Ginny rose and dressed carefully that morning. It was the fourth Monday in October. October would always be one of her favourite months; to her it was fall with its characteristic smell of dry leaves and brisk autumn air that made her cheeks glow red with the slightest exercise. This school year, she needed this sense of normalcy more than ever given her current—unwelcome—situation.
Ginny hated the circumstance she found herself in. She disliked it immensely. There was no fun to be had anymore, nothing to enjoy and no one to chase or be chased by, which was the real fun. It was perhaps for the best then that this new “incident”, as her family had started calling it, had happened. It added some variety to an otherwise boring sixth year. What was it her mother’s letter had said? The family owl, Errol, had arrived a few days into the school term.
Ginny, dear,
Professor Dumbledore has just told us of your awful predicament. —
Ginny had rolled her eyes at her mother’s exaggeration.
How dreadful it must be for you, dear! Not to be able to touch boys. What will poor Harry think? (Don’t worry, we know all about your little “relationship”). Your father says it should teach you some self-control. Ron has been reporting that you’ve been a bit… loose with the boys you know. Professor Dumbledore didn’t provide me with all the particulars but he’s said that the “incident” acts as similarly to a Muggle alarm system except that you suffer as well. Your father’s completely tickled about that. He wanted to Floo to Hogwarts just to see how the new you works! That man will be the death of me.
Ginny, love, he also stressed how important it was that you stay away from boys for the duration. He and Professor Snape (although I’ve never fancied the man, he seems to be decent enough now) are working on some sort of treatment. They don’t know what it is that’s caused this, whether a curse or some sort of charm. I swear to Merlin, if Fred and George have had a hand in this, I’ll flay them alive. Until they find a cure, Ginny dear, remember to do your homework, eat your vegetables and stay away from boys!
Love,
Mum
Ginny had almost memorized the letter and a fat lot of good it had done her. Dumbledore told her mother the same things he’d told her, which wasn’t very much information. Unless her mother was hiding something and Ginny doubted very much that she was, they were both in the dark. She didn’t know very much about what was happening to her, only that it threw a great wrench into whatever plans she might have had for dating this year.
Ah well, she said to herself, the best laid plans often go awry, after all. She donned her Gryffindor robe and rucksack and hurried down the staircase into the emptying common room. She checked her watch – it was a quarter past eight – she was late again. Dean graciously held the portrait open for her and she smiled at him, reflecting on how nice it was to have boys being chivalrous without trying to get inside her knickers.
All the boys she had had to deal with before had been gropers who’d tried to cop a feel more often than not. It had annoyed her to no end. The main benefit of her situation was that none of those boys, no boy at all in fact, could get close enough to put their grabby, grubby hands on her. Anyone who got close enough to touch her immediately received an electric shock for their efforts. Not enough that they got shocked, which was all well and good for them, Ginny thought, but the pain that Ginny felt – a sharp pain at the point of contact that was similar to a Stinging Hex in feeling and strength – made it worth staying away from boys for the time being.
Anyone who touched her, excepting her family members, received a low voltage buzz. Harry couldn’t kiss her, but not for a lack of trying. The magic didn’t count him as family so any contact he made with Ginny got the same results as the other boys. That he wanted to be able to touch her as family, yet snog her at the same time meant he was rather confused about what the term family meant.
She entered the Great Hall intending to grab a quick breakfast – toast with a goblet of pumpkin juice – but halted at the edge of the Gryffindors, noticing a commotion at the Slytherin table. It seemed Malfoy was having an incredibly horrendous public break-up with Pansy Parkinson and the pug-faced witch was having none of it. She was red in the face as she tried to control her temper while Draco calmly told her in no uncertain terms that if she chose to sleep with half the Slytherin Quidditch team, then she chose not to be his girlfriend.
“What kind of fool did you take me for, you silly girl? Malfoys don’t tolerate infidelity,” he said in a particularly sedate tone.
Colin Creevey, who had come to stand beside Ginny, suddenly realized who he had been standing next to and looked at her fearfully before edging away as quickly as he dared. Ginny looked at him and rolled her eyes, annoyed at his deliberate avoidance and by his spinelessness, then wondered why she credited Colin Creevey with a spine in the first place.
The boys of Hogwarts had taken to giving Ginny an exaggeratedly wide berth whenever she entered a room, save a (positively delightful) few who took the opposite route.
It began as a dare among the older boys – who could get close enough without getting shocked. Who could touch her arm, her face, and even on one occasion a particularly brazen youth had attempted to touch her derriere. So Ginny, in between feeling rather like Moaning Myrtle in first year, had become used to being accosted by random blokes who insisted on grabbing some part of her anatomy.
At the end of one trying day, Zacharias Smith had approached her in the hallway asking if he could touch her breast and that had been the last straw. Ginny had promptly hexed him with her best Bat Bogey and the boy had run off howling to the Hospital Wing. After that, the boys preferred to sneak up on her.
The rump roast incident (as Ginny privately liked to call the extreme shocking of the bloke who’d touched her arse — she’d never seen someone glow so brightly!) had only happened last week. That one had hurt more than usual; apparently the potency of the stinging was affected by which part of anatomy was breached. The boy, Michael Corner of all people, was still lying in the Hospital Wing recovering from his injuries. Ginny was upset at him, she had been afraid he might never fully recover and all, but her sympathy wore off when she discovered the angry red welts that later sprang up on her backside.
Parkinson had stalked out of the Great Hall in high dudgeon, after whispering something furiously in Malfoy’s ear, and looking remarkably like Hermione when Ron was being a total prat. The difference was Ron suspended his insensitivity every once in a while whereas Malfoy was a full-time prat.
She continued to look at Malfoy after the fuss had died down. His cheeks were faintly pink, which was odd considering he hadn’t been shouting, or even looked remotely angry but his normally sleeked back hair was tousled.
He let it fall into his face unchecked and seemed to be focusing intently on his breakfast. A sudden thought occurred to Ginny, that Malfoy looked rather fetching when his hair wasn’t an ad for Sleekeasy Hair Gel. Also, the pink in his cheeks made him look almost human, less like a cold-blooded reptile. Ginny was so caught up staring at him, she didn’t notice when the rest of the table moved to go to classes.
Malfoy still stared resolutely at his bowl of porridge, not moving with the rest of his house. He was breathing heavily, Ginny realized and she stood amidst the rushing crowd that seemed to avoid her deftly and watched him. She didn’t bother to move to get out of anyone’s way. Ever since September they all seemed to get out of hers. Malfoy looked up slowly as the Great Hall emptied and his eyes collided with hers. The rush around her seemed to cease as Ginny looked at him and the Great Hall melted away as she focused on the blonde Slytherin sitting two tables away.
A slow smile spread across her face as it dawned on her that this year might not be as boring as she’d predicted. Not at all, she thought mischievously, if Malfoy were willing to cooperate. Ginny was sure she was scaring some people with her un-Gryffindor like smirk, but they already avoided her like the Hog’s Head bar so that was nothing new. Besides, inside her head a plan was already formulating.
It may have lasted one minute or five but he was the first to look away, and swept his things up impatiently, striding out of the Hall a few seconds later. Ginny grinned nefariously and followed the other sixth years out into the corridor to walk up to the Charms corridor. She was inordinately pleased for the rest of the day, even allowing a snot-nosed fifth year a whole minute to toy with her hair before yelling at him to get away from her or else.
It wasn’t as if that toying with her hair would count as touching her, anyway.
****
Draco Malfoy had decided he wasn’t in a good mood. No, he most definitely wasn’t in a good mood. Today, the first day of the fourth week of October had begun horribly. He was sure that Pansy had planned the Great Hall debacle just so she could get off Scot-free in the eyes (and ears) of the Hogwarts gossips.
The night before he had quietly and rationally broken up with her, rather than continuing the sham of a relationship they’d had. Pansy had been carrying on an illicit affair with Theodore Nott for the last two months of their relationship. It stung Draco, more so because she wasn’t discreet about her infidelity than because she was unfaithful in the first place. At least that part of his allegations had been true. Last night the world had seemed easier. Last night he was sure that he could have just broken it off with Pansy without any consequences. Last night he hadn’t had Ginny Weasley staring at him from across the hall like the cat that ate the bloody canary.
Draco ran a hand over his face in tired frustration. That Pansy had the gall to yell at him and make him a public spectacle was frustrating enough, but she’d also twisted the facts, making him appear the one at fault. Draco had no problem being the bad guy, but not when it came to relationships. He was always fair when it came to his girlfriends; he’d broken up with Pansy nicely hadn’t he? Merlin, what else did she expect? Sapphires? Diamonds?
Pansy’s tantrum however was now the least of his worries. Just before she left the Great Hall (and thoroughly spoiled his appetite in the process — what was it with girls and excessive perfuming?) she’d whispered something in his ear.
“Fine, Draco,” she’d hissed, “Now that I’ve dumped you my way, you can have that untouchable Gryffindor bint you’ve been drooling after. What ever happened to that mask of yours, Ice Prince?”
He’d sat still, seething at her words and staring down his porridge, swearing he could see its surface ripple from the force of his anger. Instead it just turned out that Crabbe was kicking the table a few feet down, but still, Draco was that upset. Draco was still angry with her, angry and a little frightened. He’d been read so easily, and by Pansy no less. Admittedly, he’d dated the girl for five years so she should have some insight into his psyche, but it still burned knowing he was so easy.
After that, he refused to look up at anyone, because he knew his eyes would stray to the Gryffindor table where they’d strayed for the past month. No wonder Pansy had noticed; he wasn’t exactly being discreet about this.
He liked the colour red now; red with cinnamon freckles. He’d first noticed the colour two years ago when he’d held her in Umbridge’s office. It had smelled like leaves and autumn even while wriggling furiously beneath his chin. He hadn’t noticed her again until a few weeks ago in the corridors after classes in the evening. It had been gray outside, he remembered because her flashing hair had stood out in the absence of colour. She had whirled around angrily and hexed a pointy-faced Hufflepuff sixth year for touching her arse.
Draco had laughed at the stricken look on the boy’s face. Having been victim to the famed Bat Bogey in his fifth year, Draco understood but didn’t sympathize with the boy. Instead, he’d retreated to the Slytherin dungeon and thought about red with cinnamon freckles all night.
Now as he sat immobile in double Potions with another – more unfavourable – set of Gryffindors, he thought about the look Weasley had given him at breakfast. She’d smirked at him. Weasley had smirked at him Draco Malfoy. Her smirks were pretty scary too. Draco hadn’t seen a smirk that intimidating since last year when Blaise Zabini smirked at the third year that had spilt pumpkin juice all over his robes. The poor Ravenclaw still had stains on her blouse from the Permanent Staining Charm Blaise had used.
She was bored lately, he noticed and was promptly annoyed that he had noticed, For Merlin’s sake, it was bad enough he liked the colour of her hair. At least it wasn’t something she shared with her brother. Most people assumed it was the same shade of red, but Draco had seen hers up close and it was an entire shade darker. Nothing as common as her oaf of a brother’s.
She was bored, and he missed the spark that had flared in her eyes when she hexed the Hufflepuff. That spark had looked distinctly Slytherin, the kind of spark that promised vengeance swiftly and without mercy. The girl could get his blood boiling from across the room without even paying attention to him. It appeared however, that he had attracted her interest. With that new thought, Draco pondered how he’d confront her about that smirk at breakfast.
The bell rang for morning break before he knew it, and the class filed out hurriedly, unwilling to spend any more time than was necessary in the dungeon. Draco followed at a more leisurely pace, his thoughts still wrapped up the smirking redhead.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape called from his desk at the front of the class, “A moment if you please.”
Draco turned on his heel and regarded his favourite professor warily. Did the Potions Master suspect something as well? Judging from the raised black eyebrow, Draco surmised that Snape indeed had a hunch of what was preoccupying his mind lately. Well, he had to give the old man points for astuteness.
Snape motioned for Draco to take a seat when he’d reached Snape’s desk and Draco sat, crossing his ankles and staring at his professor intently. Snape looked at Draco without moving and the boy began to fidget, his eyes flickering to the various menacing potions ingredients that adorned the walls behind the Potions Master.
“I want you to accompany Professor Dumbledore and myself to visit Ms. Weasley in the Hospital Wing this afternoon,” Snape said finally.
Draco’s sense went on alert.
“She’s in the Hospital Wing?” he blurted out, before he could stop himself.
Snape gave a ghost of a smirk. Damn, Draco thought, now he knows for sure.
“No, Mr. Malfoy, not at present. She reports there every Monday for check-ups with Madame Pomfrey.”
“Why should I be there?” Draco asked, slipping back into his usual nonchalance. Snape acknowledged the change in demeanour with no more than a glance.
“Because, Mr. Malfoy, I believe the experience will be beneficial to both of you.” And on that enigmatic note, the Potions professor waved Draco out of the dungeon.
The rest of the morning passed listlessly for Draco. After the break he had Charms with the Ravenclaws. Professor Flitwick was telling them about charms that lasted through generations. Blood Curses, he called them. It was dead boring stuff, but the old man seemed to like it and went on and on about them during class.
“Once a Blood Curse is cast,” he said in his squeaky voice “it is recorded by the Ministry of Magic in their official records. Blood Curses are powerful bits of magic requiring the invocation of an ancient and strong – usually pureblood –family line. These curses last through generations, usually until the terms that began the curse are ultimately reversed.”
Draco though that this branch of magic dealt too closely with the past. He disliked thinking about his past, preferring to forget it for as long as possible until he had to dredge up bad memories.
Even though Professor Flitwick had mentioned ‘pureblood’, a word that usually sparked Draco’s interest, he still found himself looking desperately forward to the end of classes. If he’d cared to look a little closer at his impatience, he’d have noticed that what he really wanted to see was Ginny. But, as it was, Draco was staunchly avoiding this line of reasoning because, well, because he’d rather not admit to himself right now that he actually wanted to see a Weasley, so his impatience stemmed from boredom alone.
Professor Flitwick seemed reluctant to oblige Draco’s desires, so he listened with half an ear as the man droned on about how closely magic and genealogy were entwined. Sooner than expected, but later than he’d like, the bell rang to signal the end of classes. It was only with the greatest effort of will that Draco refrained from rushing out of the classroom and straight to the Hospital Wing to see her. He purposely measured his steps, making sure he didn’t go any faster than his usual bored pace but he still reached the infirmary a whole five minutes before either of the professors.
Shrugging, and a little annoyed at himself, he pushed open the heavy oak doors and stepped inside. Closing them behind him, he looked up and noticed Ginny sitting on one of the beds farthest from the door, half hidden by a curtain. She was short so her legs swung over the side, toes barely skimming the floor. She was leaning back on her hands, but most of her dark red hair was hiding of her face. Draco could still see her pert nose and her left cheek, both scattered liberally with the cinnamon freckles that Draco had grown so fond of.
Her school robe lay discarded on a chair beside her and her blouse was partially opened, having just had some sort of examination performed on her, no doubt. Still, it afforded Draco an unrestricted view of her neck and shoulders and the top part of her chest. Unsurprisingly, the latter was covered in freckles, so much so in fact that Draco wondered if every inch of her skin was dusted in the things. He hoped so. It would be harder to tell a hickey different from a natural mark.
Not that he was thinking about giving Weasley a hickey! He was thinking no such thing. A moment later, when she shifted and her blouse moved to bare even more of her torso, Draco’s breathing quickened. He scoffed quietly to himself. No such thing, indeed. He was hopelessly and besottedly smitten. The least he could do was make sure she was appropriately smitten too. With that new plan in mind, he strode forward and dropped his bag noisily on the floor beside her robe.
****
Ginny blew the hair obscuring her vision out of her face with a puff of air. She smirked devilishly as she noticed Draco Malfoy striding towards her with a not-too-pleased look on his handsome face. She’d always found Draco fetching, as far as looks were concerned, and now that he’d forgotten the litres of hair gel that often resided in his hair he really was quite the handsome fellow. Still, he would be fun to chase, even if she couldn’t touch. It would have to be for the thrill of the hunt rather than the capture.
All of a sudden Madame Pomfrey walked in and began fussing over Ginny like a mother hen. Oh bother, Ginny thought impatiently, this damned illness will keep everything topsy-turvy for ages. She’d forgotten about it momentarily, and was enjoying the way her mind was drifting towards images of Draco in rather compromising positions.
“Thinking about me naked, Weasley?” Draco whispered, as soon as Pomfrey’s back was turned. Ginny blushed scarlet as Draco’s words hit home and he smirked at her gloatingly.
“And why are we so graced with your presence, Mr. Malfoy? Not here to cause trouble I hope,” asked the Mediwitch turning around primly, hands resting on her plump hips. Draco scowled at her and resettled his robes before replying. Ginny rolled her eyes at his all too feminine motion.
“As it would happen, Madame Pomfrey, I’m here at the request of Professor Snape and the Headmaster.”
“Leave him be, Madame Pomfrey, I’m sure all he wants is attention. Maybe if we ignore him, he’ll go away.”
It was Ginny’s turn to smirk at Draco’s scowl and she watched with growing anticipation as he pulled up a chair and sat on it backwards facing her. Draco rested his chin on top of his hands along the back of the wooden chair and watched Ginny closely. She sat up properly and buttoned her blouse but left her hair falling in front of her face.
“What are you really doing here?” she asked again.
Draco looked at her sharply. “What if I told you I was tired of all those boys grabbing you? What if I told you I wanted to find a way to stop it?”
Ginny snorted. “Not bloody likely.”
Draco smirked. “You’ve got a mouth on you, haven’t you?”
Ginny rolled her eyes, and then grinned as a sudden thought hit her. “Draco Malfoy, if you want to get those boys to stop, all you’d have to do is announce in the middle of the Great Hall that I’m under your protection. No one would dare bother me then.”
She smirked at Draco’s sudden incredulous look, quickly replaced with a scowl that darkened his face. He glared at her then and she laughed outright, clutching her sides at the absurdity of the picture. Draco continued to glare at until Ginny’s laughter subsided and his face cleared while she hiccupped.
Neither spoke after that, but they continued to look at each other, each trying to decipher the thoughts flying across the other’s mind. Wild, half-formed thoughts of red hair and blond; freckles and skin as pale as moonlight. Crimson red splashed against emerald green and sterling, sterling silver. Ginny wondered how she would get Draco to touch her, hold her, or at the very least, speak to her for five minutes without throwing insults.
Draco wondered how best to get the annoying red-headed (attractive) brat out of his system.
As he looked though, he kept getting sidetracked by the glint of her red hair in the sunlight through the window and the way her eyes danced with every new thought. He noticed the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and her lips that seemed to hand out insults and compliments in the same breath.
They stared and stared without wondering about the time or the absence of the adults. Some time later, it may have been five minutes or ten, the doors swung open for the second time since Ginny’s visit began and in walked a figure clad in purple robes followed by another clad in black.
“Ah, Mr. Malfoy, so glad you could join us. Ms. Weasley’s illness is rather interesting, is it not?”
Draco sprang to his feet upon their entrance. Rather interesting, he echoed, puzzled. Was he talking about a wart on someone’s nose or a girl’s sickness?
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t quite follow,” Draco said, trying to clear his head.
“Ah, my boy, my boy,” Dumbledore continued, ignoring Draco’s remark. “Poppy! Could you come here for a minute, please?”
Madame Pomfrey bustled out of her office and stood protectively beside Ginny. Draco continued to look at the Headmaster, who was beaming at Ginny. Behind him, Professor Snape’s expression seemed bored.
“Any news?” Professor Dumbledore inquired kindly of the Mediwitch.
“Nothing new to report, sir. All’s the same as it was last week,” she replied promptly. Dumbledore nodded serenely and motioned for her to continue. Pomfrey waved her wand and Summoned a medical chart from her office.
“Blood pressure’s normal. There are no abnormalities in her blood, brain or heart. Her lungs, kidneys and other internal organs are functioning perfectly. She’s the picture of health, Professor.”
Except she can’t come in contact with anyone of the male persuasion for fear of sending them into cardiac arrest, Draco added quietly and a little sarcastically.
“Yes, yes,” Snape interrupted impatiently. “We know all that. Have you examined her blood thoroughly?” he asked, trying a different tack.
Pomfrey stiffened indignantly. “What exactly do you mean, Professor?”
“For any enchantments or charms? Perhaps one of her brothers has done this to her.”
To the left of Draco, Ginny bristled at Snape’s insinuation. She opened her mouth to retort but the Headmaster swiftly intervened.
“Now, now, Severus, I highly doubt that is the case. And, if it were, they would have owned up to the mischief by now.”
Snape said nothing but continued to look unconvinced while Dumbledore convened privately with Pomfrey a little ways off. Draco sat down again and exchanged a glance with Ginny. She looked amused at first but then her gaze drifted to Snape, who was still looking sour, and she scowled. Draco thought she looked rather amusing when she scowled. Very much like a small child who had been denied a treat. He smirked when she began glaring at an oblivious Professor Snape.
Professor Dumbledore returned to them and spoke quietly with Professor Snape for a few moments, ignoring Ginny’s attempts to set Snape on fire by sheer force of will. Dumbledore turned to Draco and Ginny.
“Mr. Malfoy, thank you for visiting Ginny today. I‘m sure this experience has been for the best. Might I remind you to pay attention in your classes, Mr. Malfoy? Professor Flitwick has complained of your inattentiveness in his lecture on Blood Curses and Wizarding Genealogy. I suggest you do some extra research on the topic, so as not to be left behind.”
With blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles the Headmaster took his leave, followed by Snape who paused to look at Ginny and Draco together. Draco shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny and avoided all eyes in the room. Ginny did not seem to have a similar problem, and she boldly stared at Snape as he observed her.
After he left, Draco got to his feet and took up his bag but hesitated before turning to leave. Ginny watched him expectantly but he gave a curt nod, out of politeness only, of course, and left immediately.
Ginny hated the circumstance she found herself in. She disliked it immensely. There was no fun to be had anymore, nothing to enjoy and no one to chase or be chased by, which was the real fun. It was perhaps for the best then that this new “incident”, as her family had started calling it, had happened. It added some variety to an otherwise boring sixth year. What was it her mother’s letter had said? The family owl, Errol, had arrived a few days into the school term.
Ginny, dear,
Professor Dumbledore has just told us of your awful predicament. —
Ginny had rolled her eyes at her mother’s exaggeration.
How dreadful it must be for you, dear! Not to be able to touch boys. What will poor Harry think? (Don’t worry, we know all about your little “relationship”). Your father says it should teach you some self-control. Ron has been reporting that you’ve been a bit… loose with the boys you know. Professor Dumbledore didn’t provide me with all the particulars but he’s said that the “incident” acts as similarly to a Muggle alarm system except that you suffer as well. Your father’s completely tickled about that. He wanted to Floo to Hogwarts just to see how the new you works! That man will be the death of me.
Ginny, love, he also stressed how important it was that you stay away from boys for the duration. He and Professor Snape (although I’ve never fancied the man, he seems to be decent enough now) are working on some sort of treatment. They don’t know what it is that’s caused this, whether a curse or some sort of charm. I swear to Merlin, if Fred and George have had a hand in this, I’ll flay them alive. Until they find a cure, Ginny dear, remember to do your homework, eat your vegetables and stay away from boys!
Love,
Mum
Ginny had almost memorized the letter and a fat lot of good it had done her. Dumbledore told her mother the same things he’d told her, which wasn’t very much information. Unless her mother was hiding something and Ginny doubted very much that she was, they were both in the dark. She didn’t know very much about what was happening to her, only that it threw a great wrench into whatever plans she might have had for dating this year.
Ah well, she said to herself, the best laid plans often go awry, after all. She donned her Gryffindor robe and rucksack and hurried down the staircase into the emptying common room. She checked her watch – it was a quarter past eight – she was late again. Dean graciously held the portrait open for her and she smiled at him, reflecting on how nice it was to have boys being chivalrous without trying to get inside her knickers.
All the boys she had had to deal with before had been gropers who’d tried to cop a feel more often than not. It had annoyed her to no end. The main benefit of her situation was that none of those boys, no boy at all in fact, could get close enough to put their grabby, grubby hands on her. Anyone who got close enough to touch her immediately received an electric shock for their efforts. Not enough that they got shocked, which was all well and good for them, Ginny thought, but the pain that Ginny felt – a sharp pain at the point of contact that was similar to a Stinging Hex in feeling and strength – made it worth staying away from boys for the time being.
Anyone who touched her, excepting her family members, received a low voltage buzz. Harry couldn’t kiss her, but not for a lack of trying. The magic didn’t count him as family so any contact he made with Ginny got the same results as the other boys. That he wanted to be able to touch her as family, yet snog her at the same time meant he was rather confused about what the term family meant.
She entered the Great Hall intending to grab a quick breakfast – toast with a goblet of pumpkin juice – but halted at the edge of the Gryffindors, noticing a commotion at the Slytherin table. It seemed Malfoy was having an incredibly horrendous public break-up with Pansy Parkinson and the pug-faced witch was having none of it. She was red in the face as she tried to control her temper while Draco calmly told her in no uncertain terms that if she chose to sleep with half the Slytherin Quidditch team, then she chose not to be his girlfriend.
“What kind of fool did you take me for, you silly girl? Malfoys don’t tolerate infidelity,” he said in a particularly sedate tone.
Colin Creevey, who had come to stand beside Ginny, suddenly realized who he had been standing next to and looked at her fearfully before edging away as quickly as he dared. Ginny looked at him and rolled her eyes, annoyed at his deliberate avoidance and by his spinelessness, then wondered why she credited Colin Creevey with a spine in the first place.
The boys of Hogwarts had taken to giving Ginny an exaggeratedly wide berth whenever she entered a room, save a (positively delightful) few who took the opposite route.
It began as a dare among the older boys – who could get close enough without getting shocked. Who could touch her arm, her face, and even on one occasion a particularly brazen youth had attempted to touch her derriere. So Ginny, in between feeling rather like Moaning Myrtle in first year, had become used to being accosted by random blokes who insisted on grabbing some part of her anatomy.
At the end of one trying day, Zacharias Smith had approached her in the hallway asking if he could touch her breast and that had been the last straw. Ginny had promptly hexed him with her best Bat Bogey and the boy had run off howling to the Hospital Wing. After that, the boys preferred to sneak up on her.
The rump roast incident (as Ginny privately liked to call the extreme shocking of the bloke who’d touched her arse — she’d never seen someone glow so brightly!) had only happened last week. That one had hurt more than usual; apparently the potency of the stinging was affected by which part of anatomy was breached. The boy, Michael Corner of all people, was still lying in the Hospital Wing recovering from his injuries. Ginny was upset at him, she had been afraid he might never fully recover and all, but her sympathy wore off when she discovered the angry red welts that later sprang up on her backside.
Parkinson had stalked out of the Great Hall in high dudgeon, after whispering something furiously in Malfoy’s ear, and looking remarkably like Hermione when Ron was being a total prat. The difference was Ron suspended his insensitivity every once in a while whereas Malfoy was a full-time prat.
She continued to look at Malfoy after the fuss had died down. His cheeks were faintly pink, which was odd considering he hadn’t been shouting, or even looked remotely angry but his normally sleeked back hair was tousled.
He let it fall into his face unchecked and seemed to be focusing intently on his breakfast. A sudden thought occurred to Ginny, that Malfoy looked rather fetching when his hair wasn’t an ad for Sleekeasy Hair Gel. Also, the pink in his cheeks made him look almost human, less like a cold-blooded reptile. Ginny was so caught up staring at him, she didn’t notice when the rest of the table moved to go to classes.
Malfoy still stared resolutely at his bowl of porridge, not moving with the rest of his house. He was breathing heavily, Ginny realized and she stood amidst the rushing crowd that seemed to avoid her deftly and watched him. She didn’t bother to move to get out of anyone’s way. Ever since September they all seemed to get out of hers. Malfoy looked up slowly as the Great Hall emptied and his eyes collided with hers. The rush around her seemed to cease as Ginny looked at him and the Great Hall melted away as she focused on the blonde Slytherin sitting two tables away.
A slow smile spread across her face as it dawned on her that this year might not be as boring as she’d predicted. Not at all, she thought mischievously, if Malfoy were willing to cooperate. Ginny was sure she was scaring some people with her un-Gryffindor like smirk, but they already avoided her like the Hog’s Head bar so that was nothing new. Besides, inside her head a plan was already formulating.
It may have lasted one minute or five but he was the first to look away, and swept his things up impatiently, striding out of the Hall a few seconds later. Ginny grinned nefariously and followed the other sixth years out into the corridor to walk up to the Charms corridor. She was inordinately pleased for the rest of the day, even allowing a snot-nosed fifth year a whole minute to toy with her hair before yelling at him to get away from her or else.
It wasn’t as if that toying with her hair would count as touching her, anyway.
****
Draco Malfoy had decided he wasn’t in a good mood. No, he most definitely wasn’t in a good mood. Today, the first day of the fourth week of October had begun horribly. He was sure that Pansy had planned the Great Hall debacle just so she could get off Scot-free in the eyes (and ears) of the Hogwarts gossips.
The night before he had quietly and rationally broken up with her, rather than continuing the sham of a relationship they’d had. Pansy had been carrying on an illicit affair with Theodore Nott for the last two months of their relationship. It stung Draco, more so because she wasn’t discreet about her infidelity than because she was unfaithful in the first place. At least that part of his allegations had been true. Last night the world had seemed easier. Last night he was sure that he could have just broken it off with Pansy without any consequences. Last night he hadn’t had Ginny Weasley staring at him from across the hall like the cat that ate the bloody canary.
Draco ran a hand over his face in tired frustration. That Pansy had the gall to yell at him and make him a public spectacle was frustrating enough, but she’d also twisted the facts, making him appear the one at fault. Draco had no problem being the bad guy, but not when it came to relationships. He was always fair when it came to his girlfriends; he’d broken up with Pansy nicely hadn’t he? Merlin, what else did she expect? Sapphires? Diamonds?
Pansy’s tantrum however was now the least of his worries. Just before she left the Great Hall (and thoroughly spoiled his appetite in the process — what was it with girls and excessive perfuming?) she’d whispered something in his ear.
“Fine, Draco,” she’d hissed, “Now that I’ve dumped you my way, you can have that untouchable Gryffindor bint you’ve been drooling after. What ever happened to that mask of yours, Ice Prince?”
He’d sat still, seething at her words and staring down his porridge, swearing he could see its surface ripple from the force of his anger. Instead it just turned out that Crabbe was kicking the table a few feet down, but still, Draco was that upset. Draco was still angry with her, angry and a little frightened. He’d been read so easily, and by Pansy no less. Admittedly, he’d dated the girl for five years so she should have some insight into his psyche, but it still burned knowing he was so easy.
After that, he refused to look up at anyone, because he knew his eyes would stray to the Gryffindor table where they’d strayed for the past month. No wonder Pansy had noticed; he wasn’t exactly being discreet about this.
He liked the colour red now; red with cinnamon freckles. He’d first noticed the colour two years ago when he’d held her in Umbridge’s office. It had smelled like leaves and autumn even while wriggling furiously beneath his chin. He hadn’t noticed her again until a few weeks ago in the corridors after classes in the evening. It had been gray outside, he remembered because her flashing hair had stood out in the absence of colour. She had whirled around angrily and hexed a pointy-faced Hufflepuff sixth year for touching her arse.
Draco had laughed at the stricken look on the boy’s face. Having been victim to the famed Bat Bogey in his fifth year, Draco understood but didn’t sympathize with the boy. Instead, he’d retreated to the Slytherin dungeon and thought about red with cinnamon freckles all night.
Now as he sat immobile in double Potions with another – more unfavourable – set of Gryffindors, he thought about the look Weasley had given him at breakfast. She’d smirked at him. Weasley had smirked at him Draco Malfoy. Her smirks were pretty scary too. Draco hadn’t seen a smirk that intimidating since last year when Blaise Zabini smirked at the third year that had spilt pumpkin juice all over his robes. The poor Ravenclaw still had stains on her blouse from the Permanent Staining Charm Blaise had used.
She was bored lately, he noticed and was promptly annoyed that he had noticed, For Merlin’s sake, it was bad enough he liked the colour of her hair. At least it wasn’t something she shared with her brother. Most people assumed it was the same shade of red, but Draco had seen hers up close and it was an entire shade darker. Nothing as common as her oaf of a brother’s.
She was bored, and he missed the spark that had flared in her eyes when she hexed the Hufflepuff. That spark had looked distinctly Slytherin, the kind of spark that promised vengeance swiftly and without mercy. The girl could get his blood boiling from across the room without even paying attention to him. It appeared however, that he had attracted her interest. With that new thought, Draco pondered how he’d confront her about that smirk at breakfast.
The bell rang for morning break before he knew it, and the class filed out hurriedly, unwilling to spend any more time than was necessary in the dungeon. Draco followed at a more leisurely pace, his thoughts still wrapped up the smirking redhead.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape called from his desk at the front of the class, “A moment if you please.”
Draco turned on his heel and regarded his favourite professor warily. Did the Potions Master suspect something as well? Judging from the raised black eyebrow, Draco surmised that Snape indeed had a hunch of what was preoccupying his mind lately. Well, he had to give the old man points for astuteness.
Snape motioned for Draco to take a seat when he’d reached Snape’s desk and Draco sat, crossing his ankles and staring at his professor intently. Snape looked at Draco without moving and the boy began to fidget, his eyes flickering to the various menacing potions ingredients that adorned the walls behind the Potions Master.
“I want you to accompany Professor Dumbledore and myself to visit Ms. Weasley in the Hospital Wing this afternoon,” Snape said finally.
Draco’s sense went on alert.
“She’s in the Hospital Wing?” he blurted out, before he could stop himself.
Snape gave a ghost of a smirk. Damn, Draco thought, now he knows for sure.
“No, Mr. Malfoy, not at present. She reports there every Monday for check-ups with Madame Pomfrey.”
“Why should I be there?” Draco asked, slipping back into his usual nonchalance. Snape acknowledged the change in demeanour with no more than a glance.
“Because, Mr. Malfoy, I believe the experience will be beneficial to both of you.” And on that enigmatic note, the Potions professor waved Draco out of the dungeon.
The rest of the morning passed listlessly for Draco. After the break he had Charms with the Ravenclaws. Professor Flitwick was telling them about charms that lasted through generations. Blood Curses, he called them. It was dead boring stuff, but the old man seemed to like it and went on and on about them during class.
“Once a Blood Curse is cast,” he said in his squeaky voice “it is recorded by the Ministry of Magic in their official records. Blood Curses are powerful bits of magic requiring the invocation of an ancient and strong – usually pureblood –family line. These curses last through generations, usually until the terms that began the curse are ultimately reversed.”
Draco though that this branch of magic dealt too closely with the past. He disliked thinking about his past, preferring to forget it for as long as possible until he had to dredge up bad memories.
Even though Professor Flitwick had mentioned ‘pureblood’, a word that usually sparked Draco’s interest, he still found himself looking desperately forward to the end of classes. If he’d cared to look a little closer at his impatience, he’d have noticed that what he really wanted to see was Ginny. But, as it was, Draco was staunchly avoiding this line of reasoning because, well, because he’d rather not admit to himself right now that he actually wanted to see a Weasley, so his impatience stemmed from boredom alone.
Professor Flitwick seemed reluctant to oblige Draco’s desires, so he listened with half an ear as the man droned on about how closely magic and genealogy were entwined. Sooner than expected, but later than he’d like, the bell rang to signal the end of classes. It was only with the greatest effort of will that Draco refrained from rushing out of the classroom and straight to the Hospital Wing to see her. He purposely measured his steps, making sure he didn’t go any faster than his usual bored pace but he still reached the infirmary a whole five minutes before either of the professors.
Shrugging, and a little annoyed at himself, he pushed open the heavy oak doors and stepped inside. Closing them behind him, he looked up and noticed Ginny sitting on one of the beds farthest from the door, half hidden by a curtain. She was short so her legs swung over the side, toes barely skimming the floor. She was leaning back on her hands, but most of her dark red hair was hiding of her face. Draco could still see her pert nose and her left cheek, both scattered liberally with the cinnamon freckles that Draco had grown so fond of.
Her school robe lay discarded on a chair beside her and her blouse was partially opened, having just had some sort of examination performed on her, no doubt. Still, it afforded Draco an unrestricted view of her neck and shoulders and the top part of her chest. Unsurprisingly, the latter was covered in freckles, so much so in fact that Draco wondered if every inch of her skin was dusted in the things. He hoped so. It would be harder to tell a hickey different from a natural mark.
Not that he was thinking about giving Weasley a hickey! He was thinking no such thing. A moment later, when she shifted and her blouse moved to bare even more of her torso, Draco’s breathing quickened. He scoffed quietly to himself. No such thing, indeed. He was hopelessly and besottedly smitten. The least he could do was make sure she was appropriately smitten too. With that new plan in mind, he strode forward and dropped his bag noisily on the floor beside her robe.
****
Ginny blew the hair obscuring her vision out of her face with a puff of air. She smirked devilishly as she noticed Draco Malfoy striding towards her with a not-too-pleased look on his handsome face. She’d always found Draco fetching, as far as looks were concerned, and now that he’d forgotten the litres of hair gel that often resided in his hair he really was quite the handsome fellow. Still, he would be fun to chase, even if she couldn’t touch. It would have to be for the thrill of the hunt rather than the capture.
All of a sudden Madame Pomfrey walked in and began fussing over Ginny like a mother hen. Oh bother, Ginny thought impatiently, this damned illness will keep everything topsy-turvy for ages. She’d forgotten about it momentarily, and was enjoying the way her mind was drifting towards images of Draco in rather compromising positions.
“Thinking about me naked, Weasley?” Draco whispered, as soon as Pomfrey’s back was turned. Ginny blushed scarlet as Draco’s words hit home and he smirked at her gloatingly.
“And why are we so graced with your presence, Mr. Malfoy? Not here to cause trouble I hope,” asked the Mediwitch turning around primly, hands resting on her plump hips. Draco scowled at her and resettled his robes before replying. Ginny rolled her eyes at his all too feminine motion.
“As it would happen, Madame Pomfrey, I’m here at the request of Professor Snape and the Headmaster.”
“Leave him be, Madame Pomfrey, I’m sure all he wants is attention. Maybe if we ignore him, he’ll go away.”
It was Ginny’s turn to smirk at Draco’s scowl and she watched with growing anticipation as he pulled up a chair and sat on it backwards facing her. Draco rested his chin on top of his hands along the back of the wooden chair and watched Ginny closely. She sat up properly and buttoned her blouse but left her hair falling in front of her face.
“What are you really doing here?” she asked again.
Draco looked at her sharply. “What if I told you I was tired of all those boys grabbing you? What if I told you I wanted to find a way to stop it?”
Ginny snorted. “Not bloody likely.”
Draco smirked. “You’ve got a mouth on you, haven’t you?”
Ginny rolled her eyes, and then grinned as a sudden thought hit her. “Draco Malfoy, if you want to get those boys to stop, all you’d have to do is announce in the middle of the Great Hall that I’m under your protection. No one would dare bother me then.”
She smirked at Draco’s sudden incredulous look, quickly replaced with a scowl that darkened his face. He glared at her then and she laughed outright, clutching her sides at the absurdity of the picture. Draco continued to glare at until Ginny’s laughter subsided and his face cleared while she hiccupped.
Neither spoke after that, but they continued to look at each other, each trying to decipher the thoughts flying across the other’s mind. Wild, half-formed thoughts of red hair and blond; freckles and skin as pale as moonlight. Crimson red splashed against emerald green and sterling, sterling silver. Ginny wondered how she would get Draco to touch her, hold her, or at the very least, speak to her for five minutes without throwing insults.
Draco wondered how best to get the annoying red-headed (attractive) brat out of his system.
As he looked though, he kept getting sidetracked by the glint of her red hair in the sunlight through the window and the way her eyes danced with every new thought. He noticed the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and her lips that seemed to hand out insults and compliments in the same breath.
They stared and stared without wondering about the time or the absence of the adults. Some time later, it may have been five minutes or ten, the doors swung open for the second time since Ginny’s visit began and in walked a figure clad in purple robes followed by another clad in black.
“Ah, Mr. Malfoy, so glad you could join us. Ms. Weasley’s illness is rather interesting, is it not?”
Draco sprang to his feet upon their entrance. Rather interesting, he echoed, puzzled. Was he talking about a wart on someone’s nose or a girl’s sickness?
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t quite follow,” Draco said, trying to clear his head.
“Ah, my boy, my boy,” Dumbledore continued, ignoring Draco’s remark. “Poppy! Could you come here for a minute, please?”
Madame Pomfrey bustled out of her office and stood protectively beside Ginny. Draco continued to look at the Headmaster, who was beaming at Ginny. Behind him, Professor Snape’s expression seemed bored.
“Any news?” Professor Dumbledore inquired kindly of the Mediwitch.
“Nothing new to report, sir. All’s the same as it was last week,” she replied promptly. Dumbledore nodded serenely and motioned for her to continue. Pomfrey waved her wand and Summoned a medical chart from her office.
“Blood pressure’s normal. There are no abnormalities in her blood, brain or heart. Her lungs, kidneys and other internal organs are functioning perfectly. She’s the picture of health, Professor.”
Except she can’t come in contact with anyone of the male persuasion for fear of sending them into cardiac arrest, Draco added quietly and a little sarcastically.
“Yes, yes,” Snape interrupted impatiently. “We know all that. Have you examined her blood thoroughly?” he asked, trying a different tack.
Pomfrey stiffened indignantly. “What exactly do you mean, Professor?”
“For any enchantments or charms? Perhaps one of her brothers has done this to her.”
To the left of Draco, Ginny bristled at Snape’s insinuation. She opened her mouth to retort but the Headmaster swiftly intervened.
“Now, now, Severus, I highly doubt that is the case. And, if it were, they would have owned up to the mischief by now.”
Snape said nothing but continued to look unconvinced while Dumbledore convened privately with Pomfrey a little ways off. Draco sat down again and exchanged a glance with Ginny. She looked amused at first but then her gaze drifted to Snape, who was still looking sour, and she scowled. Draco thought she looked rather amusing when she scowled. Very much like a small child who had been denied a treat. He smirked when she began glaring at an oblivious Professor Snape.
Professor Dumbledore returned to them and spoke quietly with Professor Snape for a few moments, ignoring Ginny’s attempts to set Snape on fire by sheer force of will. Dumbledore turned to Draco and Ginny.
“Mr. Malfoy, thank you for visiting Ginny today. I‘m sure this experience has been for the best. Might I remind you to pay attention in your classes, Mr. Malfoy? Professor Flitwick has complained of your inattentiveness in his lecture on Blood Curses and Wizarding Genealogy. I suggest you do some extra research on the topic, so as not to be left behind.”
With blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles the Headmaster took his leave, followed by Snape who paused to look at Ginny and Draco together. Draco shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny and avoided all eyes in the room. Ginny did not seem to have a similar problem, and she boldly stared at Snape as he observed her.
After he left, Draco got to his feet and took up his bag but hesitated before turning to leave. Ginny watched him expectantly but he gave a curt nod, out of politeness only, of course, and left immediately.
Author notes: Feedback is appreciated, positive or *gulp* negative.
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