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It seemed ridiculous to Draco. Why would anyone want to sit under the Whomping Willow? The tree hit people, for Merlin’s sake, and yet there was no mistaking the girl now sitting under the shade of the brutal branches. He would recognise that red hair from anywhere (though, in his not-so-humble opinion, it was more of a tacky orange than the auburn she claimed it to be) and there was no mistaking those scrawny legs and arms, or the horribly common freckles that mother nature had decided to sprinkle lavishly across her cheeks.
The girl was Ginny Weasley, and right now she was sitting underneath the Whomping Willow as if it were nothing more than a harmless apricot tree. She was clearly insane.
Despite this unfavourable assessment, Draco found himself curious about the youngest Weasley. He wondered how she had even managed to get under the tree in the first place. It was a well-known fact that the tree was vicious to those who got too close, and it had become famous for being a source of harebrained dares for Gryffindors to prove their courage.
Draco snorted to himself. Well, they had definitely proven their courage—and nearly lost an eye in the process.
Still, this girl was obviously not sitting under the tree for some silly dare—even though it was true that she was a Gryffindor—and Draco was just bursting to know why. Why on earth would someone want to sit under a tree that was more likely to try taking off one’s head rather than protect it from the sun?
And that was how he found himself watching her.
It had started out innocently enough. He hadn’t even made the decision to do it. His eyes would just naturally move towards the tree whenever he would walk past, and there would be that head of flaming red to catch his eye. Sometimes she would be reading books, other times he would see her scribbling in what looked like a journal. Then he would realise that he was staring, and he would promptly direct his thoughts to other matters.
But Draco could not rid his mind of the stupid girl with the tacky, orange hair. He always found himself coming back to watch her sit under what had quickly become ‘her’ tree. He would watch her lean back against the battered, old trunk and stretch her legs out as she settled down with her books and journal. He would note the way she tucked the wandering strands of red behind her ears when her hair fell into her face, or the way she tickled her chin with her quill as she paused to think about what to write next. He would see the way she smiled softly to herself when she read something amusing in one of her books, and he would dutifully scold himself for smiling in kind. There was something so pathetic about a boy smiling because a girl (a She-Weasel at that) had smiled at something in a book, and he was not pathetic.
However, the decidedly-not-pathetic Malfoy could not deny that he was becoming increasingly fascinated with the littlest Weasley, and not just because she liked to sit under violent trees. There was something different about her. As cliché as it sounded, she really was like a mystery to him, and though her hair was an ugly shade of red, and though her skin was terribly freckled, he found himself oddly attracted by the little things that he gradually began to perceive in her appearance.
Beyond the freckles and red hair was a girl who was not beautiful, never beautiful, but there was something intriguingly impish about her face. Her eyes were large, too large some might say, but they were smiling eyes, and he realised for the first time that they were not blue like her brothers, but were instead a warm shade of brown. Her nose was small, her chin pointy (though nothing like his) and her lips surprisingly full for such a delicate-featured girl. She reminded him of a pixie, and her lack of inches and petite frame did nothing to belie this portrayal.
She was also very expressive. He had seen every emotion play on her face during his observations, and was struck by how very open she was with her feelings. The only problem was that he didn’t know why she was feeling these emotions. He wished he could know what made her smile or frown, why she chewed her bottom lip sometimes as she wrote in her diary, or why her eyes would light up with that secretive little smile that suggested she knew things he didn’t. He wished he knew, just as he wished he knew why she continued to sit in this ridiculous fashion under the most dangerous tree in the school.
Draco wasn’t sure when he first began to consider approaching her. It had been weeks since he had first noticed her sitting under the tree, and somehow he found himself wanting more than to just watch her; he found himself wanting to speak to this strange girl who had taken such a firm residence in his mind. He grew frustrated, though, as he could never be certain what she would actually say to him if he did, and somehow he always ended up calling her a carrot-head in his invented conversations, and then the imaginary Ginny would hex him or start to cry. Draco didn’t want Ginny to hex him or cry, which was slightly unnerving when one thought about it, but he never did think about it; he was too concerned with worrying about how he could avoid these adverse reactions.
And so when Draco headed back towards the castle from his Care of Magical Creatures class a week later and saw Ginny Weasley sitting yet again under the Whomping Willow, he didn’t pause to consider whether it would be wise to approach her or not, or whether it was even normal for a Malfoy to want to speak to a Weasley. He just walked towards the redhead, tired of seeing her always sitting there and taunting him with her secrets, and planned to demand the answers himself.
Unfortunately for Draco, the Whomping Willow had other plans. No sooner did he get within talking distance of the frustrating redhead, than a thick branch suddenly swiped at his face. He let out a yelp of surprise, darting out of the way, only to find another and much bigger branch coming straight towards him. Draco knew he was going to be squashed, knew that there was no way he would be able to dodge the branch even with all his supposedly amazing, Seeker reflexes, but then it suddenly stopped.
He stared in shock. The branch was frozen.
“You’d better hurry if you want to make it in before it comes to life again,” said an amused voice.
Draco blinked and turned his face at the sound. Ginny was staring at him from over her book, her eyes twinkling in a way that suggested she was trying very hard not to laugh. He straightened his robes in what was meant to be a dignified manner, but really just looked rather sulky, and then walked over and stood in front of the redhead.
“How did you do that?” he demanded.
She smiled. “You don’t really expect me to tell you that, do you? This is my spot. I don’t want other people taking it.”
“I wouldn’t want your spot, Weasley. It’s a stupid spot.”
“Well no one is making you stay. I wouldn’t have even bothered to let you in here except that I didn’t particularly feel like looking at a Malfoy pancake while I read my book.”
“Was that meant to be a joke?”
Ginny just shrugged and returned to her book, clearly dismissing him. He felt the faint prickles of frustration at that. How dare she ignore him when he had come all this way to talk to her? It was just rude, especially after her stupid tree had nearly mauled him. Besides, no one dismissed a Malfoy. A Malfoy always dismissed him or her.
Draco sat down next to her, whether out of stubbornness or just the sheer determination to finally converse with the little minx that was plaguing his mind. Her eyes flicked towards him. She was obviously surprised that he was planning to stick around. The corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly, but she said nothing and merely continued reading her book.
They sat there like that for a few seconds of silence, Draco becoming increasingly frustrated. None of his imaginary conversations had prepared him for a Weasley that ignored his presence. It had never occurred to him that someone could.
“What are you reading?” he suddenly demanded. He reached out and snatched the book off her. It was a romance novel, he could just tell by the cover. He wondered if it was these books that had always made her smile so much.
Ginny’s amusement vanished at that. Clearly she would only tolerate so much from him.
“Look, Malfoy, if you’re just going to be a pain and steal my book, you can take your pasty arse off.”
Draco glowered at her. “Who are you calling pasty, carrot-head?”
Contrary to Draco’s invented predictions, Ginny did not cry nor bring out her wand to hex him at this insult. She just stared at him for a moment and then laughed.
“Carrot-head? Wow, Malfoy, you’re really creative.”
“Who says I’m trying to be creative? I don’t need to waste my creativity on you.”
“Whatever. Give me my book back.”
She didn’t wait for him to oblige and snatched it right back off him. Then she opened it and promptly began to read again. It was clear she was trying to give him ‘the hint’, but Draco was never one to take hints when he didn’t want to, and merely continued to stare at her. He was far too fascinated by her to leave now.
Never had he expected her to react in this way to him. She hadn’t even told him to go away. Well, not aloud anyway. It was driving him mad wondering what she was actually thinking, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask her.
Ginny’s eyes darted to his face from time to time, and then finally she let out a sigh.
“What do you want, Malfoy?”
“Why do you always sit under this tree?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.
She smiled at that. “Ah, so that’s what this is about.”
“What?”
Her smile grew until it twinkled in her eyes. “You honestly thought that I wouldn’t notice? You’ve been watching me for weeks.”
Two pink splotches came to his cheeks. “I have not.”
“Have too,” she sing-songed.
Draco felt the warmth in his cheeks spread. He didn’t like to think he was blushing, and so promptly glowered at her to hopefully put a more intimidating expression on his face. It didn’t work, for Ginny simply laughed again.
“You never did answer my question,” he pointed out, hoping to change the subject.
She shrugged. “It’s quiet here. Nobody can disturb me, as you just learnt for yourself.”
“That’s it?”
She nodded, and then a cheeky grin came to her face. “So what was so fascinating about a girl sitting under the Whomping Willow?”
Draco rolled his eyes at that. “Don’t flatter yourself, Weasley. I was only curious because it seemed so ridiculous.”
“Sure you were.”
The blond scowled. She really was a little minx.
Ginny grinned and then leaned forward. “Hey, Malfoy, I’ll let you in on a secret.”
“What?”
He got a brief glimpse of her eyes dancing enchantingly before his own, her freckled face coming even closer, and then something warm and incredibly soft was pressing against his lips. Ginny Weasley was kissing him.
Draco pulled back abruptly and stared at her, shock written all over his face
She smiled and stood up. “I’ll see you around, Malfoy.”
“Wha—wait!”
“Yes?” said Ginny, turning back to face him.
“What was that for?”
She grinned her maddening grin. “Perhaps I’ll tell you next time. You know where I’ll be.”
Draco, for all his shock, couldn’t help but inwardly smile at that. Perhaps it wasn’t so ridiculous to sit under the Whomping Willow, after all? One thing was for certain: he would most definitely make sure there was a next time.
END
The girl was Ginny Weasley, and right now she was sitting underneath the Whomping Willow as if it were nothing more than a harmless apricot tree. She was clearly insane.
Despite this unfavourable assessment, Draco found himself curious about the youngest Weasley. He wondered how she had even managed to get under the tree in the first place. It was a well-known fact that the tree was vicious to those who got too close, and it had become famous for being a source of harebrained dares for Gryffindors to prove their courage.
Draco snorted to himself. Well, they had definitely proven their courage—and nearly lost an eye in the process.
Still, this girl was obviously not sitting under the tree for some silly dare—even though it was true that she was a Gryffindor—and Draco was just bursting to know why. Why on earth would someone want to sit under a tree that was more likely to try taking off one’s head rather than protect it from the sun?
And that was how he found himself watching her.
It had started out innocently enough. He hadn’t even made the decision to do it. His eyes would just naturally move towards the tree whenever he would walk past, and there would be that head of flaming red to catch his eye. Sometimes she would be reading books, other times he would see her scribbling in what looked like a journal. Then he would realise that he was staring, and he would promptly direct his thoughts to other matters.
But Draco could not rid his mind of the stupid girl with the tacky, orange hair. He always found himself coming back to watch her sit under what had quickly become ‘her’ tree. He would watch her lean back against the battered, old trunk and stretch her legs out as she settled down with her books and journal. He would note the way she tucked the wandering strands of red behind her ears when her hair fell into her face, or the way she tickled her chin with her quill as she paused to think about what to write next. He would see the way she smiled softly to herself when she read something amusing in one of her books, and he would dutifully scold himself for smiling in kind. There was something so pathetic about a boy smiling because a girl (a She-Weasel at that) had smiled at something in a book, and he was not pathetic.
However, the decidedly-not-pathetic Malfoy could not deny that he was becoming increasingly fascinated with the littlest Weasley, and not just because she liked to sit under violent trees. There was something different about her. As cliché as it sounded, she really was like a mystery to him, and though her hair was an ugly shade of red, and though her skin was terribly freckled, he found himself oddly attracted by the little things that he gradually began to perceive in her appearance.
Beyond the freckles and red hair was a girl who was not beautiful, never beautiful, but there was something intriguingly impish about her face. Her eyes were large, too large some might say, but they were smiling eyes, and he realised for the first time that they were not blue like her brothers, but were instead a warm shade of brown. Her nose was small, her chin pointy (though nothing like his) and her lips surprisingly full for such a delicate-featured girl. She reminded him of a pixie, and her lack of inches and petite frame did nothing to belie this portrayal.
She was also very expressive. He had seen every emotion play on her face during his observations, and was struck by how very open she was with her feelings. The only problem was that he didn’t know why she was feeling these emotions. He wished he could know what made her smile or frown, why she chewed her bottom lip sometimes as she wrote in her diary, or why her eyes would light up with that secretive little smile that suggested she knew things he didn’t. He wished he knew, just as he wished he knew why she continued to sit in this ridiculous fashion under the most dangerous tree in the school.
Draco wasn’t sure when he first began to consider approaching her. It had been weeks since he had first noticed her sitting under the tree, and somehow he found himself wanting more than to just watch her; he found himself wanting to speak to this strange girl who had taken such a firm residence in his mind. He grew frustrated, though, as he could never be certain what she would actually say to him if he did, and somehow he always ended up calling her a carrot-head in his invented conversations, and then the imaginary Ginny would hex him or start to cry. Draco didn’t want Ginny to hex him or cry, which was slightly unnerving when one thought about it, but he never did think about it; he was too concerned with worrying about how he could avoid these adverse reactions.
And so when Draco headed back towards the castle from his Care of Magical Creatures class a week later and saw Ginny Weasley sitting yet again under the Whomping Willow, he didn’t pause to consider whether it would be wise to approach her or not, or whether it was even normal for a Malfoy to want to speak to a Weasley. He just walked towards the redhead, tired of seeing her always sitting there and taunting him with her secrets, and planned to demand the answers himself.
Unfortunately for Draco, the Whomping Willow had other plans. No sooner did he get within talking distance of the frustrating redhead, than a thick branch suddenly swiped at his face. He let out a yelp of surprise, darting out of the way, only to find another and much bigger branch coming straight towards him. Draco knew he was going to be squashed, knew that there was no way he would be able to dodge the branch even with all his supposedly amazing, Seeker reflexes, but then it suddenly stopped.
He stared in shock. The branch was frozen.
“You’d better hurry if you want to make it in before it comes to life again,” said an amused voice.
Draco blinked and turned his face at the sound. Ginny was staring at him from over her book, her eyes twinkling in a way that suggested she was trying very hard not to laugh. He straightened his robes in what was meant to be a dignified manner, but really just looked rather sulky, and then walked over and stood in front of the redhead.
“How did you do that?” he demanded.
She smiled. “You don’t really expect me to tell you that, do you? This is my spot. I don’t want other people taking it.”
“I wouldn’t want your spot, Weasley. It’s a stupid spot.”
“Well no one is making you stay. I wouldn’t have even bothered to let you in here except that I didn’t particularly feel like looking at a Malfoy pancake while I read my book.”
“Was that meant to be a joke?”
Ginny just shrugged and returned to her book, clearly dismissing him. He felt the faint prickles of frustration at that. How dare she ignore him when he had come all this way to talk to her? It was just rude, especially after her stupid tree had nearly mauled him. Besides, no one dismissed a Malfoy. A Malfoy always dismissed him or her.
Draco sat down next to her, whether out of stubbornness or just the sheer determination to finally converse with the little minx that was plaguing his mind. Her eyes flicked towards him. She was obviously surprised that he was planning to stick around. The corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly, but she said nothing and merely continued reading her book.
They sat there like that for a few seconds of silence, Draco becoming increasingly frustrated. None of his imaginary conversations had prepared him for a Weasley that ignored his presence. It had never occurred to him that someone could.
“What are you reading?” he suddenly demanded. He reached out and snatched the book off her. It was a romance novel, he could just tell by the cover. He wondered if it was these books that had always made her smile so much.
Ginny’s amusement vanished at that. Clearly she would only tolerate so much from him.
“Look, Malfoy, if you’re just going to be a pain and steal my book, you can take your pasty arse off.”
Draco glowered at her. “Who are you calling pasty, carrot-head?”
Contrary to Draco’s invented predictions, Ginny did not cry nor bring out her wand to hex him at this insult. She just stared at him for a moment and then laughed.
“Carrot-head? Wow, Malfoy, you’re really creative.”
“Who says I’m trying to be creative? I don’t need to waste my creativity on you.”
“Whatever. Give me my book back.”
She didn’t wait for him to oblige and snatched it right back off him. Then she opened it and promptly began to read again. It was clear she was trying to give him ‘the hint’, but Draco was never one to take hints when he didn’t want to, and merely continued to stare at her. He was far too fascinated by her to leave now.
Never had he expected her to react in this way to him. She hadn’t even told him to go away. Well, not aloud anyway. It was driving him mad wondering what she was actually thinking, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask her.
Ginny’s eyes darted to his face from time to time, and then finally she let out a sigh.
“What do you want, Malfoy?”
“Why do you always sit under this tree?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.
She smiled at that. “Ah, so that’s what this is about.”
“What?”
Her smile grew until it twinkled in her eyes. “You honestly thought that I wouldn’t notice? You’ve been watching me for weeks.”
Two pink splotches came to his cheeks. “I have not.”
“Have too,” she sing-songed.
Draco felt the warmth in his cheeks spread. He didn’t like to think he was blushing, and so promptly glowered at her to hopefully put a more intimidating expression on his face. It didn’t work, for Ginny simply laughed again.
“You never did answer my question,” he pointed out, hoping to change the subject.
She shrugged. “It’s quiet here. Nobody can disturb me, as you just learnt for yourself.”
“That’s it?”
She nodded, and then a cheeky grin came to her face. “So what was so fascinating about a girl sitting under the Whomping Willow?”
Draco rolled his eyes at that. “Don’t flatter yourself, Weasley. I was only curious because it seemed so ridiculous.”
“Sure you were.”
The blond scowled. She really was a little minx.
Ginny grinned and then leaned forward. “Hey, Malfoy, I’ll let you in on a secret.”
“What?”
He got a brief glimpse of her eyes dancing enchantingly before his own, her freckled face coming even closer, and then something warm and incredibly soft was pressing against his lips. Ginny Weasley was kissing him.
Draco pulled back abruptly and stared at her, shock written all over his face
She smiled and stood up. “I’ll see you around, Malfoy.”
“Wha—wait!”
“Yes?” said Ginny, turning back to face him.
“What was that for?”
She grinned her maddening grin. “Perhaps I’ll tell you next time. You know where I’ll be.”
Draco, for all his shock, couldn’t help but inwardly smile at that. Perhaps it wasn’t so ridiculous to sit under the Whomping Willow, after all? One thing was for certain: he would most definitely make sure there was a next time.
END
The End.
Boogum is the author of 21 other stories.
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This story is a favorite of 3 members. Members who liked Under the Whomping Willow also liked 1099 other stories.
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