she is capable of understanding if you include long words in your little masterpiece. Even a thick git like you has to see why that can’t be love. One good poem can make or break a crush.”
For a moment he looked quite pensive, as if absorbing and agreeing with her words. It didn’t last.
“That was not a good poem,” he smirked. “It was actually a very bad poem. ‘Fresh pickled toad’? Where do you get such imagery?”
“I like potions.” Ginny was grinning at breaking Draco Malfoy’s icy façade. Somehow, when they were alone, fighting verbal battles, she occasionally managed to catch a glimpse of what lay behind his usually tightly controlled expressions. She liked to think that he was showing his real feelings, as opposed to his cold, calculated sneer or nasty, nefarious smirk. Oddly, the verbal sparring with Malfoy had made her feel better. It was good for her to take out her frustration on some one who didn’t seem to mind or take it personally, even when he was meant to.
Malfoy just stood there, dazed. The Girl Weasel always had that effect on him. She distracted him with her bright hair and shining eyes and all those freckles that made him wonder how far they continued beneath her shabby robes… She was the only one who could make him stand like a fool, staring after her. Her hips swayed so enticingly when she walked… He snapped himself out of it abruptly – he couldn’t think this way about a Weasley! But she liked potions, and she had smirked at him earlier and she was grinning at him now… That was very interesting….
What was more interesting was the fact that she wasn’t wearing any shabby robes today, and as she raised an arm to sweep her long hair behind her back, a stretch of skin between her shirt and her jeans became exposed.
“Can’t your family afford enough clothing to keep all of you covered at once? ” he said nastily.
“Oh no, not again!” she whispered. She could feel another crying spell coming on. This was getting pathetic. It wasn’t really such a big deal, and here she was, acting like a leaky faucet… She couldn’t let Malfoy see her cry. She started walking away from him with increasing speed.
The girl Weasel had never turned down the opportunity to engage in a dispute or to insult him. Draco considered following her for a bit more - maybe he could see who or what had been bothering her earlier – but he scrapped that idea when he heard her start to cry again. He headed toward the Room of Requirement, hoping it would conjure up a means for him to entertain himself.
Ginny wandered the castle corridors, ending up in front of a huge, revolting tapestry depicting a barmy-looking wizard and a bunch of trolls in tutus. She grimaced at it and began to pace, trying to walk off the unfamiliar frustration and hurt she felt.
“I just need some one to talk to! I need some one to understand why I’m so worked up about such a little thing! I need somewhere to be until I calm down!”
As she turned to retrace her steps for the fourth time, a door appeared in the wall. Feeling reckless and disregarding every warning she’d been given in her childhood, she opened the door. She walked into the room and immediately felt at home – which was odd, since the room did not resemble the Burrow in the slightest.
Ginny threw herself down on one of the dark green couches, her shirt riding up again and exposing her midriff. Thinking she was alone, she didn’t bother to tug it down, not having noticed the pale, blond boy who was now enjoying the view.
Draco eyed the small glimpse of skin. His eyes traveled up and he was pleased to note that her shirt was tight in addition to being short. He had only ever seen her in loose hand me down school robes before. As he had suspected for a while now, Weasley was no longer shaped like a little girl. Nor was she shaped like one of her brothers – he shuddered at the thought. She had perfectly proportioned curves. It had been on his mind… his teenaged male hormone-driven mind – any attention he paid to Ginny Weasley was strictly as a result of her spectacular assets. He ignored the nagging part of him that said he hadn’t looked at any other girl half as much as he’d looked at her, and didn’t receive half as much pleasure from bickering with anyone else – he actually enjoyed hearing her. She was lively and peppery when he insulted her, funny and original even when she was insulting him.
Draco shook himself mentally, evading that train of thought. He couldn’t just sit there staring at her all day, much as he was tempted to. It was time to make his presence known. He cleared his throat softly.
Ginny jumped, registered that there was another person in the room and promptly burst into tears. Draco wasn’t as intimidated by weeping girls as the majority of the male species, having spent most of his younger years making girls and boys cry. But he wished Ginny would stop – her face would get all red and blotchy if she kept this up.
Ginny was lying on the couch facedown, sobbing into the cushions. Now that Draco couldn’t ogle her chest anymore, he found himself looking at her arse before shook his head, mentally. Enjoying the view as he was, he scolded himself for thinking about touching her while she was obviously distressed. He refused to think about how un-Slytherin the sentiment was.
He tapped her on the shoulder and offered her his monogrammed handkerchief with a hand that itched to skim over her curves.
“What’s wrong?” Draco asked.
“You wouldn’t understand,” she sighed.
Ginny dabbed at her tear-streaked cheeks with his handkerchief. “Where am I, anyway?”
“We are in the Room of Requirement, which is why I think I might understand whatever it is – providing that is what you were looking for when you came here.”
“Ohhh… I read about this place in Hogwarts: A History.”
Draco raised an eyebrow – he had thought Granger was the only one besides him to plough through the hundreds of pages in that book. The Weasley girl was getting more and more interesting: she liked potions, had read Hogwarts: A History…
“So tell me what’s bothering you,” he demanded.
“It’s stupid. Just something some one said. I can’t believe I’m crying about it!” Ginny exclaimed.
* * *
It was the day before Christmas. The Burrow was bedecked in jolly reds and greens. Ginny was up in her room, trying on her clothes to see what fit and what she needed, in preparation for the shopping she would do when she got her Christmas money.
Her mother walked in as she was putting on a pair of Ron’s old pajama pants. She estimated that they would be too tight, since they were made for a skinny boy butt, but had figured she might as well try them. She could feel her Mum’s eyes on her, and caught the dismayed look on her mother’s face before she turned away, telling Ginny to come down and set the table for lunch.
“I need to buy a few new things, Mum,” she said as she put a cup next to each plate. “Last year’s clothes don’t fit me anymore – I’ve gotten taller.”
“You have also gotten a bit wider, Ginny. You’re still not large, but you have to be careful. I say this to you as some one whose mother didn’t warn her. You’re at a dangerous age – I’m on you’re side, dear.”
Ginny silently finished setting the table and went up to her room. She shoved all the clothes back into the closet and sat on her bed. She refused to allow herself to cry. Only three tears leaked out and dropped on her pillow. She couldn’t believe her mother thought she was fatter. Who was she to talk anyway?
* * *
Draco was stunned. He knew girls had an irrational fear of being fat. That was probably the worst thing Ginny’s mum could have said, especially right before Christmas. He was bemused, since Ginny was not even near being plump. Her mother was probably paranoid that her daughter would end up dumpy like her.
He smirked at the thought.
Ginny groaned. “I can’t believe I told you. I suppose fat jokes are all I’ll hear from you from now on.”
“No! I don’t think you’re fat at all,” Draco blurted.
“I don’t believe you. I saw you staring at me earlier. What was that about?”
“Your arse is larger.” Draco was having serious trouble keeping his mouth shut.
Ginny narrowed her eyes. She looked like she was going to hex him.
“I mean, it’s less like a little girl’s, you know… I think it’s sexy.” He took a deep breath. He had not meant to tell her that he found her attractive – it just flew out of his mouth. But it seemed to have been the right thing to say. She was no longer glaring at him murderously. She was actually smiling.
“Thank you, Draco.”
She was gone before he realized she had used his first name. It sounded so good when she said it…
The next morning, as Ginny left breakfast, she heard some one following her for the second time in two days. A glance over her shoulder as she tossed her hair back confirmed that it was indeed Draco Malfoy tailing her. She hung back and he swiftly caught up with her. He eyed her nervously for a moment, and then shoved a piece of parchment into her hand. “I’ll be in the Room of Requirement,” he announced, somewhat anxiously, and took off running.
Bemused by this extremely uncharacteristic behavior, Ginny unfolded the parchment and read.
“Look, I know I’m going about this half-arsed
But I cared enough to learn about your past:
About the Chamber of Secrets and the basilisk,
All the names of your brothers, even though you have six.
I’ve become obsessed with your callipygian form
And with how, when you’re angry, you can scream up a storm.
With a temper to match your hair: just like fire
The peril of hacking you off is quite dire -
So before you move in for the kill
Let me write four more lines with this quill:
Tell me if my infatuation is reciprocated
Or if I am doomed forever to be hated
By the one and only witch, wench, missy
Who could reduce me to a pathetic, rhyming sissy?”
Ginny raced to the Room of Requirement. She had to find out: was this a joke? It didn’t seem like something Draco would do… But then again, she would never have thought Malfoy likely to write her poetry. It was sweet of him – although she had to admit he was no Shakespeare. Still, he had obviously put a lot of thought into it and seemed confident of her understanding long words. She had no idea what “callipygian” meant, though.
Draco was slouching on a green couch, nervously running his hand through his blond hair, completely disregarding his posture and the state of his coif. He could hardly believe that he had actually written poetry. For a girl. A Weasley girl! He had just handed her blackmail material of the most dangerous sort. His reputation would be ruined and he didn’t even want to think about his father’s reaction to his soppiness. Why had he let himself be hypnotized by her spirit and her hair, drawn to her like a moth to a flame?
The door flew open to reveal the same flame haired girl to which he had foolishly presented the blackmail opportunity. Draco straightened up, anxious for her reaction, but she paid no attention to him. She strode over to a bookshelf he hadn’t even noticed was in the room and pulled down what looked like a huge dictionary. He stared as she rapidly leafed through the pages of the heavy book. Suddenly she burst out laughing. Draco gaped. “What is so funny?” he finally demanded.
“You think I have a shapely rear!” she gasped, and started laughing again at the look on her face.
“Because you do. I don’t see why it is so hilarious that I would like you or the way you look, ” Draco said quietly. He was dismayed that Ginny’s reaction to his confession of affection and attraction toward her was to burst out laughing, as though the very idea was ludicrous.
Ginny stopped laughing abruptly when she heard the barely concealed hurt in his tone.
“Oh, Draco, I wasn’t laughing at that!” He didn’t look any happier, so she rushed to continue. “I am here to make you cognizant of the repercussion of your amorousness.” She grinned at him and he grinned back feeling as though an oppressive load had been lifted.
“I thought you were laughing at me. It is rather funny that a Malfoy could fancy a Weasley.”
“Then I suppose it is doubly funny, because she fancies him back.”
Draco’s face was flooded with relief for a moment, but an arrogant expression took over his features right away. “Obviously. Who could possibly resist me?”
Ginny swatted his arm playfully. “You’re so full of yourself. Don’t pretend you weren’t nervous!”
Draco took a step forward. “I might not have been so anxious had you come to the point right away, rather than cackling over the dictionary,” He retorted.
“I didn’t know what callipygian meant. I was laughing because it was a funny choice of words and I would never have expected you to pay attention.”
“I pay a lot of attention.” Draco’s voice was low and husky. Ginny suddenly realized how close to each other they were.
When his no longer smirking lips finally broke away from her smiling ones, Draco rested his forehead on Ginny’s. “What was it that you said about one good poem making or breaking a crush?”
“That was not a good poem,” she replied, her eyes sparkling. “But it was lovely. Very sweet.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Malfoys aren’t sweet.”
“Don’t worry; I don’t think you’re a sissy. But I won’t tell anyone how sweet you are,” She cooed at him.
They had the whole rest of the day to be together with no classes or other students to interfere. He could wait for a little while to hear what it sounded like to have a conversation with her where they weren’t insulting each other, so Draco did the best thing he could think of to shut her up.
Author notes: 1) “Isn’t poetry supposed to be the food of love? ” Malfoy scoffed.
This was inspired by a passage from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice:
[Mrs. Bennet is talking about her daughter’s beauty:]
“I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane – one does not often see anybody better looking. When she was only fifteen there was a gentleman at my brother Gardiner’s in town so much in love with her that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away. But, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were.”
“And so ended his affection,” said Elizabeth impatiently. “There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!”
“I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love,” said Darcy.
“Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.”
(Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice. Penguin Popular Classics, 1994, page 37)
2) The idea of having Ginny misinterpret Draco’s jab at her clothing as a fat joke came from “The Plan” by Myunet. Also, I learned the word “callipygous” from that story, although I use “callipygian” here.
The End.
fatedtobehated is the author of 0 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 4 members. Members who liked Crush also liked 1020 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 4 members. Members who liked Crush also liked 1020 other stories.
Leave a Review