Snape's sour face greeted her every Monday morning; it wasn’t the best way to start the week, but normally, it was tolerable. This Monday, though, he seemed extra sour; his lips were pursed, his eyebrows drawn together, his arms folded. In her hands she held a returned potions assignment with a large 'O' at the top, despite the red notes in Snape's scrawling hand all over the margins.
She couldn’t tell which one of them was more surprised.
“A very interesting take on the potion, Miss Weasley,” he said glaring at her, “I suppose I am to believe that you've done all of this yourself?”
She glared back; despite Draco's handholding through the tutoring sessions, she really had done almost all of the work. “Yes, as it's the truth.”
He dropped his arms and stepped towards her. He was so close, she could smell him — boot polish and sage.
“When I find out who's doing your work, I will make sure that you are expelled.”
Ginny shrugged, shrinking back against the wall, wanting nothing more than to go to her desk. “No one is doing my work for me. Sometimes, things just click suddenly.”
He nodded, still angry, but seeming satisfied. “It's a very expressive take, but theoretically sound. Let's see if it balances. Take your seat.”
Ginny sighed, stepping away and then around him as she went to the front of the classroom to take her seat next to the Ravenclaw table. It had been three weeks of sometimes stuffy, sometimes relaxed, tutoring and she was actually improving.
She sighed and smirked to herself as she glanced over the homework, incredibly pleased that he thought she was cheating. She started to prep the potion by herself, carefully slicing and dicing and grinding and following the list of ingredients that Draco had recited to her the night before. She was determined to do this perfectly.
…
Ginny walked into the library that night at quarter past nine. She was used to the routine now, and as Pince stood up to look for students who remained behind, Ginny ducked behind the shelves directly to the left of the door, dodged a few study tables, and walked along the far wall, before cutting over to the main aisle and heading all the way to the back.
The section where the two of them always met was part of the special collections archives. There were mostly old books that couldn’t even come down from the shelves. Leather bindings, so worn and fragile, they were only barely holding together the past. She put her books down on the table, and then quietly pulled out her chair, settling down and tipping it back.
There was a pile of seventeenth century folios behind where she sat, and she let the chair rest on them, leaning back, and letting her head fall on the top book. She liked this alcove, despite the age and the dust. She liked the way sounds seemed muffled, the way she seemed completely alone, but mostly, she liked the smell. It was strong, musty, and damp. Leather and pages and age. It smelled of history, of memories she never had that called her back in time in a most romantic sense. The smell took her away, the sense of displacement a strange comfort when hidden far back between the library’s shelves.
It all brought a small wistful smile to her face, which stayed there, even after Draco dropped a large pile of books onto the table, pulling her out of the stupor.
“Good morning,” she said sweetly.
He glanced at his watch distractedly. “It’s almost ten.”
She scoffed at him, “So? It feels like morning. I have that incredible feeling that I get when I wake up after a good dream, and I have nowhere to go and nothing to do. It’s peaceful.”
He shot her a look that clearly said she was insane, and she shrugged.
“You actually do have stuff to do, though,” he said, pointing at the stack of books.
She glared at the now familiar text on the top, Potions Theory Applied. She grudgingly brought all four of the chair legs back to the floor and pulled the book off the top of the pile. Draco sat down beside her and pulled the book over in front of him, it opened to the marked page and Ginny glared at that as well. He shot her a glance to make sure she was paying attention, before he launched into a basic summary of the twelfth chapter. She would have liked to let her eyes glaze over, rest her head in her palm, and get sucked away into the past again, but his voice, the sharpness of it, kept her in the present. His energy and strange enthusiasm for the topic grounded her; and she listened, really listened, as they moved through the last three chapters of a book she’d be very happy never to see again.
Finally, he closed it with a snap and stretched backwards. He yawned, an incongruous gesture for him, and she watched as the cords in his neck tightened, his jaw stretched, and a strange howling noise came from his mouth.
As usual, Ginny yawned in response.
She chuckled at the slightly embarrassed look on his face, and then leaned her chin in her left hand, fighting a second yawn. She shook her head lightly, forcing herself out of her stupor, and sat back up. Draco rubbed his eyes, before stretching across the back of his chair, his arms over his head.
Ginny watched, slightly entranced. She always forgot how tall he was, now that he had taken to shifting into the shadows and hunching over his books, but she could never forget his grace; and she was reminded of both again as he stretched backwards, long and lean.
Ginny reached into her bag with a smug smile and grabbed the assignment she had gotten back from Snape.
“I got my first ‘O’ in Potions since… well, since second year,” she said. She handed the sheet of paper to him, and he took it, glancing at the writing indifferently.
He nodded and handed it back. “He’s waiting for you to make a mistake, watch out for that. He still disagrees with the way you accomplish your goals, but he can't find anything technically wrong.”
“He accused me of cheating,” Ginny said proudly.
Draco chuckled dryly. “Only you would be happy about that.”
“It means that I’m improving.”
He shrugged. “There are definitely worse things.”
She smiled broadly. “The sessions have been going pretty well, but I was afraid that there wouldn’t be that much improvement in Snape’s eyes. Certainly decreases my stress levels.”
“Because of the bet?”
Ginny nodded. “Among other things.”
“Tell me the terms,” he said smoothly, his voice as gentle as a caress, persuasive and manipulative.
And it almost worked; she was opening her mouth before she caught herself and slammed it shut. She turned to glare at him, but he just smiled innocently.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me something in return,” she said, not breaking eye contact.
He nodded, the smile slipping off his face.
“Ihavetosingalovesonnet,” she mumbled, eyes fixed firmly on the scratched surface of the table top.
“What was that?” he asked, mockingly.
“If I lose by failing Potions, I have to sing a love sonnet,” she said, her face burning. “At the leaving feast. To Snape.”
He smirked. “Which sonnet?”
“Shakespeare’s number twenty.”
Draco waited for two seconds before he burst into laughter, a sound that made Ginny think she was dreaming. Because, even though it was mocking, it was perfect, heavy and full, no reservations. It sounded like the laughter she heard everyday in her common room; laughter that had nothing to hold back. It was free, and it was infectious.
She laughed with him, burying her face in her hands. And then it subsided, gone as quickly as it had come, and she just sat there, silence hanging over them again.
“‘But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure, mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure’? Snape will just love that.”
“And the worst part is,” she said to her hands, her face still bright red, “I have a horrible singing voice.”
Draco snorted. “That doesn’t surprise me. How horrible?”
Ginny peered at him from between parted fingers, taking in the colour laughter had brought to his face and the smile that lingered in his eyes.
“Have you ever thrown an angry Kneazle into a pool of icy water?”
He chortled again and shook his head in disbelief. “Can't wait to hear that.”
Ginny sat up straight, indignant. “You won’t. Ever. Because you’re going to help me pass.”
He smirked at her. “Well, I guess now I have the proper incentive. But you know, your plan isn’t exactly sound. You won't get your exam results until the end of May.”
“I know. We’re using the final term evaluation to determine the results. I have to sit for that on April twentieth, but I should have the results a week later.”
“What if you win?”
Ginny smirked and narrowed her eyes. She almost cackled, thoughts of Ron’s humiliation filling her mind. “I’ll let you wait and see.”
He sniggered behind his hand, pulling her out of her thoughts.
“What?”
“That was the evilest look I have ever seen on a Gryffindor. It was a bit silly looking.”
She protested laughingly, “I can be devious.”
“Well, obviously, that’s how I got here, isn’t it?”
Ginny deflated slightly. “Yeah.”
They were both silent for a long moment. “What did you want to ask me?”
Ginny stared at him and realized something — as attractive as he was, angular, tall, and lean — he had never looked more beautiful, more relaxed. She was not going to take that away from him, or from herself.
“It was nothing.”
He cocked his left eyebrow. “Nothing?”
She shook her head, staring at the floor, and when she glanced back up, he had his hawk-like gaze focused on her.
“Say it,” he said in the same persuasive tone he had used before, but it was laced with something like malice now.
She swallowed heavily before taking a deep breath. “I wanted… Tell me where you went after your father died.”
There was an empty silence to her right for a long time, so she glanced over at him furtively. Surprisingly, there was no anger on his face as he stared at the ceiling, just acceptance and weariness.
When he turned to meet her eyes, his face was set in a deep frown. “I was at home, with my mother — and the Aurors,” he said bitterly. “I was trying to keep them from taking every item that held any value whatsoever from our house. They wanted everything.”
Anger began to colour his cheeks, leaving two small red patches, and he looked away. “When I got there they were levitating our dining set out the front door. Shattered all the Black family china. Mother cried for days.”
He sighed heavily. “Not exactly a highpoint.”
She blinked at him, not even trying to stop her next question. “Do you miss him?”
His eyes darted back to hers, fierce and defensive. “I answered your question.”
She knew he wouldn’t appreciate her sympathy, so she just shrugged and turned away. Just the thought of Lucius Malfoy made her blood boil and the hair on the back of her neck stand up; but the sight of Draco then, his spine straight even when burdened by acceptance, made her curious. He may have done evil things, but Lucius Malfoy had still been a man. And a father.
“Do you want to do anymore?” she asked.
He blinked, distracted, and then looked at his watch. “It’s half twelve, why don’t we stop for the night.”
She nodded, casting a few glances in his direction as she gathered her books. He sat there, back straight and stiff, staring at his hands. She may have felt incredibly sorry for him as she walked away, but she checked her desire to try to comfort him.
No doubt it would only make things worse.
…
It was sunny and she had a free afternoon. Ginny ran outside after class and tumbled into the grass. She had met Draco every night for the past three days, and she finally had a night off. It was such a relief: no homework for Snape and none for Draco. She couldn't stop the grin that spread easily over her features as she reclined back, caught between the crisp cool of the grass, and the burgeoning warmth of the sun. An image of Draco lying next to her flashed through her mind, and she shook it away, reaching for her sketchbook.
She kept smiling as her coloured pencils traveled across the paper, pulling the lake and the trees to the surface, casting shadows, and breathing life onto the page. She loved drawing like this, when nothing motivated her but beauty, when she could get swept away by colour and drifting dreams. As she worked on her drawing, a figure appeared on the opposite side of the lake, brought into existence by her pencils. Tall, distant, shoulders high, face cast in her direction. He was just a grey smudge on the paper, but she could imagine what she would do if he appeared there now.
She was just setting down the pad, fully prepared to drift off into some surreal daydream featuring her odd and out of place hero, when a shadow blocked her sun. Shielding her eyes, she glanced up to see Harry.
“Hey, Gin, whatcha working on?” he asked, flopping to the ground and reaching for her sketch.
She snatched the sketchbook back from his hand, panic tightening her muscles. “Nothing.”
He glanced up at her, surprised and slightly hurt. “I'm sorry, I just–”
“It's okay,” she said quickly, though it wasn't. Not at all. She watched Harry fiddle with his hands awkwardly and she vaguely wondered if it had always been this hard for the two of them to make conversation.
Ginny, feeling guilty and desperate to break the silence, blurted out, “How about I draw you?”
Harry stared at her, shifting uncomfortably. “I don't know...”
Ginny sighed with relief at his response, wanting to escape from the oppressive atmosphere, when something on his face changed suddenly.
“Okay.”
Her short-lived relief collapsed, and she settled herself guiltily on the ground next to him. “You can just sit there, as you are, and try to relax.”
Harry was asleep long before Ginny had finally, in utter frustration, completed his body. His arms tucked under his head, his face turned slightly away, his legs spread out. She stared in dread at his face as she tried to shape her subject. The forehead formed, a scar sliding into view, and then the glasses, tilted in his sleep. Finally she came to his lips, slowly debating what to do. She decided on an expressive smudge, slightly turned up in sleep.
He really was gorgeous, relaxed like this, no signs remaining from the final confrontation, just the peaceful easiness that comes with the knowledge that a duty has been done. Harry had, for all intents and purposes, been released from his fight; his life could go in any direction now. Any direction he chose.
As her pencil hovered over the paper, Ginny envied his past seventeen years slightly. It sucked being obligated to do certain things, like save the world, but sometimes, Ginny wished her choices had been taken away as well. Life was too hard when there were options. Every choice is another one that she could blame herself for later. With a sigh, she closed the book and lay back on the grass.
At least Harry had the option of blaming his life on circumstance. Not that he would. She stared up at the clear blue sky and took a few deep gulps of air into her lungs. The desire for a nice long nap in the sun had disappeared and instead she just lay there, only moving to guiltily inch away from Harry when he shifted closer to her in his sleep.
An hour later, she was about to wake him up to go inside when an owl appeared by her side, silent and forbidding, and stuck out its leg. She took the large package, addressed to her, from it and smiled, ruffling its feathers gently.
It glared at her, before shaking its head imperiously to straighten its sleek black feathers before it rose and disappeared as easily as it had appeared. She stared at the gap in the sky where it had been moments before, until she remembered the package in her hands. Curiously, she turned it over, shook it up and down, and then cautiously began to open it. A letter, addressed in an elegant, feminine hand to her sat on top of a few smaller packages of sweets. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Swiss chocolates and she swiftly closed the package and shoved it in her bag.
She stood up and looked down at the boy on the ground. “I'm going in now, Harry,” she said loudly, waiting for him to open his eyes before she took off running for the castle's front door.
She heard him call after her, but she ignored it as she bounded up the stairs and towards the common room.
…
Dear Miss Weasley,
I’m so glad I got a chance to meet you while visiting my son. I was in Diagon Alley today and thought to send you some of my favorite chocolates. I hope that you enjoy them as much as I do and that we meet again soon.
Please take care of Draco and yourself.
Sincerely,
Narcissa Malfoy
The letter was short and to the point, yet the honesty was somehow poignant even on the page. And the chocolates were delicious. Ginny decided right away to write her back with thanks and settled into her bed, thinking about the last line.
…
She was sitting in the common room nearly two weeks later, when a fourth year asked her a question about a potion and she answered it easily, and she realized that she got it. She was beginning to fully understand the theory, the exceptions, the basics; and while this might not have been a great accomplishment, to her it felt incredible. Nothing could have stopped the smile on her face; not even the fact that when she looked up at the clock next, it was already half nine.
She slid silently into the library and darted past Madame Pince and into the dark corridor of shelves.
Out of breath, she arrived at their table and slid wordlessly into the seat next the Draco. “I'm really sorry,” she whispered, “I-”
But Draco's hand cut her off, covering her lips to keep her silent. And all of a sudden, she was alive again, brought to life by a simple gesture, an uncharacteristically gentle touch. Her heart raced, her lips heating up beneath his fingertips, as she watched, enthralled, as he peered out into the darkness of the library, waiting. At long last, he pulled his hand way, and Ginny unconsciously reached up to touch her lips.
She ignored the quirk of his eyebrow at the gesture, and instead shrugged, hoping to force the tension from her shoulders.
“Thanks for waiting, I was... distracted.”
He shrugged, and opened the book before them. “I took the time to gather what we'd need.”
She nodded, watching as he fell into teacher mode — indifferent, slightly chastising, but mostly helpful. Together, they had a rhythm, finally at the point where the questions would bubble up in her mind, challenging his method or means. After they covered a chapter on theory, he gave her a potion to design.
She had a list of ingredients and the intended use, so she set to work. She wasn't allowed to use books during this exercise, but she could ask basic questions. He stared at the ceiling as she scribbled down quick notes. After less than thirty minutes, she handed him the piece of paper.
He stared down at it, and then the strangest expression crossed his face. It was one of confusion. She watched in amazement as he actually started to chew on his bottom lip, a gesture that she might have found a little bit too distracting.
After five minutes, he glanced back up and shook his head. “This is the most disjointed, confusing, and roundabout way to make a shield potion that I have ever seen.”
Ginny stared at the table, running her nail along the edge and chipping away at the varnish. She waited for the corrections.
“It's also brilliant. Were you aware that the way you've designed this would increase the strength of the potion almost sevenfold and allow the drinker to protect the area around them as well?”
Ginny met his eyes, shocked. “Huh?”
He looked back, equally amazed. “I mean, I know you did it accidentally, but this just proves what I've been saying all along. Potions isn't always about the ingredients, it's also about the maker.”
She tilted her head, trying to decipher the tone of his voice.
“It's very artistic,” he continued, “the way that you combine the ingredients, it's... creative.”
He paused, staring down at the paper in his hands, and Ginny drummed her fingers slowly on the tabletop.
“I… uh… like to draw.”
He glanced up, smirking at her, and she pursed her lips.
“And you're left handed.”
She nodded.
“Being left handed is supposed to be the curse of the potion maker,” Draco said, tipping his chair back as he mused up at the ceiling. “But Tom Riddle was left handed, and there was probably no person more gifted at creating new potions than he.”
Ginny shivered at the mention of the name, her face starting to turn red, and she suddenly felt very alone and very claustrophobic in the library.
When Draco was silent for a long moment, she glanced up to figure out where his mind was only to find his eyes watching her like a hawk. She didn't look away as he stared at her contemplatively, but her heartbeat increased — and this time it was definitely from fear.
“It is possible, of course, that there are residual remnants of his soul in you.”
Ginny still refused to break eye contact, even as her chest tightened and her breath stopped. Mostly, she felt panic, but there was also anger there, under the surface. She wanted to stand up, to slap him, to scream ‘It was your father.’ But she just sat there — sat there and didn’t breathe.
He continued to watch her for at least a minute, barely moving and not changing expression, and she wondered vaguely what he was looking for. But then, suddenly, he just shrugged and dropped his eyes. Ginny waited another moment, and then sucked air into her lungs so quickly that she felt dizzy. Her head spun, and she felt weak and her body tilted forward.
Passing out was pretty much just what she had expected — everything went dark and the she woke up on the floor. What she hadn't been expecting was waking up to Draco Malfoy staring down at her with something that clearly resembled concern etched across his features.
“Weasley,” he snapped. “Are you okay?”
She took a few deep breaths, wondering what she was leaning against, when she noticed that her head was being cradled in his arms.
“Yeah.” She was definitely okay. “I just… forgot to breathe.” She sat up, slowly, groaning.
“For fuck's sake, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Shut up,” she snapped back. “You're the one who brought up Tom.”
If the use of the name surprised him, he didn't show it. He just rolled his eyes as he helped her stand up.
“Well, don't take everything so seriously. Riddle was a much different potion maker than you are. And he couldn't draw for shit, trust me, I've seen some of his sketches. They're almost as scary as the man himself.”
Ginny stared at Draco, unable to figure out what to do with his inadvertent admission of fear and his request for trust, before she burst out laughing. He stared at her for a moment before chuckling and shaking his head.
“Absolutely insane,” he mumbled, but she heard the smile in his voice.
“What would Voldemort draw?” she asked, giggling.
His shoulders shook lightly with a silent chuckle as his eyes slid to hers. There was a lightness there — relieved and free, aware. “Mostly cityscapes, surprisingly enough. I think he wanted to be a painter.”
Ginny really couldn’t help herself then, she burst into fresh peals of laughter and grabbed the table’s edge, as she wobbled dizzily. “Just–like–Hitler,” she said in between gasps of laughter.
Draco chortled, but she couldn’t see his face or understand his response. Her shoulders shook, and her hands trembled, and she knew it wasn’t all from laughter. She found her chair and sat down slowly, finally controlling herself with deep breaths. She closed her eyes and focused on the rhythm, but the blackness just made the dizziness worse. She felt a bit drunk. When she glanced up at him, he raised his eyebrows — a silent question replacing one he would never have voiced aloud.
“I’m okay, just still a bit dizzy.”
“Alright, I think that's enough for tonight, but we'll have to meet for a bit longer tomorrow to cover everything for your exam next week.”
Ginny nodded, still fighting the slowly fading dizziness.
“Can you make it back to your common room?” he asked, carefully.
Her eyebrows shot upwards, a teasing smile rising to her lips. “Are you offering to walk me back? Isn't that breaking one of the rules?”
Draco's face was expressionless, giving nothing away, as his eyes searched hers. “I'm sure it would break almost all of them.”
And then he stepped back, tipping his head. “Don’t get caught.”
Ginny watched him disappear, her smile disappearing with him. The dizziness was gone, but it left confusion in its very wide wake.
…
The next week followed much as she had expected it to. Ginny studied with Draco, tried to nudge Harry towards Hermione, avoided Ron unless offered the chance to harm him physically, received more notes from Narcissa, and just in general had a really good week. That afternoon, she was sitting in the library, all the way at the back as she had become quite taken with their usual place, and casually wondering how she could trick Draco into letting her help him with Transfigurational theory.
She doodled aimlessly across the assignment he had given her, sketching the stack of books on the table in the margins. They hadn’t talked about the Tom thing since it had happened, and Ginny felt both relieved and anxious. It felt as if there was still something that needed saying, as if she hadn’t fully explained herself. She was just adding the shadow the books cast on the table when another joined it.
She glanced up, knowing it must be Draco, when the words she had been planning caught in her throat. He was seething. And not in the practiced, calculated way he did in the hallways, in a messy and truly pissed off way.
“What,” he ground out, obviously trying to control himself, “did you say to my mother?”
Ginny shrank in her chair, even as she wanted to laugh. Despite the ferocity in his voice and the vein throbbing on his forehead, she wasn’t really that scared of him anymore.
His jaw clenched and unclenched. He looked like he was about to explode.
“Which time?”
If anything, her response made him even angrier. He jerked out the chair across from her and slammed it down on the floor, sending a few books to the floor. Then he turned, glaring at her across the table.
“I just got a letter from her. Apparently, the two of you have been corresponding?”
“Uh... yeah,” Ginny said, feeling the flush creep up onto her cheeks, even as she tried to fight it. “I just told her that you are a great teacher and–”
“She thinks we're DATING!” he said, his voice only slightly louder than usual, yet still driving Ginny back further into her chair. “She wants me to properly INTRODUCE YOU!”
“Uh...” Ginny stammered, her throat drying up and her fingers tightening around one another. “I'm... sorry?”
Draco growled. Actually growled. The sound starting low in his throat and traveling roughly over her skin. She shivered, not stopping to wonder why.
His jaw clenched and unclenched again, his rage building, if possible, as he muttered to himself. Ginny could only catch little bits, but phrases like ‘low-class’, ‘obnoxious family’, and ‘idiotic, conniving, pain in the arse’ stood out and started to make her angry.
She pushed it all to the background though, and burst out laughing. He glanced down at her, startled, as she shook her head incredulously at him. The ferocity on his face just made her laugh harder.
“Shut up,” he hissed, looking over his shoulder. There were footsteps headed towards them, and without a thought, Ginny ran around the table, grabbed him by his tie and pulled him with her into the nook between the shelf and the wall.
Ginny's face caught fire as she realized their proximity. She hadn't stood this close to him since the day she had proposed the deal, and her heart was racing, just as it did whenever she looked at that drawing. His back was inches away from her chest, her arm still wrapped around his side, her hand on his tie. She stopped breathing, wild fantasies running through her mind faster than the blood in her veins.
There were voices then, and Draco began to lean out to see, but she grabbed him again and pulled his strangely pliant figure back towards her. They stood like that, both waiting, apprehensive, for a long minute until there was nothing but silence on the other side.
Ginny slowly released her grip on his now crumpled tie, and pushed him away. The quickly disappearing heat left her cold, inside and out. He stepped out, peering cautiously around, and then nodded at her. She followed him, pulling the cobwebs from her hair with a frown.
He glared at her. “It suits you.”
Her temper flared again, but she checked it, smiling cheekily. “Thank you.” She reached up and plucked a tiny spider from his hair. “This doesn't suit you.”
He stepped back quickly, alarm crossing his face for a moment, and she giggled. His glare intensified. He walked over to the table and started shuffling though her papers. She watched him, wondering if there was something else he wanted to say. His hands paused over the homework he had assigned her, before grabbing it and turning to her with a mocking sneer.
“If you turn that in, you’ll definitely get worse marks than Potter.”
She crossed her arms — to hell with anger management — and opened her mouth.
But he cut her off. “Finish it before tonight, and I’ll see you back here.”
She let out a breath, the anger fading temporarily, and nodded, staring at his chest and the way his tie fell, crumpled against his breastbone.
He was smirking at her; she could feel it. “And stop writing to my mother.”
She jerked her eyes up and glared, but he was already walking away.
…
The next morning, Ginny woke up early for the first time since the beginning of term. She had forgotten to close her curtains all the way, and the gap had cast early morning sunshine on her face, pulling her from sleep. She felt refreshed and light. She even went to breakfast, stuffing herself with eggs and bacon, before practically skipping to class.
It had been good, too. Things felt right for the first time in a long time. Hermione had resurfaced by lunch, and they spent the entire period making bad academic jokes, just to laugh at the identical looks on Harry and Ron’s faces as they tried to grasp the point. Her brother had smiled at her and ruffled her hair. And she had even caught Harry giving Hermione appreciative looks. Snape had handed her back another ‘O’ on an assignment, her fourth since Draco, and McGonagall had approved her special research project. There was even chocolate cake for Colin’s birthday and he loved the film she got him for his camera.
Her mood was perfect all day. And she openly enjoyed it. The problem with days like that, though, is they unexpectedly get worse. And usually much worse. Her day shattered like a pane of glass when she and Natalie had been walking back from the party for Colin in the Room of Requirement, when they heard yelling.
Shrugging at one another, they thought, why not check it out? Ginny wished they hadn’t.
The great hall felt colder than it should have been when she entered it, and what she saw chilled her further. Draco had Thomas Portman, a fourth year Gryffindor, pinned to the wall, and looked about ready to tear off his head. Thomas was shaking and looking a bit pale, but still thoroughly pissed off.
And in that moment the happiness was gone, replaced by anger, fear, sadness, regret, and — most powerfully — uncertainty.
There was no one else around, but she could hear more coming, so she crossed the room quickly.
“Stop it!” she cried, watching Thomas struggle helplessly.
She felt helpless too, as the two boys turned to her. Draco’s icy eyes met her pleading ones, but he didn’t relinquish his hold. Thomas tried to speak, but Draco was practically smothering him.
“What are you going to do?” she asked softly.
His anger focused on her for a moment, and finally, he dropped Thomas onto the floor. The younger boy wheezed, finally regaining the ability to breathe properly, and Ginny shot him a worried look, before turning to Draco.
But he wasn’t looking at her anymore — he was staring at the boy on the floor, still furious. Ginny walked over and, very discreetly, slid her hand across Draco’s back, a simple comfort, before she leaned over and helped Thomas struggle to his feet. She sensed Draco relax slightly as Natalie joined her, and the two of them pulled Thomas to his feet, leaving Draco standing alone, severe and terrifying, just as he had been before.
When they had traveled out of the hall, Ginny sat Thomas down on the step. “What happened?”
Thomas shifted achingly. She winced, wondering about the damage, and feeling guilty. Part of her mind staunchly defended Draco, the Draco she knew, while the other screamed about all the times that things like this had happened before.
“He attacked me! Wasn’t that obvious?”
It was Natalie who spoke first, and Ginny loved her for it. “Just because someone loses a fight, doesn’t mean they didn’t initiate it.”
Thomas’s anger was suddenly directed at the two of them. “I’m telling you, I was in a hurry, and I bumped into him. He insulted me, I insulted him right back, and then he hit me.”
Ginny sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What did you say?” she asked. It had been a long time since she had seen Draco look so angry.
Natalie brushed aside the question, though, temporarily saving Thomas. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “I’ll be fine, a little bruised, but he only hit me once. Stole all my breath.”
Natalie nodded and helped him to his feet. They began to walk towards the common room, and Ginny felt the irritation build in her throat. She wasn’t irritated with either of them, though, not even with Draco. She was just irritated. It had been such a good day.
…
“I didn’t really think you’d come,” Draco said, pulling Ginny out of her very tired stupor. She met his eyes and could see immediately that he wished she hadn’t. He still looked angry; in fact, he looked royally pissed off.
“Why not?” she asked. “We had a meeting, after all. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”
It was the first time he had ever been late.
He shrugged, not quite an apology. “I got distracted.” He loosened his tie as he pulled out his chair and sat. Ginny couldn’t read the look on his face — an unsettling mixture of weariness and anger, impatience and bitterness. She started to wish he hadn’t shown.
“What happened earlier?” she asked hesitantly.
He shot her a look that clearly said this was not a welcome topic, but she pressed further. “What did he say to you?”
His look intensified, and she could tell he was abandoning his control. “Is there any part of you that isn’t an idiot?” he asked snidely.
She hated the tone, opening her mouth to tell him off, before changing her mind. “Do we need any books?” she asked softly, finally looking away from him.
Some of the tension in his shoulders loosened, and he wordlessly handed her a slip of paper with a long list written on it. It was quite clear that tonight she would be working with a version of Draco that she hadn't seen in a long while. With a sigh, she lugged herself to her feet very slowly and went in search of the books.
She was just pulling down the second to last book when she glanced down at the list again, pausing to admire Draco's perfectly schooled writing. Then she stopped. Draco. When had he become Draco? Her mind stretched back in time, trying to differentiate between Draco and Malfoy, but the name seemed so natural now, so rational and not even the slightest bit awkward. Even in memories from last year, or the years before, times when she definitely hated him, he still seemed to be Draco. He had even been Draco when he had Thomas pinned to the wall.
She shook her head, testing the name out loud to herself and pausing in surprise when she realized it no longer stuck in her throat, but slid carelessly off her tongue, as if she had said it, and could keep saying it, every day. She didn’t think she had ever said it before, though. She said it again. It was a surprisingly pleasant name, round and flat all at once.
Slowly, she wandered back over to the table where the object of her worrying thoughts sat, bent over her assignments from the previous nights.
It wasn't fun that night. It felt like they weren't making any progress and both of them were short tempered and distracted. Finally, around midnight, Ginny allowed her shoulders to slump and she rested her head on the table. She was tired. It was too much, coming here every night, and the work was too draining.
“Come on,” he said, his voice weary, the anger that had had her on edge all night still lingering below the surface. “Get up.”
“Oh, Draco, let me sleep,” she said softly, her eyes staying closed. Silence followed her plea, and she was just releasing her last hold on the world when she realized what she said.
Her eyes snapped open, suddenly awake, only to meet Draco's angry glare. And she was afraid.
She lunged to her feet and Draco followed her. Apparently, he had been waiting to snap and now she was trapped between a very furious him and the very solid shelf. She glanced around, hurriedly, planning her escape.
“Look, I'm sorry, Draco,” she said, pausing to curse her second slip. But now that she had said it, it seemed impossible to stop.
“Don't call me that,” he snarled, as he took a step forward.
And suddenly, he was too close and she was too awake and there wasn't enough time.
“Dra-” she began pleadingly.
His lips slammed down against hers. Open-eyed and open-mouthed, he shoved her back against the books. And it was too angry, and too violent, and too right. Ginny was melting into him, totally forgetting herself as her hands didn't even pause before they went to his tie. His tongue was in her mouth, hot, wet, and desperate; and she was shaking against him. He yanked the hem of her skirt up, pulling her body up and against his with hands that were much too hot and too anxious.
There was too much of him to push away, but she didn’t even try. She gave in, even though she wasn’t ready. She was too ready, and there was too much between them as they pulled at one another. The earth was shaking beneath their feet, the world was falling down around them.
Her eyes slammed shut, trying to block it all out, lost to the rushing of blood in her ears, and her hands finally found bare skin. He growled against her lips, and she shuddered, moaning as his fingers ran along the edge of her knickers. And that was when he jerked away, dropping her to the floor unceremoniously, to stare down at her in dismay. She watched in confused horror as he stepped back. Once, twice, and then tuned on his heel and was gone.
She heard the library doors slam shut, and tears gathered inexplicably in her eyes, as silent, confused sobs shook her body.
...
Ginny had no idea how she made it back to her room that night, still riding a high of irritation, desire, concern, confusion, pain, and longing. It was the longing that got to her — more powerful than anything else — she longed for something. But she had no idea what. She was confused about everything, him, her, and all that had happened. It was driving her crazy.
It wasn’t about the sex; which, had he not stopped it, she probably would have allowed, she realized in shock. It wasn’t the fact that he had looked at her there on the floor, his eyes full of anger, lust, and fear — cutting her. It wasn’t even the disappointment swelling within her that irritated her the most.
It was the longing. It was the way she wished he was by her side all the time, lying in the grass under the sun, eating cake at Colin’s party in the Room of Requirement, watching Quidditch from the hill by the lake. It was the confusing realization that she wanted him with her and the smothering fear that he would never want to have anything to do with her again.
It was the longing that sat with her in bed as she tried to sleep. That kept her up half the night and that drove her to find a distraction.
She finally decided to write back to Narcissa, as the woman insisted Ginny call her. She didn’t even stop to consider her state of mind as she wrote the letter, sealing it and leaving it on her bedside table, before finally collapsing onto her bed.
The thoughts crept back, though, as bad ones tend to, and she tossed and turned all night, dreading the morning.
…
She couldn’t tell which one of them was more surprised.
“A very interesting take on the potion, Miss Weasley,” he said glaring at her, “I suppose I am to believe that you've done all of this yourself?”
She glared back; despite Draco's handholding through the tutoring sessions, she really had done almost all of the work. “Yes, as it's the truth.”
He dropped his arms and stepped towards her. He was so close, she could smell him — boot polish and sage.
“When I find out who's doing your work, I will make sure that you are expelled.”
Ginny shrugged, shrinking back against the wall, wanting nothing more than to go to her desk. “No one is doing my work for me. Sometimes, things just click suddenly.”
He nodded, still angry, but seeming satisfied. “It's a very expressive take, but theoretically sound. Let's see if it balances. Take your seat.”
Ginny sighed, stepping away and then around him as she went to the front of the classroom to take her seat next to the Ravenclaw table. It had been three weeks of sometimes stuffy, sometimes relaxed, tutoring and she was actually improving.
She sighed and smirked to herself as she glanced over the homework, incredibly pleased that he thought she was cheating. She started to prep the potion by herself, carefully slicing and dicing and grinding and following the list of ingredients that Draco had recited to her the night before. She was determined to do this perfectly.
…
Ginny walked into the library that night at quarter past nine. She was used to the routine now, and as Pince stood up to look for students who remained behind, Ginny ducked behind the shelves directly to the left of the door, dodged a few study tables, and walked along the far wall, before cutting over to the main aisle and heading all the way to the back.
The section where the two of them always met was part of the special collections archives. There were mostly old books that couldn’t even come down from the shelves. Leather bindings, so worn and fragile, they were only barely holding together the past. She put her books down on the table, and then quietly pulled out her chair, settling down and tipping it back.
There was a pile of seventeenth century folios behind where she sat, and she let the chair rest on them, leaning back, and letting her head fall on the top book. She liked this alcove, despite the age and the dust. She liked the way sounds seemed muffled, the way she seemed completely alone, but mostly, she liked the smell. It was strong, musty, and damp. Leather and pages and age. It smelled of history, of memories she never had that called her back in time in a most romantic sense. The smell took her away, the sense of displacement a strange comfort when hidden far back between the library’s shelves.
It all brought a small wistful smile to her face, which stayed there, even after Draco dropped a large pile of books onto the table, pulling her out of the stupor.
“Good morning,” she said sweetly.
He glanced at his watch distractedly. “It’s almost ten.”
She scoffed at him, “So? It feels like morning. I have that incredible feeling that I get when I wake up after a good dream, and I have nowhere to go and nothing to do. It’s peaceful.”
He shot her a look that clearly said she was insane, and she shrugged.
“You actually do have stuff to do, though,” he said, pointing at the stack of books.
She glared at the now familiar text on the top, Potions Theory Applied. She grudgingly brought all four of the chair legs back to the floor and pulled the book off the top of the pile. Draco sat down beside her and pulled the book over in front of him, it opened to the marked page and Ginny glared at that as well. He shot her a glance to make sure she was paying attention, before he launched into a basic summary of the twelfth chapter. She would have liked to let her eyes glaze over, rest her head in her palm, and get sucked away into the past again, but his voice, the sharpness of it, kept her in the present. His energy and strange enthusiasm for the topic grounded her; and she listened, really listened, as they moved through the last three chapters of a book she’d be very happy never to see again.
Finally, he closed it with a snap and stretched backwards. He yawned, an incongruous gesture for him, and she watched as the cords in his neck tightened, his jaw stretched, and a strange howling noise came from his mouth.
As usual, Ginny yawned in response.
She chuckled at the slightly embarrassed look on his face, and then leaned her chin in her left hand, fighting a second yawn. She shook her head lightly, forcing herself out of her stupor, and sat back up. Draco rubbed his eyes, before stretching across the back of his chair, his arms over his head.
Ginny watched, slightly entranced. She always forgot how tall he was, now that he had taken to shifting into the shadows and hunching over his books, but she could never forget his grace; and she was reminded of both again as he stretched backwards, long and lean.
Ginny reached into her bag with a smug smile and grabbed the assignment she had gotten back from Snape.
“I got my first ‘O’ in Potions since… well, since second year,” she said. She handed the sheet of paper to him, and he took it, glancing at the writing indifferently.
He nodded and handed it back. “He’s waiting for you to make a mistake, watch out for that. He still disagrees with the way you accomplish your goals, but he can't find anything technically wrong.”
“He accused me of cheating,” Ginny said proudly.
Draco chuckled dryly. “Only you would be happy about that.”
“It means that I’m improving.”
He shrugged. “There are definitely worse things.”
She smiled broadly. “The sessions have been going pretty well, but I was afraid that there wouldn’t be that much improvement in Snape’s eyes. Certainly decreases my stress levels.”
“Because of the bet?”
Ginny nodded. “Among other things.”
“Tell me the terms,” he said smoothly, his voice as gentle as a caress, persuasive and manipulative.
And it almost worked; she was opening her mouth before she caught herself and slammed it shut. She turned to glare at him, but he just smiled innocently.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me something in return,” she said, not breaking eye contact.
He nodded, the smile slipping off his face.
“Ihavetosingalovesonnet,” she mumbled, eyes fixed firmly on the scratched surface of the table top.
“What was that?” he asked, mockingly.
“If I lose by failing Potions, I have to sing a love sonnet,” she said, her face burning. “At the leaving feast. To Snape.”
He smirked. “Which sonnet?”
“Shakespeare’s number twenty.”
Draco waited for two seconds before he burst into laughter, a sound that made Ginny think she was dreaming. Because, even though it was mocking, it was perfect, heavy and full, no reservations. It sounded like the laughter she heard everyday in her common room; laughter that had nothing to hold back. It was free, and it was infectious.
She laughed with him, burying her face in her hands. And then it subsided, gone as quickly as it had come, and she just sat there, silence hanging over them again.
“‘But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure, mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure’? Snape will just love that.”
“And the worst part is,” she said to her hands, her face still bright red, “I have a horrible singing voice.”
Draco snorted. “That doesn’t surprise me. How horrible?”
Ginny peered at him from between parted fingers, taking in the colour laughter had brought to his face and the smile that lingered in his eyes.
“Have you ever thrown an angry Kneazle into a pool of icy water?”
He chortled again and shook his head in disbelief. “Can't wait to hear that.”
Ginny sat up straight, indignant. “You won’t. Ever. Because you’re going to help me pass.”
He smirked at her. “Well, I guess now I have the proper incentive. But you know, your plan isn’t exactly sound. You won't get your exam results until the end of May.”
“I know. We’re using the final term evaluation to determine the results. I have to sit for that on April twentieth, but I should have the results a week later.”
“What if you win?”
Ginny smirked and narrowed her eyes. She almost cackled, thoughts of Ron’s humiliation filling her mind. “I’ll let you wait and see.”
He sniggered behind his hand, pulling her out of her thoughts.
“What?”
“That was the evilest look I have ever seen on a Gryffindor. It was a bit silly looking.”
She protested laughingly, “I can be devious.”
“Well, obviously, that’s how I got here, isn’t it?”
Ginny deflated slightly. “Yeah.”
They were both silent for a long moment. “What did you want to ask me?”
Ginny stared at him and realized something — as attractive as he was, angular, tall, and lean — he had never looked more beautiful, more relaxed. She was not going to take that away from him, or from herself.
“It was nothing.”
He cocked his left eyebrow. “Nothing?”
She shook her head, staring at the floor, and when she glanced back up, he had his hawk-like gaze focused on her.
“Say it,” he said in the same persuasive tone he had used before, but it was laced with something like malice now.
She swallowed heavily before taking a deep breath. “I wanted… Tell me where you went after your father died.”
There was an empty silence to her right for a long time, so she glanced over at him furtively. Surprisingly, there was no anger on his face as he stared at the ceiling, just acceptance and weariness.
When he turned to meet her eyes, his face was set in a deep frown. “I was at home, with my mother — and the Aurors,” he said bitterly. “I was trying to keep them from taking every item that held any value whatsoever from our house. They wanted everything.”
Anger began to colour his cheeks, leaving two small red patches, and he looked away. “When I got there they were levitating our dining set out the front door. Shattered all the Black family china. Mother cried for days.”
He sighed heavily. “Not exactly a highpoint.”
She blinked at him, not even trying to stop her next question. “Do you miss him?”
His eyes darted back to hers, fierce and defensive. “I answered your question.”
She knew he wouldn’t appreciate her sympathy, so she just shrugged and turned away. Just the thought of Lucius Malfoy made her blood boil and the hair on the back of her neck stand up; but the sight of Draco then, his spine straight even when burdened by acceptance, made her curious. He may have done evil things, but Lucius Malfoy had still been a man. And a father.
“Do you want to do anymore?” she asked.
He blinked, distracted, and then looked at his watch. “It’s half twelve, why don’t we stop for the night.”
She nodded, casting a few glances in his direction as she gathered her books. He sat there, back straight and stiff, staring at his hands. She may have felt incredibly sorry for him as she walked away, but she checked her desire to try to comfort him.
No doubt it would only make things worse.
…
It was sunny and she had a free afternoon. Ginny ran outside after class and tumbled into the grass. She had met Draco every night for the past three days, and she finally had a night off. It was such a relief: no homework for Snape and none for Draco. She couldn't stop the grin that spread easily over her features as she reclined back, caught between the crisp cool of the grass, and the burgeoning warmth of the sun. An image of Draco lying next to her flashed through her mind, and she shook it away, reaching for her sketchbook.
She kept smiling as her coloured pencils traveled across the paper, pulling the lake and the trees to the surface, casting shadows, and breathing life onto the page. She loved drawing like this, when nothing motivated her but beauty, when she could get swept away by colour and drifting dreams. As she worked on her drawing, a figure appeared on the opposite side of the lake, brought into existence by her pencils. Tall, distant, shoulders high, face cast in her direction. He was just a grey smudge on the paper, but she could imagine what she would do if he appeared there now.
She was just setting down the pad, fully prepared to drift off into some surreal daydream featuring her odd and out of place hero, when a shadow blocked her sun. Shielding her eyes, she glanced up to see Harry.
“Hey, Gin, whatcha working on?” he asked, flopping to the ground and reaching for her sketch.
She snatched the sketchbook back from his hand, panic tightening her muscles. “Nothing.”
He glanced up at her, surprised and slightly hurt. “I'm sorry, I just–”
“It's okay,” she said quickly, though it wasn't. Not at all. She watched Harry fiddle with his hands awkwardly and she vaguely wondered if it had always been this hard for the two of them to make conversation.
Ginny, feeling guilty and desperate to break the silence, blurted out, “How about I draw you?”
Harry stared at her, shifting uncomfortably. “I don't know...”
Ginny sighed with relief at his response, wanting to escape from the oppressive atmosphere, when something on his face changed suddenly.
“Okay.”
Her short-lived relief collapsed, and she settled herself guiltily on the ground next to him. “You can just sit there, as you are, and try to relax.”
Harry was asleep long before Ginny had finally, in utter frustration, completed his body. His arms tucked under his head, his face turned slightly away, his legs spread out. She stared in dread at his face as she tried to shape her subject. The forehead formed, a scar sliding into view, and then the glasses, tilted in his sleep. Finally she came to his lips, slowly debating what to do. She decided on an expressive smudge, slightly turned up in sleep.
He really was gorgeous, relaxed like this, no signs remaining from the final confrontation, just the peaceful easiness that comes with the knowledge that a duty has been done. Harry had, for all intents and purposes, been released from his fight; his life could go in any direction now. Any direction he chose.
As her pencil hovered over the paper, Ginny envied his past seventeen years slightly. It sucked being obligated to do certain things, like save the world, but sometimes, Ginny wished her choices had been taken away as well. Life was too hard when there were options. Every choice is another one that she could blame herself for later. With a sigh, she closed the book and lay back on the grass.
At least Harry had the option of blaming his life on circumstance. Not that he would. She stared up at the clear blue sky and took a few deep gulps of air into her lungs. The desire for a nice long nap in the sun had disappeared and instead she just lay there, only moving to guiltily inch away from Harry when he shifted closer to her in his sleep.
An hour later, she was about to wake him up to go inside when an owl appeared by her side, silent and forbidding, and stuck out its leg. She took the large package, addressed to her, from it and smiled, ruffling its feathers gently.
It glared at her, before shaking its head imperiously to straighten its sleek black feathers before it rose and disappeared as easily as it had appeared. She stared at the gap in the sky where it had been moments before, until she remembered the package in her hands. Curiously, she turned it over, shook it up and down, and then cautiously began to open it. A letter, addressed in an elegant, feminine hand to her sat on top of a few smaller packages of sweets. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Swiss chocolates and she swiftly closed the package and shoved it in her bag.
She stood up and looked down at the boy on the ground. “I'm going in now, Harry,” she said loudly, waiting for him to open his eyes before she took off running for the castle's front door.
She heard him call after her, but she ignored it as she bounded up the stairs and towards the common room.
…
Dear Miss Weasley,
I’m so glad I got a chance to meet you while visiting my son. I was in Diagon Alley today and thought to send you some of my favorite chocolates. I hope that you enjoy them as much as I do and that we meet again soon.
Please take care of Draco and yourself.
Sincerely,
Narcissa Malfoy
The letter was short and to the point, yet the honesty was somehow poignant even on the page. And the chocolates were delicious. Ginny decided right away to write her back with thanks and settled into her bed, thinking about the last line.
…
She was sitting in the common room nearly two weeks later, when a fourth year asked her a question about a potion and she answered it easily, and she realized that she got it. She was beginning to fully understand the theory, the exceptions, the basics; and while this might not have been a great accomplishment, to her it felt incredible. Nothing could have stopped the smile on her face; not even the fact that when she looked up at the clock next, it was already half nine.
She slid silently into the library and darted past Madame Pince and into the dark corridor of shelves.
Out of breath, she arrived at their table and slid wordlessly into the seat next the Draco. “I'm really sorry,” she whispered, “I-”
But Draco's hand cut her off, covering her lips to keep her silent. And all of a sudden, she was alive again, brought to life by a simple gesture, an uncharacteristically gentle touch. Her heart raced, her lips heating up beneath his fingertips, as she watched, enthralled, as he peered out into the darkness of the library, waiting. At long last, he pulled his hand way, and Ginny unconsciously reached up to touch her lips.
She ignored the quirk of his eyebrow at the gesture, and instead shrugged, hoping to force the tension from her shoulders.
“Thanks for waiting, I was... distracted.”
He shrugged, and opened the book before them. “I took the time to gather what we'd need.”
She nodded, watching as he fell into teacher mode — indifferent, slightly chastising, but mostly helpful. Together, they had a rhythm, finally at the point where the questions would bubble up in her mind, challenging his method or means. After they covered a chapter on theory, he gave her a potion to design.
She had a list of ingredients and the intended use, so she set to work. She wasn't allowed to use books during this exercise, but she could ask basic questions. He stared at the ceiling as she scribbled down quick notes. After less than thirty minutes, she handed him the piece of paper.
He stared down at it, and then the strangest expression crossed his face. It was one of confusion. She watched in amazement as he actually started to chew on his bottom lip, a gesture that she might have found a little bit too distracting.
After five minutes, he glanced back up and shook his head. “This is the most disjointed, confusing, and roundabout way to make a shield potion that I have ever seen.”
Ginny stared at the table, running her nail along the edge and chipping away at the varnish. She waited for the corrections.
“It's also brilliant. Were you aware that the way you've designed this would increase the strength of the potion almost sevenfold and allow the drinker to protect the area around them as well?”
Ginny met his eyes, shocked. “Huh?”
He looked back, equally amazed. “I mean, I know you did it accidentally, but this just proves what I've been saying all along. Potions isn't always about the ingredients, it's also about the maker.”
She tilted her head, trying to decipher the tone of his voice.
“It's very artistic,” he continued, “the way that you combine the ingredients, it's... creative.”
He paused, staring down at the paper in his hands, and Ginny drummed her fingers slowly on the tabletop.
“I… uh… like to draw.”
He glanced up, smirking at her, and she pursed her lips.
“And you're left handed.”
She nodded.
“Being left handed is supposed to be the curse of the potion maker,” Draco said, tipping his chair back as he mused up at the ceiling. “But Tom Riddle was left handed, and there was probably no person more gifted at creating new potions than he.”
Ginny shivered at the mention of the name, her face starting to turn red, and she suddenly felt very alone and very claustrophobic in the library.
When Draco was silent for a long moment, she glanced up to figure out where his mind was only to find his eyes watching her like a hawk. She didn't look away as he stared at her contemplatively, but her heartbeat increased — and this time it was definitely from fear.
“It is possible, of course, that there are residual remnants of his soul in you.”
Ginny still refused to break eye contact, even as her chest tightened and her breath stopped. Mostly, she felt panic, but there was also anger there, under the surface. She wanted to stand up, to slap him, to scream ‘It was your father.’ But she just sat there — sat there and didn’t breathe.
He continued to watch her for at least a minute, barely moving and not changing expression, and she wondered vaguely what he was looking for. But then, suddenly, he just shrugged and dropped his eyes. Ginny waited another moment, and then sucked air into her lungs so quickly that she felt dizzy. Her head spun, and she felt weak and her body tilted forward.
Passing out was pretty much just what she had expected — everything went dark and the she woke up on the floor. What she hadn't been expecting was waking up to Draco Malfoy staring down at her with something that clearly resembled concern etched across his features.
“Weasley,” he snapped. “Are you okay?”
She took a few deep breaths, wondering what she was leaning against, when she noticed that her head was being cradled in his arms.
“Yeah.” She was definitely okay. “I just… forgot to breathe.” She sat up, slowly, groaning.
“For fuck's sake, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Shut up,” she snapped back. “You're the one who brought up Tom.”
If the use of the name surprised him, he didn't show it. He just rolled his eyes as he helped her stand up.
“Well, don't take everything so seriously. Riddle was a much different potion maker than you are. And he couldn't draw for shit, trust me, I've seen some of his sketches. They're almost as scary as the man himself.”
Ginny stared at Draco, unable to figure out what to do with his inadvertent admission of fear and his request for trust, before she burst out laughing. He stared at her for a moment before chuckling and shaking his head.
“Absolutely insane,” he mumbled, but she heard the smile in his voice.
“What would Voldemort draw?” she asked, giggling.
His shoulders shook lightly with a silent chuckle as his eyes slid to hers. There was a lightness there — relieved and free, aware. “Mostly cityscapes, surprisingly enough. I think he wanted to be a painter.”
Ginny really couldn’t help herself then, she burst into fresh peals of laughter and grabbed the table’s edge, as she wobbled dizzily. “Just–like–Hitler,” she said in between gasps of laughter.
Draco chortled, but she couldn’t see his face or understand his response. Her shoulders shook, and her hands trembled, and she knew it wasn’t all from laughter. She found her chair and sat down slowly, finally controlling herself with deep breaths. She closed her eyes and focused on the rhythm, but the blackness just made the dizziness worse. She felt a bit drunk. When she glanced up at him, he raised his eyebrows — a silent question replacing one he would never have voiced aloud.
“I’m okay, just still a bit dizzy.”
“Alright, I think that's enough for tonight, but we'll have to meet for a bit longer tomorrow to cover everything for your exam next week.”
Ginny nodded, still fighting the slowly fading dizziness.
“Can you make it back to your common room?” he asked, carefully.
Her eyebrows shot upwards, a teasing smile rising to her lips. “Are you offering to walk me back? Isn't that breaking one of the rules?”
Draco's face was expressionless, giving nothing away, as his eyes searched hers. “I'm sure it would break almost all of them.”
And then he stepped back, tipping his head. “Don’t get caught.”
Ginny watched him disappear, her smile disappearing with him. The dizziness was gone, but it left confusion in its very wide wake.
…
The next week followed much as she had expected it to. Ginny studied with Draco, tried to nudge Harry towards Hermione, avoided Ron unless offered the chance to harm him physically, received more notes from Narcissa, and just in general had a really good week. That afternoon, she was sitting in the library, all the way at the back as she had become quite taken with their usual place, and casually wondering how she could trick Draco into letting her help him with Transfigurational theory.
She doodled aimlessly across the assignment he had given her, sketching the stack of books on the table in the margins. They hadn’t talked about the Tom thing since it had happened, and Ginny felt both relieved and anxious. It felt as if there was still something that needed saying, as if she hadn’t fully explained herself. She was just adding the shadow the books cast on the table when another joined it.
She glanced up, knowing it must be Draco, when the words she had been planning caught in her throat. He was seething. And not in the practiced, calculated way he did in the hallways, in a messy and truly pissed off way.
“What,” he ground out, obviously trying to control himself, “did you say to my mother?”
Ginny shrank in her chair, even as she wanted to laugh. Despite the ferocity in his voice and the vein throbbing on his forehead, she wasn’t really that scared of him anymore.
His jaw clenched and unclenched. He looked like he was about to explode.
“Which time?”
If anything, her response made him even angrier. He jerked out the chair across from her and slammed it down on the floor, sending a few books to the floor. Then he turned, glaring at her across the table.
“I just got a letter from her. Apparently, the two of you have been corresponding?”
“Uh... yeah,” Ginny said, feeling the flush creep up onto her cheeks, even as she tried to fight it. “I just told her that you are a great teacher and–”
“She thinks we're DATING!” he said, his voice only slightly louder than usual, yet still driving Ginny back further into her chair. “She wants me to properly INTRODUCE YOU!”
“Uh...” Ginny stammered, her throat drying up and her fingers tightening around one another. “I'm... sorry?”
Draco growled. Actually growled. The sound starting low in his throat and traveling roughly over her skin. She shivered, not stopping to wonder why.
His jaw clenched and unclenched again, his rage building, if possible, as he muttered to himself. Ginny could only catch little bits, but phrases like ‘low-class’, ‘obnoxious family’, and ‘idiotic, conniving, pain in the arse’ stood out and started to make her angry.
She pushed it all to the background though, and burst out laughing. He glanced down at her, startled, as she shook her head incredulously at him. The ferocity on his face just made her laugh harder.
“Shut up,” he hissed, looking over his shoulder. There were footsteps headed towards them, and without a thought, Ginny ran around the table, grabbed him by his tie and pulled him with her into the nook between the shelf and the wall.
Ginny's face caught fire as she realized their proximity. She hadn't stood this close to him since the day she had proposed the deal, and her heart was racing, just as it did whenever she looked at that drawing. His back was inches away from her chest, her arm still wrapped around his side, her hand on his tie. She stopped breathing, wild fantasies running through her mind faster than the blood in her veins.
There were voices then, and Draco began to lean out to see, but she grabbed him again and pulled his strangely pliant figure back towards her. They stood like that, both waiting, apprehensive, for a long minute until there was nothing but silence on the other side.
Ginny slowly released her grip on his now crumpled tie, and pushed him away. The quickly disappearing heat left her cold, inside and out. He stepped out, peering cautiously around, and then nodded at her. She followed him, pulling the cobwebs from her hair with a frown.
He glared at her. “It suits you.”
Her temper flared again, but she checked it, smiling cheekily. “Thank you.” She reached up and plucked a tiny spider from his hair. “This doesn't suit you.”
He stepped back quickly, alarm crossing his face for a moment, and she giggled. His glare intensified. He walked over to the table and started shuffling though her papers. She watched him, wondering if there was something else he wanted to say. His hands paused over the homework he had assigned her, before grabbing it and turning to her with a mocking sneer.
“If you turn that in, you’ll definitely get worse marks than Potter.”
She crossed her arms — to hell with anger management — and opened her mouth.
But he cut her off. “Finish it before tonight, and I’ll see you back here.”
She let out a breath, the anger fading temporarily, and nodded, staring at his chest and the way his tie fell, crumpled against his breastbone.
He was smirking at her; she could feel it. “And stop writing to my mother.”
She jerked her eyes up and glared, but he was already walking away.
…
The next morning, Ginny woke up early for the first time since the beginning of term. She had forgotten to close her curtains all the way, and the gap had cast early morning sunshine on her face, pulling her from sleep. She felt refreshed and light. She even went to breakfast, stuffing herself with eggs and bacon, before practically skipping to class.
It had been good, too. Things felt right for the first time in a long time. Hermione had resurfaced by lunch, and they spent the entire period making bad academic jokes, just to laugh at the identical looks on Harry and Ron’s faces as they tried to grasp the point. Her brother had smiled at her and ruffled her hair. And she had even caught Harry giving Hermione appreciative looks. Snape had handed her back another ‘O’ on an assignment, her fourth since Draco, and McGonagall had approved her special research project. There was even chocolate cake for Colin’s birthday and he loved the film she got him for his camera.
Her mood was perfect all day. And she openly enjoyed it. The problem with days like that, though, is they unexpectedly get worse. And usually much worse. Her day shattered like a pane of glass when she and Natalie had been walking back from the party for Colin in the Room of Requirement, when they heard yelling.
Shrugging at one another, they thought, why not check it out? Ginny wished they hadn’t.
The great hall felt colder than it should have been when she entered it, and what she saw chilled her further. Draco had Thomas Portman, a fourth year Gryffindor, pinned to the wall, and looked about ready to tear off his head. Thomas was shaking and looking a bit pale, but still thoroughly pissed off.
And in that moment the happiness was gone, replaced by anger, fear, sadness, regret, and — most powerfully — uncertainty.
There was no one else around, but she could hear more coming, so she crossed the room quickly.
“Stop it!” she cried, watching Thomas struggle helplessly.
She felt helpless too, as the two boys turned to her. Draco’s icy eyes met her pleading ones, but he didn’t relinquish his hold. Thomas tried to speak, but Draco was practically smothering him.
“What are you going to do?” she asked softly.
His anger focused on her for a moment, and finally, he dropped Thomas onto the floor. The younger boy wheezed, finally regaining the ability to breathe properly, and Ginny shot him a worried look, before turning to Draco.
But he wasn’t looking at her anymore — he was staring at the boy on the floor, still furious. Ginny walked over and, very discreetly, slid her hand across Draco’s back, a simple comfort, before she leaned over and helped Thomas struggle to his feet. She sensed Draco relax slightly as Natalie joined her, and the two of them pulled Thomas to his feet, leaving Draco standing alone, severe and terrifying, just as he had been before.
When they had traveled out of the hall, Ginny sat Thomas down on the step. “What happened?”
Thomas shifted achingly. She winced, wondering about the damage, and feeling guilty. Part of her mind staunchly defended Draco, the Draco she knew, while the other screamed about all the times that things like this had happened before.
“He attacked me! Wasn’t that obvious?”
It was Natalie who spoke first, and Ginny loved her for it. “Just because someone loses a fight, doesn’t mean they didn’t initiate it.”
Thomas’s anger was suddenly directed at the two of them. “I’m telling you, I was in a hurry, and I bumped into him. He insulted me, I insulted him right back, and then he hit me.”
Ginny sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What did you say?” she asked. It had been a long time since she had seen Draco look so angry.
Natalie brushed aside the question, though, temporarily saving Thomas. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “I’ll be fine, a little bruised, but he only hit me once. Stole all my breath.”
Natalie nodded and helped him to his feet. They began to walk towards the common room, and Ginny felt the irritation build in her throat. She wasn’t irritated with either of them, though, not even with Draco. She was just irritated. It had been such a good day.
…
“I didn’t really think you’d come,” Draco said, pulling Ginny out of her very tired stupor. She met his eyes and could see immediately that he wished she hadn’t. He still looked angry; in fact, he looked royally pissed off.
“Why not?” she asked. “We had a meeting, after all. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”
It was the first time he had ever been late.
He shrugged, not quite an apology. “I got distracted.” He loosened his tie as he pulled out his chair and sat. Ginny couldn’t read the look on his face — an unsettling mixture of weariness and anger, impatience and bitterness. She started to wish he hadn’t shown.
“What happened earlier?” she asked hesitantly.
He shot her a look that clearly said this was not a welcome topic, but she pressed further. “What did he say to you?”
His look intensified, and she could tell he was abandoning his control. “Is there any part of you that isn’t an idiot?” he asked snidely.
She hated the tone, opening her mouth to tell him off, before changing her mind. “Do we need any books?” she asked softly, finally looking away from him.
Some of the tension in his shoulders loosened, and he wordlessly handed her a slip of paper with a long list written on it. It was quite clear that tonight she would be working with a version of Draco that she hadn't seen in a long while. With a sigh, she lugged herself to her feet very slowly and went in search of the books.
She was just pulling down the second to last book when she glanced down at the list again, pausing to admire Draco's perfectly schooled writing. Then she stopped. Draco. When had he become Draco? Her mind stretched back in time, trying to differentiate between Draco and Malfoy, but the name seemed so natural now, so rational and not even the slightest bit awkward. Even in memories from last year, or the years before, times when she definitely hated him, he still seemed to be Draco. He had even been Draco when he had Thomas pinned to the wall.
She shook her head, testing the name out loud to herself and pausing in surprise when she realized it no longer stuck in her throat, but slid carelessly off her tongue, as if she had said it, and could keep saying it, every day. She didn’t think she had ever said it before, though. She said it again. It was a surprisingly pleasant name, round and flat all at once.
Slowly, she wandered back over to the table where the object of her worrying thoughts sat, bent over her assignments from the previous nights.
It wasn't fun that night. It felt like they weren't making any progress and both of them were short tempered and distracted. Finally, around midnight, Ginny allowed her shoulders to slump and she rested her head on the table. She was tired. It was too much, coming here every night, and the work was too draining.
“Come on,” he said, his voice weary, the anger that had had her on edge all night still lingering below the surface. “Get up.”
“Oh, Draco, let me sleep,” she said softly, her eyes staying closed. Silence followed her plea, and she was just releasing her last hold on the world when she realized what she said.
Her eyes snapped open, suddenly awake, only to meet Draco's angry glare. And she was afraid.
She lunged to her feet and Draco followed her. Apparently, he had been waiting to snap and now she was trapped between a very furious him and the very solid shelf. She glanced around, hurriedly, planning her escape.
“Look, I'm sorry, Draco,” she said, pausing to curse her second slip. But now that she had said it, it seemed impossible to stop.
“Don't call me that,” he snarled, as he took a step forward.
And suddenly, he was too close and she was too awake and there wasn't enough time.
“Dra-” she began pleadingly.
His lips slammed down against hers. Open-eyed and open-mouthed, he shoved her back against the books. And it was too angry, and too violent, and too right. Ginny was melting into him, totally forgetting herself as her hands didn't even pause before they went to his tie. His tongue was in her mouth, hot, wet, and desperate; and she was shaking against him. He yanked the hem of her skirt up, pulling her body up and against his with hands that were much too hot and too anxious.
There was too much of him to push away, but she didn’t even try. She gave in, even though she wasn’t ready. She was too ready, and there was too much between them as they pulled at one another. The earth was shaking beneath their feet, the world was falling down around them.
Her eyes slammed shut, trying to block it all out, lost to the rushing of blood in her ears, and her hands finally found bare skin. He growled against her lips, and she shuddered, moaning as his fingers ran along the edge of her knickers. And that was when he jerked away, dropping her to the floor unceremoniously, to stare down at her in dismay. She watched in confused horror as he stepped back. Once, twice, and then tuned on his heel and was gone.
She heard the library doors slam shut, and tears gathered inexplicably in her eyes, as silent, confused sobs shook her body.
...
Ginny had no idea how she made it back to her room that night, still riding a high of irritation, desire, concern, confusion, pain, and longing. It was the longing that got to her — more powerful than anything else — she longed for something. But she had no idea what. She was confused about everything, him, her, and all that had happened. It was driving her crazy.
It wasn’t about the sex; which, had he not stopped it, she probably would have allowed, she realized in shock. It wasn’t the fact that he had looked at her there on the floor, his eyes full of anger, lust, and fear — cutting her. It wasn’t even the disappointment swelling within her that irritated her the most.
It was the longing. It was the way she wished he was by her side all the time, lying in the grass under the sun, eating cake at Colin’s party in the Room of Requirement, watching Quidditch from the hill by the lake. It was the confusing realization that she wanted him with her and the smothering fear that he would never want to have anything to do with her again.
It was the longing that sat with her in bed as she tried to sleep. That kept her up half the night and that drove her to find a distraction.
She finally decided to write back to Narcissa, as the woman insisted Ginny call her. She didn’t even stop to consider her state of mind as she wrote the letter, sealing it and leaving it on her bedside table, before finally collapsing onto her bed.
The thoughts crept back, though, as bad ones tend to, and she tossed and turned all night, dreading the morning.
…
Author notes: Thanks for reading!
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