Read a book that you love.
As Ginny wandered around the bookstore that day, late afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass-ceiling overhead, the cheery sunbeams catching flecks of gold in her caramel eyes and mocking every dark, depressing thought that popped into her head. It had been several days since Harry had ended it (who was she kidding- it was eleven days, six hours and about thirty-eight minutes, but who was counting?) and Ginny had finally gotten her life back to some semblance of normalcy. She realized, after she had come out of her reverie, that she had missed poor Teddy’s fourth birthday and now she owed him a plethora of gifts to make up for their belatedness. Knowing that he adored books, she was now wandering around the children’s section of some large Muggle bookstore in downtown London, looking for something that he might enjoy.
She really had no idea why, but Ginny had found herself more and more fascinated with Muggle Literature. It began back in her Hogwarts days, in Muggle Studies when they had read some of Bryon’s poems, and since then it had festered and evolved into an obsession. Homer, Brontë, Cummings, Neruda- even a little bit of Tolstoy- were now permanent tenants in Ginny’s room, piled on her nightstand, shoved under her bed and (occasionally) sitting on her bookshelf. And with so many amazing writers and books and stories out there, Ginny was making sure that she passed her obsession on to all her little nephews and nieces, the adopted, the blood related, and all of them in-between.
As she squinted at the selection of brightly colored picture books, a strange stench wafted across her path, causing Ginny to cough and wrinkle her nose. Waving her hand in front her face, she turned her head, wondering if someone had set off a dungbomb in the Muggle shopping mall. A little ways down the aisle was a large woman in an exuberantly floral-patterned jacket- it looked like a garden had thrown up on the fabric. Her pungent perfume stretched out its long, wiry tendrils and crept through the air, wrapping around Ginny’s skin and causing her to gag slightly. Only something dead and rotting could produce that stench, although in largely smaller quantities the smell might’ve been vaguely recognizable as some sort of flower- roses, perhaps. “Seriously, lady,” Ginny muttered, trying to breathe through her mouth, “less is more. There is a reason that’s a cliché.”
Desperate to get away from the lady-who-must-have-a-trail-of-unconscious-people-behind-her, Ginny sidled away from the children’s sections and into adult literature, searching for something to keep her occupied at night after work.
Her eyes fell on a copy of Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice. Unbidden, a snort escaped from her lips. Yea, right. “That book gives females unrealistic expectations about love,” she muttered, shooting the paperback dark looks. It stared back unflinchingly, Elizabeth Bennet glancing back over her shoulder, frozen in time, her blue eyes peering out from a different era- a different world.
“Never had you pegged for the cynical type, Weasley,” came a drawling voice from behind her.
A flash of icy blond- so pale it was almost white- flittered out of the corner of her eye and Ginny froze, icy vines of dread curling down her spine. Oh please, not him, she begged silently, desperately scouring her memory for anyone else she knew with that color hair. Oh Merlin, anyone but him. Please please please please please don’t let it be-
Draco Malfoy stepped into her line of vision, that insufferable ever-present smirk stretched thinly across his pale features. Ginny didn’t even make an effort to keep the look of disgust off her face. Malfoy had been paired as Ron’s partner on the Ministry’s Auror force by some sort of evil, vindictive superior, and since then he had been a constant and ever-irritable presence in all of the Weasleys’ lives. Ron, of all people, was actually the one who got along best with the obnoxious ferret. However, Ginny was still having some trouble looking past the Git in Draco Malfoy
“Now is not the time, Malfoy,” she replied curtly, turning away from him. “Not that it is ever the time.”
“Come on, Weasley, is that any way to treat your favorite brother’s partner?” His chrome eyes glinted.
“Go away.”
Malfoy raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Well well, aren’t we testy today.”
Merlin, he irked her. “It’s not like you aren’t that everyday, Ferret.” She spun around abruptly and stalked away, missing startled look that flashed across his features. But the surprise was fleeting, and behind her back, Draco Malfoy’s expression hardened.
“What’s wrong, Weaselette, did Potter finally dump you or something?” he called out tauntingly.
Ginny’s shoulders stiffened and she whirled back around, sharp and biting retort on the tip of her tongue. But when she came face to face with him, her mind faltered and went blank. She just stood there- pile of picture books in her hand, mouth open and gaping like a flobberworm. And try as she might to hide it, she knew that he could see the hurt look in her eyes. Ginny flushed, ducking her head down and studying and the tops of her feet.
Malfoy was momentarily taken aback by her reaction, but in an uncharacteristic show of tact, he remained silent, biting back the scathing remarks that were rising in his throat as he looked at the forlorn witch in front of him, trying so hard not to let her wounds show. He raised a slim hand as if to pat her on the shoulder, but quickly pulled it back before she could notice. “I’m sorry,” he muttered stiffly, eyes downcast, “I didn’t know.”
Ginny was mildly speechless. Draco Malfoy actually acting somewhat decent? Her brain fizzed loudly with disbelief. Hey Voldemort, having fun skating down there in Hell?
She didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to see the scorn- or worse, pity- etched across his face, but her eyes refused to obey and dragged her gaze upwards. For the first time in her life, Ginny saw Draco Malfoy without a look of contempt on his face. There was no pity there either, only a vague awkwardness behind a curtain of forced indifference. He looked…human, almost. So she decided to act humanly in return.
“Thanks, Malfoy.”
As Ginny wandered around the bookstore that day, late afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass-ceiling overhead, the cheery sunbeams catching flecks of gold in her caramel eyes and mocking every dark, depressing thought that popped into her head. It had been several days since Harry had ended it (who was she kidding- it was eleven days, six hours and about thirty-eight minutes, but who was counting?) and Ginny had finally gotten her life back to some semblance of normalcy. She realized, after she had come out of her reverie, that she had missed poor Teddy’s fourth birthday and now she owed him a plethora of gifts to make up for their belatedness. Knowing that he adored books, she was now wandering around the children’s section of some large Muggle bookstore in downtown London, looking for something that he might enjoy.
She really had no idea why, but Ginny had found herself more and more fascinated with Muggle Literature. It began back in her Hogwarts days, in Muggle Studies when they had read some of Bryon’s poems, and since then it had festered and evolved into an obsession. Homer, Brontë, Cummings, Neruda- even a little bit of Tolstoy- were now permanent tenants in Ginny’s room, piled on her nightstand, shoved under her bed and (occasionally) sitting on her bookshelf. And with so many amazing writers and books and stories out there, Ginny was making sure that she passed her obsession on to all her little nephews and nieces, the adopted, the blood related, and all of them in-between.
As she squinted at the selection of brightly colored picture books, a strange stench wafted across her path, causing Ginny to cough and wrinkle her nose. Waving her hand in front her face, she turned her head, wondering if someone had set off a dungbomb in the Muggle shopping mall. A little ways down the aisle was a large woman in an exuberantly floral-patterned jacket- it looked like a garden had thrown up on the fabric. Her pungent perfume stretched out its long, wiry tendrils and crept through the air, wrapping around Ginny’s skin and causing her to gag slightly. Only something dead and rotting could produce that stench, although in largely smaller quantities the smell might’ve been vaguely recognizable as some sort of flower- roses, perhaps. “Seriously, lady,” Ginny muttered, trying to breathe through her mouth, “less is more. There is a reason that’s a cliché.”
Desperate to get away from the lady-who-must-have-a-trail-of-unconscious-people-behind-her, Ginny sidled away from the children’s sections and into adult literature, searching for something to keep her occupied at night after work.
Her eyes fell on a copy of Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice. Unbidden, a snort escaped from her lips. Yea, right. “That book gives females unrealistic expectations about love,” she muttered, shooting the paperback dark looks. It stared back unflinchingly, Elizabeth Bennet glancing back over her shoulder, frozen in time, her blue eyes peering out from a different era- a different world.
“Never had you pegged for the cynical type, Weasley,” came a drawling voice from behind her.
A flash of icy blond- so pale it was almost white- flittered out of the corner of her eye and Ginny froze, icy vines of dread curling down her spine. Oh please, not him, she begged silently, desperately scouring her memory for anyone else she knew with that color hair. Oh Merlin, anyone but him. Please please please please please don’t let it be-
Draco Malfoy stepped into her line of vision, that insufferable ever-present smirk stretched thinly across his pale features. Ginny didn’t even make an effort to keep the look of disgust off her face. Malfoy had been paired as Ron’s partner on the Ministry’s Auror force by some sort of evil, vindictive superior, and since then he had been a constant and ever-irritable presence in all of the Weasleys’ lives. Ron, of all people, was actually the one who got along best with the obnoxious ferret. However, Ginny was still having some trouble looking past the Git in Draco Malfoy
“Now is not the time, Malfoy,” she replied curtly, turning away from him. “Not that it is ever the time.”
“Come on, Weasley, is that any way to treat your favorite brother’s partner?” His chrome eyes glinted.
“Go away.”
Malfoy raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Well well, aren’t we testy today.”
Merlin, he irked her. “It’s not like you aren’t that everyday, Ferret.” She spun around abruptly and stalked away, missing startled look that flashed across his features. But the surprise was fleeting, and behind her back, Draco Malfoy’s expression hardened.
“What’s wrong, Weaselette, did Potter finally dump you or something?” he called out tauntingly.
Ginny’s shoulders stiffened and she whirled back around, sharp and biting retort on the tip of her tongue. But when she came face to face with him, her mind faltered and went blank. She just stood there- pile of picture books in her hand, mouth open and gaping like a flobberworm. And try as she might to hide it, she knew that he could see the hurt look in her eyes. Ginny flushed, ducking her head down and studying and the tops of her feet.
Malfoy was momentarily taken aback by her reaction, but in an uncharacteristic show of tact, he remained silent, biting back the scathing remarks that were rising in his throat as he looked at the forlorn witch in front of him, trying so hard not to let her wounds show. He raised a slim hand as if to pat her on the shoulder, but quickly pulled it back before she could notice. “I’m sorry,” he muttered stiffly, eyes downcast, “I didn’t know.”
Ginny was mildly speechless. Draco Malfoy actually acting somewhat decent? Her brain fizzed loudly with disbelief. Hey Voldemort, having fun skating down there in Hell?
She didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to see the scorn- or worse, pity- etched across his face, but her eyes refused to obey and dragged her gaze upwards. For the first time in her life, Ginny saw Draco Malfoy without a look of contempt on his face. There was no pity there either, only a vague awkwardness behind a curtain of forced indifference. He looked…human, almost. So she decided to act humanly in return.
“Thanks, Malfoy.”
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