Draco was left with a sense of confusion, coupled with a twinge of guilt. How was he supposed to react to what had just happened? It was blaringly obvious to him, and really to anyone else with eyes who occasionally glanced at Ginny, that she was completely in love with Potter, and though he couldn't care less about the Gryffindor boy, he did care a great deal about Ginny and her reputation. In good conscience, he couldn't allow himself to allow her to give up something that meant so much in circumstances that were not ideal for her. It was completely out of his character to care so much, but somehow, and for some reason, he did. But his thoughts could not be contained, and he wondered if, somehow, she cared about him, too.
The problem with Draco was that he had such a difficult time expressing his emotions to anyone. True, Blaise knew exactly how he felt about Ginny and, on occasion, taunted him mercilessly about it, but he knew because of his own observations. Draco never offered any insight, nor did he ever confirm Blaise’s suspicions with words, but because his friend had a keen sense of judgment, he simply knew.
Though it was still reasonably early, but the hallways were already bare. A chill resonated through the castle that the blond boy found to be rather unsettling. Something was wrong with him. Why did he care so much about Ginny? Why did he care whether or not she respected herself? Why did it bother him terribly that, at this very moment, she was quite possibly alone with Harry Potter, who would, undoubtedly, do everything in his power to get Ginny back? Was there some way to stop her from forgiving him, thus possibly giving him a chance to show her how happy he could make her? All of these questions were nagging at him, but they were nothing compared to his ultimate reason for concern: why did he care about any of this at all?
Did he love her?
*****
It was like deja vu. Only Harry was present in the Gryffindor common room, and, once again, he sat alone by the fire. It illuminated his features with its soft glow, and Ginny could not stop her heart from aching slightly at the sight of his delicate face. He was not a beautiful person by conventional means, but he was attractive in his own way. His heart, his goodness, and his intentions shone through everything, and that was what she had always seen in him. She felt a painful pang in her chest, knowing that her innocence was something she had always wanted to give to Harry, and yet she was so ready and eager to give it to Draco prematurely only moments earlier. It made her feel decidedly guilty.
But then she recalled the hurt, the agony, and the betrayal that she had felt from the last time that they had spoken. He had given away his most precious gift, something that he had all but promised was for Ginny, and he would not have confessed to had it not been for her keen sense of perception. Though she knew that she was a good person, but she did not know if she would be able to find it in her heart to simply forgive and forget something that was so important to her; and she thought it had meant something to Harry, as well. Even if she did end up with Harry, she knew that the precious moment in which she gave herself to the one man she loved would not be reciprocated between them. He would not have that to give to her.
But Draco would.
She couldn’t help that thought from creeping into her mind, and she hated it. She hated that she thought about a boy who wasn’t Harry. It made her sick how badly she had wanted him. But that didn’t matter. Draco had turned her down. He obviously hadn’t wanted her in the same way that Harry did. Draco just wasn’t attracted to her, and she had to dismiss her thoughts of him. Ginny’s feelings would simply never be requited.
In vain, she tried to sneak past, enter the dormitories undetected by Harry, but his hand on her shoulder told her that her efforts were all for naught. They felt rough against her bared skin, but they were strong and warm, just like she recalled. His hands were not perfect - they were bruised and calloused from Quidditch - but they were his, and that made them special. Feeling his touch, and inhaling his scent made her want to erase their recent past, but she hoped that she would not give in so easily. Regardless of how much he meant to her, had always meant to her, she could not allow herself to let it all go and fall into his arms. She was too strong for that.
Without turning to face him, she said, "What do you want, Harry?" Her voice was not unkind or unpleasant, nor did she indicate in any way that she had any qualms about speaking with him. Rather, she sounded tired and worn, clearly indicating that their repeated discussion was becoming rather old. There was nothing else left to say that she had not already heard from him.
"I love you," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her slim waist and pulling her in close.
Except that.
She leaned into him, turning herself in the circle of his arms, marveling at how well their bodies seemed to fit together. It was something that was always amazing to her. They were like two pieces of a puzzle, belonging together, aching to be connected always. Her body melted into his, and she felt like she was home. Just like that, she had given in.
"I know you do," she responded, her whispering voice even lower sounding than his. Though she knew she would be better off retaining her high ground, keeping her distance from the place that she had come to fear the most, she allowed herself to give in and accept his comforting gesture. What would come next, she did not know, but she did know that thoughts of Draco still remained in the back of her mind.
*****
From his spot across the lake from that bloody old oak tree, Draco removed a quill, ink, and a new piece of parchment from his bag. Setting it on top of his textbook, providing a solid, level space ideal for writing, he began to do just that.
He was early, he knew. She would always sit under that tree at the same time each day, doing the exact same things, and, until recently, with the exact same person. It was nearing December, though, and hols were rapidly approaching, but the weather had been pleasant and he knew that she would be unable to resist the opportunity to sit in her favorite spot beneath her favorite tree. It was not likely that there would be many more days with such favorable weather for quite some time, and Ginny craved the outdoors.
There was a delicate situation at hand here. She had offered herself to him, placed her most precious, most cherished gift on a silver platter and had given him the chance to take it. It would have been his gift for ever more, and he had denied it. He realized that they would not simply be able to sit down and discuss how cooperative the weather was. No, that would be much too awkward at this point. He would have to tiptoe a bit. It would take easing in, maneuvering about, and apologies galore. No part of him wanted to make her feel rejected, and that was exactly what he had done, despite his uncharacteristically good intent.
As a rule, Draco did not like to apologize, though. It was a weakness, allowing a person to see another depth of themselves, revealing hidden emotions that could later be used as a weapon. It was a fear that he had always had unconsciously. As a wizard, though not completely developed, he was confident in his skill, and as a person he had faith in his own quick wit and intellect. However, deeper than this, he had feelings that he did not like to share. Each time that he expressed a detail so intimate, he was exposing a part of his soul and allowing himself to be weakened. He was freely offering his heart, something genuine and delicate, along with a hammer, allowing himself to be shattered to a point that could go beyond repair.
But for her, it was worth it.
On that precious page, he wrote to her a letter. He expressed how deeply he cared for her and how badly he yearned for her. He told her how he wished that he was able to take that gift that she had offered, but that the sole reason he hadn't was because of her and the respect that he had felt. If she had given her body - her chastity, her virginity, her innocence - before she was ready, she would have regretted the experience, and he would have been the one to blame. Though she was the one he longed for and desired the most, he would put it all aside in favor of keeping her for himself. He'd wait for her, never pressuring, until she was ready. If she was never ready, he would wait that long, too.
It was the first time he had ever put to words how much he cared for her. He felt vulnerable, but he trusted that she’d take care of his heart. She was not the type to be cruel and hurtful.
Through the sound of the wind rustling the almost bare branches of the trees, Draco heard a laugh. It was pleasant-sounding enough, but for some reason unbeknownst to him, it pierced through his heart, leaving a scar. He wanted to glance around the perimeter of the lake and search for the owner of the offensive sound, but he knew deep down to whom it belonged, and he knew who had caused it. He just knew.
Without looking up, he crumpled up the mess of a letter that he had been writing for her, remembering now why he had made the decision, long ago, to never let anyone in. He tossed all of his possessions into his bag carelessly and walked toward the castle, never looking back. He couldn't. If he did, he was sure that he would break down.
The problem with Draco was that he had such a difficult time expressing his emotions to anyone. True, Blaise knew exactly how he felt about Ginny and, on occasion, taunted him mercilessly about it, but he knew because of his own observations. Draco never offered any insight, nor did he ever confirm Blaise’s suspicions with words, but because his friend had a keen sense of judgment, he simply knew.
Though it was still reasonably early, but the hallways were already bare. A chill resonated through the castle that the blond boy found to be rather unsettling. Something was wrong with him. Why did he care so much about Ginny? Why did he care whether or not she respected herself? Why did it bother him terribly that, at this very moment, she was quite possibly alone with Harry Potter, who would, undoubtedly, do everything in his power to get Ginny back? Was there some way to stop her from forgiving him, thus possibly giving him a chance to show her how happy he could make her? All of these questions were nagging at him, but they were nothing compared to his ultimate reason for concern: why did he care about any of this at all?
Did he love her?
It was like deja vu. Only Harry was present in the Gryffindor common room, and, once again, he sat alone by the fire. It illuminated his features with its soft glow, and Ginny could not stop her heart from aching slightly at the sight of his delicate face. He was not a beautiful person by conventional means, but he was attractive in his own way. His heart, his goodness, and his intentions shone through everything, and that was what she had always seen in him. She felt a painful pang in her chest, knowing that her innocence was something she had always wanted to give to Harry, and yet she was so ready and eager to give it to Draco prematurely only moments earlier. It made her feel decidedly guilty.
But then she recalled the hurt, the agony, and the betrayal that she had felt from the last time that they had spoken. He had given away his most precious gift, something that he had all but promised was for Ginny, and he would not have confessed to had it not been for her keen sense of perception. Though she knew that she was a good person, but she did not know if she would be able to find it in her heart to simply forgive and forget something that was so important to her; and she thought it had meant something to Harry, as well. Even if she did end up with Harry, she knew that the precious moment in which she gave herself to the one man she loved would not be reciprocated between them. He would not have that to give to her.
But Draco would.
She couldn’t help that thought from creeping into her mind, and she hated it. She hated that she thought about a boy who wasn’t Harry. It made her sick how badly she had wanted him. But that didn’t matter. Draco had turned her down. He obviously hadn’t wanted her in the same way that Harry did. Draco just wasn’t attracted to her, and she had to dismiss her thoughts of him. Ginny’s feelings would simply never be requited.
In vain, she tried to sneak past, enter the dormitories undetected by Harry, but his hand on her shoulder told her that her efforts were all for naught. They felt rough against her bared skin, but they were strong and warm, just like she recalled. His hands were not perfect - they were bruised and calloused from Quidditch - but they were his, and that made them special. Feeling his touch, and inhaling his scent made her want to erase their recent past, but she hoped that she would not give in so easily. Regardless of how much he meant to her, had always meant to her, she could not allow herself to let it all go and fall into his arms. She was too strong for that.
Without turning to face him, she said, "What do you want, Harry?" Her voice was not unkind or unpleasant, nor did she indicate in any way that she had any qualms about speaking with him. Rather, she sounded tired and worn, clearly indicating that their repeated discussion was becoming rather old. There was nothing else left to say that she had not already heard from him.
"I love you," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her slim waist and pulling her in close.
Except that.
She leaned into him, turning herself in the circle of his arms, marveling at how well their bodies seemed to fit together. It was something that was always amazing to her. They were like two pieces of a puzzle, belonging together, aching to be connected always. Her body melted into his, and she felt like she was home. Just like that, she had given in.
"I know you do," she responded, her whispering voice even lower sounding than his. Though she knew she would be better off retaining her high ground, keeping her distance from the place that she had come to fear the most, she allowed herself to give in and accept his comforting gesture. What would come next, she did not know, but she did know that thoughts of Draco still remained in the back of her mind.
From his spot across the lake from that bloody old oak tree, Draco removed a quill, ink, and a new piece of parchment from his bag. Setting it on top of his textbook, providing a solid, level space ideal for writing, he began to do just that.
He was early, he knew. She would always sit under that tree at the same time each day, doing the exact same things, and, until recently, with the exact same person. It was nearing December, though, and hols were rapidly approaching, but the weather had been pleasant and he knew that she would be unable to resist the opportunity to sit in her favorite spot beneath her favorite tree. It was not likely that there would be many more days with such favorable weather for quite some time, and Ginny craved the outdoors.
There was a delicate situation at hand here. She had offered herself to him, placed her most precious, most cherished gift on a silver platter and had given him the chance to take it. It would have been his gift for ever more, and he had denied it. He realized that they would not simply be able to sit down and discuss how cooperative the weather was. No, that would be much too awkward at this point. He would have to tiptoe a bit. It would take easing in, maneuvering about, and apologies galore. No part of him wanted to make her feel rejected, and that was exactly what he had done, despite his uncharacteristically good intent.
As a rule, Draco did not like to apologize, though. It was a weakness, allowing a person to see another depth of themselves, revealing hidden emotions that could later be used as a weapon. It was a fear that he had always had unconsciously. As a wizard, though not completely developed, he was confident in his skill, and as a person he had faith in his own quick wit and intellect. However, deeper than this, he had feelings that he did not like to share. Each time that he expressed a detail so intimate, he was exposing a part of his soul and allowing himself to be weakened. He was freely offering his heart, something genuine and delicate, along with a hammer, allowing himself to be shattered to a point that could go beyond repair.
But for her, it was worth it.
On that precious page, he wrote to her a letter. He expressed how deeply he cared for her and how badly he yearned for her. He told her how he wished that he was able to take that gift that she had offered, but that the sole reason he hadn't was because of her and the respect that he had felt. If she had given her body - her chastity, her virginity, her innocence - before she was ready, she would have regretted the experience, and he would have been the one to blame. Though she was the one he longed for and desired the most, he would put it all aside in favor of keeping her for himself. He'd wait for her, never pressuring, until she was ready. If she was never ready, he would wait that long, too.
It was the first time he had ever put to words how much he cared for her. He felt vulnerable, but he trusted that she’d take care of his heart. She was not the type to be cruel and hurtful.
Through the sound of the wind rustling the almost bare branches of the trees, Draco heard a laugh. It was pleasant-sounding enough, but for some reason unbeknownst to him, it pierced through his heart, leaving a scar. He wanted to glance around the perimeter of the lake and search for the owner of the offensive sound, but he knew deep down to whom it belonged, and he knew who had caused it. He just knew.
Without looking up, he crumpled up the mess of a letter that he had been writing for her, remembering now why he had made the decision, long ago, to never let anyone in. He tossed all of his possessions into his bag carelessly and walked toward the castle, never looking back. He couldn't. If he did, he was sure that he would break down.
Author notes: Please don't kill me! This will have a happy DG ending, I swear to it. I've finished writing the story. Updates will come regularly. Only two more to go!
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