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Love looks not with the eyes but the mind.
- Shakespeare; A Midsummer's Night Dream
He noticed she was never at lunch.
He watched for her everyday, for months, for the whole year. Strangely, she never walked into the Great Hall with the rest of the students. During the midday meal, whenever he saw a flash of red, the dark, blood red he had begun to associate her with, it was only a book bag or cloak pin. He always berated himself for looking, believing his only dream was in front of him, yet he could never resist the urge to check, just to make absolutely certain it was her.
Why, her? he whined to himself. It was bad enough for him to feel this way, like she was special, and different from the rest of the girls at his school. Whether it was her backbone that tempted him (he'd still never gotten over the fact that she had turned his bogeys into bats, almost suffocating him – didn't she know he was claustrophobic?) or whether he'd fallen into the depths of her eyes, (you'd believe the sea was brown when you looked into them), he couldn't tell.
He also couldn't tell her how he felt. It was just… wrong. Forbidden. Put plainly: just not allowed. She wouldn't believe him; she'd narrow her eyes, and closely keep eye to him, as she did whenever she dealt – spoke, he corrected, she's not a Slytherin – with his kind.
Would she believe him? No, of course not. To her, it would all just be another mind game, another trap, another lie. And, unless he removed his mask, there was no way she would see how he truly felt, hear the pleading in his voice for her to just believe him; no way for her to feel the pain of not having her; no way to taste the air, which would crackle with the sparks of his desire, not to fulfill his sexual needs, but to make him whole; no way to smell out the scent of his fear at having these feelings for her.
Frustrated, he slammed down his glass of pumpkin juice. His housemates looked at him questioningly.
"Don't follow me," he hissed, his face seething in the wake of the sneer and glare he was giving them. They made no move to follow. He turned on his heel and left.
He strode purposely and forcefully through the corridors, every step drawing him nearer to his destination. All of a sudden, he stopped and looked around.
"Oft expectation fails, and most oft there," he quoted to the stone. Silently, a slab of stone the size of a doorway slid away, and he ducked his head and walked through, pulling out a pad, set of pencils of varying size and shade, and a small packet of charcoal.
The courtyard was usually deserted. It was surrounded on all sides by large towers, with small gaps not large enough for a person to slip between them. He walked, now calmly, to the shade of “his” tree, and, as he moved to sit, he heard a voice.
"Oh, the great Draco Malfoy. Is it not enough to harass those of lower status than yourself, or must you sit on them, too?"
His heart fluttered. He knew that voice.
"No, I- you see-" He closed his mouth. Why must I blabber when around this beautiful girl?
She looked up at him, looking as though he was a foreigner.
"What?" he snapped.
"I don't rightfully know," she said. "It's just that you always seem so put together, and all of a sudden you show up in my hiding place looking ruffled and stuttering."
"Yeah, well I'm human too," he muttered. She heard him.
"I know," she stated simply. "But, that doesn't answer my question of why are you in my hiding spot?" She took a bite out of the apple she held in her hand.
"Rather, I think that you are in my hiding spot – and under my tree, too."
She shook her head. "No, it's mine – I've been coming here everyday for years, and I've never once seen a trace of another person."
"I've been coming here since first year," he said angrily. "So I rather think that it is mine!" He slammed his pad against the tree. He didn't notice that several loose sheets fluttered away to the side as a breeze blew through the spaces between the walls.
"Then, I guess we'll have to share," she said, shrugging. She lowered her head, and dipped the quill in her other hand into her hair, or, rather, into an ink bottle, dyed in the same shade of blood red as her hair. (Blood red like her hair, right?)
He let out a frustrated growl, but, deciding that this would be the perfect opportunity to continue with his sketching – and to get to know her, maybe even show her he wasn't as bad as the Weasel King and Saint Potter made him out to be. He looked around, and saw a large apple tree – it must haven been where she'd gotten her apple, the core of which she had now Vanished – that, if one sat in the small inward bend of the trunk, one would have a perfect view of the girl sitting under the large oak.
So he sat. He spread out his pencils and charcoals of varying thicknesses, and opened his pad to an unfinished sketch of the castle, drawn from his memory of the famed “lake journey” that all young wizards and witches had to take at the start of their First Year at Hogwarts.
But, for some reason, he couldn't finish it. He found that if he went to move his pencil, the line would act as a curl of her hair, the curve of her ear, or the pupil of her eye.
Sighing, he flipped a page, and let his pencils take over. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, capturing as much of her essence as he could in what was left of the hour lunch break.
BRINGG! BRINGG!
Mother Voldemort! With one last glance at Ginny, he packed his things and strode away, blissfully unaware of the sketch that had earlier flown from his pad.
Ginny watched as Malfoy packed his things and left. Score one for the Weaselette!
As she packed away her journal and quill set – the colour of her hair, a special birthday present from her very own treasure hunter – she noticed a stray sheet blowing in the wind.
She walked over, curious. Gently, she plucked the sheet that was swirling like a leaf from the air.
She gasped.
It was a drawing of her. She couldn't believe it.
It was – there was no other word for it – beautiful. She was, in the picture, beautiful. You could tell it was her by the few freckles on her face. Her hair was windblown, and her broom was over her shoulder. She was walking away from the observer, but her head was turned and she was smiling. The lines that made up her hair were done in a blood-red ink, much like her own, and her eyes were filled in with a milk-chocolate brown. Her lips were done in a soft pink, and every little line on them – she took out her mirror; what she saw in the glass was identical to the paper – was shown. It was gorgeous. On the end of her broom, the initials 'D.M' were sketched in.
Carefully, she pressed the drawing into her History of Magic book, and fled the courtyard, fearing McGonagall's wrath if she was late for Transfiguration.
She ran quickly through the by now near-empty corridors, all the while wondering about the drawing. It has to be me, she thought, but it's so beautiful. There's no way he could possibly think that way about me.
She wished he could. Every night since she'd hexed him, she'd fallen asleep dreaming of his icy blue eyes. She'd only seen them once; he'd been laughing at something incredibly stupid Blaise Zabini had said. He'd been with Blaise, and they'd been out flying. Draco's usually immaculate hair was windblown and ruffled, and he'd seemed… normal.
It was then, when she was staring at them from her dormitory window, that she realised it was just a mask. A ploy to fool everyone, to hide his feelings. It seemed Blaise was able to take down his façade, to make him laugh and smile; to make him show his feelings like any other person.
Slytherins, she concluded, were severely screwed up.
She took a deep breath as she stopped abruptly in front of the Transfiguration classroom. The door wasn't shut yet, thank Merlin, so class hadn't started. She hurried quickly to her seat beside Luna Lovegood (who, Ginny noticed, was doodling the name Mrs. Ron Weasley on the inside cover of her text) as McGonagall gave her a pointed look and shut the door.
Whew, just in time!
"Today, we will be talking about human Transfiguration," said McGonagall, in her sharp, stern voice. "It is very difficult, yet very useful…"
Ginny couldn't focus. She kept seeing icy blue eyes, and the perfect drawing that had been floating in the courtyard.
"Ginevra Weasley!" barked her teacher. "What should one ensure before attempting human transfiguration?"
"That, um…" Ginny started. McGonagall had noticed she wasn't paying attention, and now Ginny was paying dearly.
"Five points from Gryffindor," McGonagall said sternly. Then, kinder: "You know better."
"Yes, Professor."
Draco groaned. He couldn't focus, and if he didn’t get a grip on himself soon, he was going to make a real mess of his cauldron of Amortentia.
Looking at his notes, he decided to start with collecting and preparing his ingredients while his cauldron heated. He picked up the list of ingredients he had copied and went to the store cupboard for specialty items not in his – though with extra and more expensive ingredients than a general sixth-year set – potions kit.
Ashwinder eggs, 2 (frozen)
Essence of Belladonna, 4 parts or 1 cup
Bicorn horn, 3 parts or ¾ cup
Boomslang skin, 4 parts or 1 cup (pre-melted)
Black beetle eyes, 6 parts or 1 ½ cup
Crocodile heart, 1
Draco groaned to himself. The list went on for several more lines, and it was incredibly difficult to make. He had only two hours, and the potion would take at least 90 minutes to brew, so he had to focus.
Thirty minutes later, he had added one-third of the ingredients, but he still couldn't manage to get Ginny out of his head. He knew what he was going to smell when he was finished.
Draco wiped his brow. He was finished. He ladled out a vial for Snape, and filled an expensive non-corrosive, heat-resistant jar so, if need be, he could study later. He labelled his vial and jar and vanished the contents of his cauldron. Carefully, he packed the jar into his book bag and brought the vial to Snape, who examined the colour of his potion and nodded. "Well done, Mr. Malfoy."
After Draco had taken his seat and the rest of the students had passed in their potions, Snape called order (which, Draco thought, was pointless since the room was only filled with two or three whispers).
"Now, I am going to take a small dish of Amortentia around the room, and each of you is going to tell me what you smell. Gryffindors first." He filled a small jar and walked to where the Weasel King and the Rabbit were sitting. "Weasley, what do you smell?"
"Violets, and rose perfume."
Draco snorted. It was, obviously, the Rabbit's perfume. Doesn't take a genius to figure that one out.
By now, Snape had moved on to Potter, who was taking a long time to figure out what he was smelling. "Umm…Lavender and spicy orange, I think."
Draco snapped open his eyes. Shite, he thought, as he knew, right off the top of his head, what that scent was. And, what he also knew was what that would be smelling it, too, as it had been wafting off his cauldron.
Before he knew it, Snape was in front of him. "Well, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked.
Without leaning in to smell from the jar Snape was holding, he answered confidently: "Spicy orange and lavender."
"How do you know?" asked Snape, raising on slender, black eyebrow.. "You didn't even take a whiff."
"I can smell it from here. It's very strong," he said, without thinking. He heard the Rabbit gasp. She obviously knew what the smell was and that, if the scent was strong, it was truly what the person desired in their hearts, not just in their minds.
Snape looked oddly at him, and said, "Please stay after class, Mr. Malfoy. You too, Mr. Potter."
Draco allowed himself a mental groan.
BRINGG! BRINGG!
At least it's last class, Draco thought.
The rest of the class filed out while Draco and Saint Potter came to stand in front of their professor's desk, who pointed to two desks in the front separated by another and told them to sit.
"Now, Mr. Potter," Snape drawled, "were you listening to what Mr. Malfoy said, or were you too busy talking to your groupies?"
Potter faltered. "No, sir, I didn't hear what Malfoy said."
"Then, perchance, would you like to take a guess?"
"Was it money?"
Snape snorted. "Wrong."
"Was it himself?"
Snape let out a cruel, forced laugh. "Wrong again, Potter. It was spicy orange and lavender," the Professor enunciated.
"But-"
"Exactly. Now, Mr. Potter, do you have any clue what or who that scent was of?"
Potter looked like he was thinking. Can't be thinking. He isn't capable of coherent thought, Draco sneered inaudibly. "No," he finally answered. "I know I've smelt it before, but I just can't remember where."
"Do you have any clue, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Yes, sir. I know exactly what – or who – it was."
"Well, now that's interesting. You are excused."
Draco and Potter stood and turned, leaving the room with no dialogue between the two. However, when they reached the hallway, Potter turned abruptly to face Draco, who had been striding along lazily.
"What was it?" he questioned.
"Well look at this," Draco sneered. "Saint Potter has come looking to the next Lord Malfoy as he can't figure it out. Why don't you ask your Mudblood? She knows."
"She-won't-tell-me," he said through gritted teeth.
Draco was amazed, but he didn't let Potter see.
"What is it?" Potter asked again.
"Or, rather, who is it," Draco corrected, in a drawl meant to irritate Potter (it obviously worked).
"WHO IS IT, THEN?" Potter yelled.
"If you're too stupid to figure out what you want, then I'm not going to tell you." Draco turned on his heel and left a dumb-struck Harry Potter standing in his wake as he left for his dinner.
Where, in the name of Merlin's balls, is HE? Ginny was starting to get frantic. She desperately wanted – no, needed - to know what was up with that picture. She could feel herself smiling just thinking about it as she navigated herself over to her house table and plopped herself down beside Hermione. Quickly, she scanned the table, finding Ronald but not Harry. She groaned. Were they fighting again?
"Hi, Ginny!" said Hermione brightly.
"Hey!" Ginny responded just as enthusiastically – Hermione was her best friend. "Where's Harry?"
Hermione gave a weak smile. "I'll tell you later. You honestly don't want to know right now," she said softly, and nodded her head towards the doors. Draco had just strode in, and Harry was behind him, looking aggravated. Ginny allowed herself a small smile at the smug look on Malfoy's face, compared to the growl Harry gave as he seated himself beside Ron and Parvati, whom he draped and arm over and kissed. Parvati was also the first to voice what all of the Gryffindor and Slytherin seventh-years were wondering.
"What did Snape want?" she asked.
Harry groaned. "If I knew what I smelt. I don't. I have a clue what it was."
"Did Malfoy?" asked Neville, who had heard all about it from Parvati and Lavender, as he hadn't made it into NEWT potions.
"Yes. I asked him to tell me, but he just sneered at me and told me that if I'm too stupid to figure it out, he wasn't going to."
"Oh," Hermione said, her face looking like she was confused – which in itself was rare enough. It made Ginny wonder what they were going on about, especially when Hermione raised an eyebrow and looked at her.
Since Harry seemed in no mood to talk about it, no one pressed him on the subject. Ginny piled her plate with roast, and when Harry passed her the potatoes he gave her a small smile, she felt an odd prickling on the back of her neck, as if someone was watching her.
She turned her head, but didn't see any of the Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs staring at her, and she knew, although she dreamed differently, that it wasn't one of the Slytherins. Feeling slightly confused, she went back to her dinner, only to feel the same again. She turned around, this time facing the Slytherin table, and noticed Malfoy quickly turn his head to listen to something Zabini was saying.
That's odd, she thought, but promptly dismissed it, soon to forget it had ever happened.
"Mmm," she moaned, after a particularly juicy bite of roast beef – and explicit visual of the owner of the icy blue eyes that were so often gray.
Her brother and his friends (along with Colin) looked at her. "What?" she said, becoming defensive. "You guys know how well the house-elves here can cook."
As she had hoped, steering the conversation towards house-elves had garnered a reaction from Hermione. Ron, who was sitting beside her, filled the girl's fork with potatoes and popped it into her mouth, as Ginny had predicted. "You've already told us, Hermione," he smiled, and then, in his best impression of his mother, said, "You've been looking way too thin."
Ginny flicked her eyes to where her strange, blonde friend was sitting. Sure enough, Luna's face had darkened and she was glaring at the back of Hermione's head. Luna had been dreamy about Ron since she'd first met him, and went out of her way to ensure that they'd 'accidentally' bump up against each other in the hallway.
Hermione, too, glared at Ron, and then, surprisingly, wolfed down the rest of her supper. She drained her pumpkin juice just as Ginny swallowed her last morsel of food. "Coming?" she asked the younger girl.
Ginny nodded eagerly, wondering what everyone was talking about. She picked up her bag and followed Hermione out of the hall, Harry and Ron looking at where they had been sitting only seconds before and wondering what they were up to. Parvati placed her hand in Harry's, and he looked up at her. "Girl chat," she told him simply.
Hermione practically ran up the steps, and Ginny was having a hard time keeping up with her. Exhausted, Ginny stopped in front of the Fat Lady's portrait, and tried to catch her breath. For seeming to never do anything but read, Hermione was exceptionally fit (Ginny knew she'd been a devoted football player before she'd come to Hogwarts, and knew about the "secret runs" that no one was supposed to know about that Hermione took on a daily basis), and wasn't the least out of breath. "Amortentia," she said clearly.
Sighing, Ginny followed Hermione (who bounded up the steps to Ginny's dorm) to see what she wanted. Ginny walked in, and shut the door, while Hermione emerged from the connecting bathroom. In her hand, she held Ginny's soap. Ginny looked at her. "You wanted to get up here so fast to borrow my soap?"
Hermione giggled – it still put Ginny off when she did; Hermione tried not to do it in front of the others, as she was more of a giggler than Parvati. "No, silly! We made Amortentia today."
"And that has what to do with my soap?"
"Well," Hermione asked testily, "you make your own soap, right?" Ginny nodded. She loved making soap; she'd even mixed up a recipe for Fred and George called 'Slippery Soap,' that, when wet, the soap would slip from the users fingers and bounce off of walls until it dried off. They paid her 45% of the profit from each bar, and now Ginny was raking in the galleons as it was a very popular item at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, since it was so easy to use in a prank just by placing it near the bath.
Hermione continued on with her questioning. "What scent is it?"
"Well," Ginny said, "I make stuff for Mum that's fruit scented, Ron gets cinnamon, Bill gets-"
Hermione cut her off. "No, I mean yours!"
"Oh!" Ginny smiled. "Lavender and spicy orange, of course!"
"I thought so," said Hermione, her eyes lighting up.
"But what's that got to do with Potions, Harry, and Amortentia?"
"Well, you know what Amortentia is, right?" Ginny shook her head no. "Well, it's like a love potion – it's the most powerful one in the world, actually. But that's beside the point. The fumes that waft off the cauldron smell different to everyone – you smell what you love most. Anyways, so the stronger the scent, the more you love it."
"Anyways," Hermione continued," at the end of class, Snape made us smell it and tell the class what scent we got. Guess what Harry smelt?"
"No clue – but what's that got to do with my soap?"
"Everything! Ginny, he smelt lavender and spicy orange."
Ginny's eyes went round. "But you know he's only a brother to me now, Hermione, I-"
"I know, but this is where it gets interesting. Malfoy was one of the last to smell it. Snape had the bottle about a foot away from him, but Malfoy could smell it anyways. Harry didn't realise what Malfoy said until Snape started berating him. Guess what?" Hermione asked. "Malfoy smelt spicy orange and lavender, too."
If possible, Ginny's eyes went even rounder. "Wow," she said, "no wonder that the picture-"
"What picture?" Hermione asked.
"Well, you obviously noticed I don't eat lunch in the Hall, right? Today this guy showed up, and obviously didn't expect anyone to be there – he almost sat right on me. Anyways, we argued for a minute, and he slammed a pad of paper – a sketch pad – against the tree I was leaning on. He didn't notice, but a loose sheet blew into a corner of the courtyard. But, I'll come back to that."
"So I told him that we'd have to share, and he grumbled to himself, but went to sit against the tree I'd fetched my apple from. He'd been sketching, obviously. When the bell rang, he packed his stuff into his bag and left."
Hermione nodded. "Go on."
"So, remember that loose sheet? After he left, I went over to the courtyard to pick it up."
Hermione couldn't help but interrupt. "What was on it?" she asked excitedly.
"Wait until you see," Ginny replied, grabbing her History of Magic book and pulling out a small square, tapping it with her wand to enlarge it. When it reached its full size, she smiled at the image and passed it to Hermione.
"Oh. My. God!" she cried. Ginny rolled her eyes; she'd never understood this 'oh my god' thing Muggles said.
"I know!"
"Holy shite, Ginny, this is damn near perfect! The lines on your lips-"
"-are identical to my actual lips! I know, Hermione, when I saw the picture I actually pulled out my compact to check."
"Your eyes, and hair, though, it's all perfect. Even the lion on your robes to the Weasley on the back," Hermione gushed. "Who drew it? Malfoy, obviously, right?"
"Right," replied Ginny, pointing to the small 'D.M' on the picture-Ginny's earlobe.
"Well, then I guess today's Potion lesson makes sense."
Ginny smiled. Now if only I was brave enough to go talk to him," she thought. "Oh, Hermione," she groaned. "What am I going to do? I can't just go up and talk to him!" She looked expectantly at the other girl.
"Oh, Gin," Hermione sighed, "I wish I could help, but I'm not so great at this stuff. My love life isn't exactly thriving."
"I know, it's just I have absolutely no clue what to do."
"I'm sure you'll think of something," Hermione said softly. "But let's go down to the common room, the boys will be back by now."
"Wait!" Ginny called after her friend. Hermione stuck her head back in the doorway. "You won't say anything to anyone, will you? So help me if you do, I'll have Merlin chase you with a pitchfork!"
"My lips are sealed!" Hermione laughed, but, quickly sobering up she said, "Unless you get kidnapped and it has something to do with Malfoy. Then I'm telling." Ginny gave her a smile and a big hug for a thank-you. "You don't need to thank me, that's what friends are for. Now, come on!"
She followed Hermione down the stairs – she was now travelling at a leisurely pace - and flopped onto one of the couches by the fire. Harry soon sat down beside her, and gave her a smile. "What did Hermione want?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing," she said dismissively, "it was just some girl stuff she wanted to chat about."
She noticed his eyes on her whenever they were in the same room or corridor. She wondered what he was thinking. - A Weasley and a Malfoy? Never! She longed to watch him, too, but her friends were much more attentive than his ever seemed to be.
Thus, she could only spare glances for the blond-haired boy, with his perfect aristocratic features; every time she lit her eyes upon him, she'd sigh, and her housemates would glance at her, and then she would stare down at her dinner so that they wouldn't notice what was going on. Hermione always did, though, and she would smile.
After another quick escape from dinner, she nearly ran all the way to the tapestry depicting Barnabus, and paced three times in front of a blank stretch of wall. Taking a quick peak to see that no one was looking, she hefted open the large door and shut it quietly behind her.
She dropped her book bag with a sigh, and slowly walked over to the grand piano, where she sat down. The room was filled with shelves off sheet music, and several of Ginny's favourite instruments adorned the room: there was a pair of violins, a small piano and an organ of about the same size, a few guitars; some with six strings, some with twelve. And, of course, the grand piano, which was an exact replica of the one she had at home.
Frustrated, she planted her fingers on the keys, plunking out several scales, and then, more gently, she ran through several more, starting out low, and rising higher, building up momentum. With every note, her voice blended into perfect harmony as it rose, higher, higher, then lower and lower – and suddenly high and loud and clear. She stopped, and sighed, thinking of Draco and what to do.
He'd come to her place - well, she mused, I suppose it must be his, too - everyday since that first day, but she hadn't yet been able to work up enough nerve to approach him, to tell him she knew – and that she felt the same.
Her fingers slipped into one of her favourite songs, one by her mother's idol, Celestina Warbeck, and softly, she began to sing along with the music:
"Hold me still,
Keep me here,
I want to know,
I want to feel!
Without you I'm nothing,
Just another person standing alone,
I can do it,
But I don't want to, you know…"
Her voice hit every note perfectly in time with the soft sounds of the piano. She remembered when she was four, her father teaching her how to play Twinkle, Twinkle, and not being able to hit the notes right. She'd been so determined to learn, to be every bit as good a player as her Da, maybe even better.
Well, she'd sat at that piano for a whole day, yelling and crying in between each failed attempt because she couldn't do it. She'd worked right through lunch – concerned, her mother had brought her a small, child-sized salad, but she'd ignored it, not once leaving her bench until she'd gotten it right. Her Da had scooped her up and given her a kiss, and said he was so proud of her – it was one of only a few times she'd ever heard him say it; with so many kids in one house, it was hard to play with only one at a time, and she'd never been one for all the rough games her father played with her brothers.
He'd found time to teach her to read music, though, and when she had gotten older, around seven, they'd moved the antique grand piano into her bedroom, where she'd gotten so she could read the music quicker than she could read words.
One summer when she was eight, on a hot, dusty day, Ginny sat in her room, just playing random pieces that never fit together, and her mother had gotten particularly frustrated with the noise, Ginny's older brother Bill had placed a sound-proofing charm on her room, so it wouldn't bother her mother. Everyone must have forgotten, she thought, They're always asking what I'm doing spending all that time in my room.
She'd also taught herself how to sing, hitting the note on the piano and then copying it with her voice. By eleven, she was able to listen to a song once and play it, much to the amazement of Hermione, who, when she had first visited Ron before Ginny's first-year, had brought with her things called CDs that Muggles used to listen to music, and she'd played them in the stereo she'd also packed.
Ginny had heard one particular song she loved, and asked Hermione to play it again. She did. Then, Ginny, after the song was over, went to her piano, and softly, shyly at first, played the song. Hermione's eyes went wide, and Ginny asked her to write down the words.
Even then, she had an amazing voice for a girl so young. She'd sung it, and by the time she was finished, Hermione had been in tears. Nervously, Ginny had asked the older girl what was wrong, but Hermione had only whispered that "it was beautiful."
Shocked, Ginny had told her that it she wasn't all that great, and made her swear not to mention it to anyone else.
Ginny smiled. As far as she knew, Hermione had kept her part of the bargain and never said a thing. But every summer when she was over, she'd always ask Ginny to play and sing for her. Since Hermione had a small piano at her house, she could play, but only a little, as she was always so absorbed in her books and football before she had come to Hogwarts to practise. Ginny would play simple duets with Hermione, and they'd talk and laugh, and share all sorts of secrets.
Ginny laughed quietly to herself and played one of the duets, then picked up one of the twelve-string guitars. Charlie had had a six-stringed one, and whenever he was out, a young Ginny would sneak into his room and play it, copying chords from the book with her fingers. She played, moving up and down the neck, strumming and plucking strings in chords, playing a classic Muggle song called Smoke on the Water (Ginny couldn't remember who it was by, but she was pretty sure it was Deep Purple).
Setting the guitar back on the stand and weaving the pink pick through a few strings on the first fret to hold it, she then moved on to the violins. She picked one up, played a scale, moving up the E string; E, E1, E2, and then all the way to a high note, E5, an E6, playing a slow, but rhythmic, jig, by Elmer Briand, called the Cheticamp Jig.
It made a joyful melody, and Ginny smiled, and looked to the clock, which pointed to a five and a twelve. She'd have to come back later. She walked to the door, and grabbed her bag, running all the way down the steps until she reached the first floor. From there, she hurried down the large, marble staircase towards the door of the Hall.
The next thing she knew, she was on the ground. Someone had come up out of the dungeons at the same pace she was, and they'd smacked right into each other. A hand was held out to her, and she took it, unaware of its owner. The person helped her up, and she looked at the person’s face to say thank-you.
She saw icy blue eyes, and faltered. "Tha- thank-you," she mumbled.
She let go of his hand and turned, until a voice – not a drawl – replied. "No problem." Ginny turned back around and smiled.
"Have a good dinner, Draco," she said and went into the Great Hall, but he never followed her in. Instead, he turned and fled.
She called me by my name, he thought as he sunk low into an armchair by the hearth. She called me by my name. I thought she hated me.
You also thought that you hated her, up until last June, his conscience replied (when had he gotten one of those?), So it's not that big a deal.
Heck, yes, it's a big deal, he replied to himself, when the girl you've fallen for says your name like she doesn't hate you, it is a damn big deal.
However, the little voice wouldn't reply.
He groaned. He needed an escape. However, he knew homework wouldn't supply that as the rest of the Slytherin sixth-years would probably tag along. What he needed was…music! He needed a piano. A big, loud piano. He turned his head, half expecting to see one in the centre of the Slytherin common room. He was almost disappointed to find that there was none.
Damn! Where the hell am I going to find a grand piano?
Then, it came to him – no, not a piano, but something his mother had told him before he had first gone to Hogwarts.
"Draco, dear? Is that you?" Narcissa had asked as footsteps approached her parlour.
"Yes, Mother," her son replied. "Emmy sent word for me – she said you wanted to see me?"
"Yes, darling! I wanted to talk to you about Hogwarts."
"Oh! Do you want to talk about Quidditch? Or Potions? Herbology- oh, that should be awful! Or Transfiguration? Or music, Mum, do they have music?" exclaimed the young boy in a tirade, glad to finally be going in a few months, after years of waiting. "They have to have music - they have everything."
"Actually, darling, they don't have music. That is what I wanted to speak with you about."
The boy's face fell. "No music?" he asked softly, shocked at such a thing.
"But, darling, there is a room – the Come and Go Room – that can be transformed into a music room, but you must be careful going to and fro – there is nothing else on the seventh level besides that secret room and the steps to the Astronomy Tower."
"So why must I be careful?"
"You wouldn't want to get caught there by a Gryffindor, would you? Their common room is on that level." Draco looked horrified. He knew about the infatuation his mother had had with Remus Lupin as a young girl.
"No, Mum! But, you said it's hidden - how do I find it?"
"Here is what you must do…"
His mother had gone on to tell him how to open the room, and how it could be used for anything Draco wanted.
So, storming up the steps to his dormitory, he grabbed a bag of music and almost ran all the way to the seventh floor so as not to be caught by any Gryffindors on their way back from dinner, which, he suspected, not knowing the exact time, should be over around about now.
He quickly ran back and forth three times past the tapestry of Barnabus, and then grabbed the handle on the door and wrenched it open. Draco unfastened his robe and walked to the lone instrument in the room: a grand piano. He dropped his music bag along side of its legs and draped his robe over the large, cushioned bench. He untied his tie, drapping it around his neck and untucked his white shirt. He unbuttoned the top few buttons, revealing an emerald-green tank-top.
He sat himself down on the bench and took a deep breath. He cracked his knuckles and extended his slender fingers, laying those on his left into an A chord, and holding it. Then, at the same time, he played from middle A to a higher A.
He removed his fingers slowly from the A and laid them into a B chord, playing again from the middle note of the same letter to the next B.
He did this –A, B, C, D, E, F, G, - until he had once again reached A. Then, now with his right hand playing the A chord, he moved backwards from the middle to a lower A, repeating it, this time going A, G, F, E, D, C, B. He played slowly, and steadily, giving each note four counts, and after eight counts releasing and pressing the chord again, holding it for eight counts before repeating the release and press.
He repeated the simple exercise several times before taking out the sheet music for a more challenging non-vocal set of pieces by a Muggle named Vivaldi, called Le Quattro Stagonini, which, he thought, translated into the 'Four Seasons'. He lay the many pages of music across the stand. He began, playing two concertos from it, beginning at Fall, then moving to Winter. The concertos had originally been written for violin, but, throughout the many years since it had originally been written, had also been keyed to many other instruments, piano included.
He had been playing for about twenty minutes, and, just as he started on 'Spring,' he realized that someone else had come into the room, and was playing the violin.
He looked up, noticing the other instruments now in the room – several pillows with violins on them, though one of the pillows was empty, and a couple of guitars standing against the wall, each with a colored pick woven through the first few strings in each fret.
It was then, never removing his fingers from the keys, and keeping the sheet music in his peripheral vision, that he finally looked over to the violin player, who, he noticed, was playing the difficult piece perfectly.
There was no way she was in here, playing so sweetly (they didn't have money for music lessons, he knew). But, how could it be anyone else? Her rich, dark red hair flowed over her shoulders in twists and turns, ringlets and curls, and she was in a simple school skirt, knee length socks, and a white school shirt that she had rolled up to her elbows. She was playing in perfect form, and, which astounded him, without any sheet music, and with her eyes closed as her fingers moved up and down the strings and across the neck. Her bow moved sweetly over the strings, and every so often she would pluck out a few notes. As he played a crescendo, she rose with him, never losing pace, and then, as he quieted, she did so, too. Even as he watched her, he kept giving quick glances to the music in front of him, so as not to miss a note, which would have been embarrassing, a rich Malfoy screwing up an amazing song in front of a poorer person, one that obviously knew more music than he. No, there was no doubting it, it was her.
It was Ginny Weasley.
He came to the end of the piece, and, instead of moving on into 'Summer,' he stopped. Ginny, who had obviously thought he would keep playing, moved efficiently and cleanly into the following piece, never noticing that the accompaniment had stopped and was now intently watching the solo violin being played. Then, as she began a difficult crescendo, one that Draco always had a great amount of difficulty with, she opened her eyes to focus on the strings, and letting out a screech as she opened them only to find Draco Malfoy sitting and staring at her.
She stopped, and they both stared at each other, until, finally, they spoke as one:
"Are you stalking me?"
"No!"
"Then why are you in here?"
"There's no music at Hogwarts."
They stopped.
"This is ridiculous!" they both exclaimed.
Ginny sighed, and lowered the violin from her shoulder. "That talking as one thing has got to stop."
"You're telling me," he replied, not once moving from his place on the piano bench.
"Well, then, I guess I'll be going," she said shyly, and she put the violin back on the pillow, and walked over to where her bag was. Suddenly, just as she was picking up her bag, she felt a hand grab her arm.
"Don't go," he said quickly. She dropped her bag. "Well, um- you're really good at playing the violin."
Ginny smiled. "And you're alright at playing Vivaldi on the piano. But you need the notes?" she asked smugly.
"Oh, so you can do better? With your family, I was amazed you could play the violin; don't say you’re a professional piano player, too. Where would you have gotten lessons?"
Ginny smiled over her shoulder as she walked to the piano, where she Vanished his sheet music.
"HEY! That's my only set of that stuff!"
"Well, you're a wizard, right? So just Accio it back later, stupid! Or better yet, since we're in the Room of Requirement, just ask for more." He opened his mouth to retort, but just as he did so, Ginny began to play.
He could feel his jaw drop – he would not have been surprised if it had fallen all the way to the first floor of the castle. She was amazing. Her fingers glided over the keys, giving each note the perfect amount of beats, using a perfect volume on each crescendo. He listened to her play for about ten minutes, until the concerto ended, and she turned, a smug smile on her face. "Still think you can do better?" she retorted.
"But, how the hell did you-"
"My Da taught me," she replied simply, "up until I was seven."
"But then who?" he asked.
"I taught myself." She shrugged. "My Da taught me to read music, and I taught myself from there. But I mostly play by ear."
"Play by what?" he asked stupidly.
"Ear, as in I listen to the song, and then I play it. We never had a lot of money for sheet music, so it was the only way."
"That's amazing," he replied, astounded. "So you mean if I played something right now, you could play it back?"
"Exactly," she smiled. "Why don't you try it?" She slid over to give him room on the piano bench. "Do you know any Muggle songs? If you do, play them, because I only know a few Muggle, but I know practically everything on the WWN."
He sat down and took a few minutes to think of a song. When he finally put his fingers on the keys, he played a slightly slow song, taking his time, and Ginny recognized it right away.
She placed her hands over the keys at the other end of the piano and began to sing.
"We'll do it all,
Everything,
On our own.
We don’t need
Anything
Or anyone.
If I lay here,
If I just lay here,
Would you lie with me,
And just forget the world?
"Wow," he said.
"Wow? It's by Hermione's favourite band. I play anything and everything by them for fear of being cursed! Draco looked at her, and she smiled. "Your turn."
"You could've bowed out gracefully
But you didn't.
You knew enough to know to leave well enough alone
But you wouldn’t.
I drive myself crazy trying to stay out of my own way-
The messes that I make,
But my secrets are so safe.
The only one who gets me,
Yeah, you get me.
It's amazing to me
How everyday
Everyday
Everyday, you safe my life.
"I come around
All broken down and crowded out
And you're comfort.
Sometimes the place I go
Is so deep and dark and desperate
I don't know,
I don't know
How everyday
Everyday
Everyday, you save my life.
"I swear I don't know if
I'm coming or going
But,
You always say something,
Without even knowing that
I'm hanging on your words
With all of my might, and it's alright,
Yeah, I'm alright,
For one more night.
Na na na na nana
Na na na na nana
Everyday
Na na na na nana
Everyday
Na na na na nana
Everyday
Na na na na nana
Everyday, Everyday,
You save me, you save me
Na na na na nana,
Na na na na nana
Every,
Every,
Everyday
Na na na na nana
Na na na na nana
Na
Na
Na
Na
And everyday
You save my life.
Ginny smiled. "It's almost curfew – we'd better get back to our common rooms."
"Yeah," he replied, still staring at the piano where her hands had been. She grabbed her bag, and, just as she reached the door, he asked, "Meet me here tomorrow?"
"Definitely." She stopped and turned, suddenly remembering. She pulled out the sketch from her History of Magic book.
She passed it to him, and he unfolded it. It was the picture of her he had laboured over for a month, mixing inks to perfect the colours, using only glimpses of her to go by.
"You left it in the courtyard last week," she said, and turned on her heel and left, not once looking back.
Author notes: Thanks so much, guys! I'm currently looking at making this a something-ology, but I currently have only ideas for making two further parts. In any case, if I don't get around to writing them, this is written to work as a stand-alone. Thanks for reading, and pretty pretty pretty please review (with a chocolate-covered Draco on top :P)!
The End.
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