It was black, blacker than normal. Blacker than anything she had drawn before. It hadn’t started off that black, but during the three hours she had spent waiting, she had redrawn the image again and again in charcoal. Her hands were black, the table was dusty, and there were most likely smudges on her face.
It had started off as a candle, but all that could be made out now was the flame, the wick, and the small amount of light surrounding it. There had been a painting in the background, books, and a person. But now it was just black.
She sneezed.
She hadn’t really been waiting for him the entire time; if he had been coming, he would have arrived within the first thirty minutes. No, she hadn’t been waiting for him; she had been waiting to find the energy to stand back up, to go back to the common room, and to maybe accept that he really hadn’t shown. She didn’t know exactly what she should feel about that, but she did know that she was angry. She just didn’t know with whom she was angry.
She blew lightly on the drawing, sending black powder across the table, before she closed it. It took a little longer to convince herself to stand, but, eventually, she did, her heart heavy and maybe more than a little bruised.
She walked slowly from the library, ignoring the snickering Ravenclaws who stared at her ruffled and dirty appearance. She ignored everything, trying not to focus on anything as she traveled down the third floor corridor, down the main stairs, taking the second left on the second floor.
Moaning Myrtle glared at her when she came into the bathroom before disappearing. She was obviously still a little sore about that whole diary incident. Ginny took the second sink on the left, washing her hands under the hot tap, before grabbing a towel to fix her face.
She stared into the mirror, looking at her pale skin, washed out by a long night and an exhausting day. Her freckles stood out angrily, dark brown defects marking her and — what was it that Draco had said last year — defining her status. And her red hair, darkened by the short winter days, made it even worse. She was all starkness, palest white, eyes too dark, hair too bright. She stood out, and not like Draco, who was watchable; she was just a sore thumb, an eyesore.
There were too many intrinsic contradictions about her. She would have loved to just blend into the background but she was incapable of it. Working against something as real as that for the past six years had only made it worse.
The hot water still running, she sank to her knees, staring at the pipes. How long had it been since she had come here?
Right after Harry, Ron, and Hermione had taken off? And then before, after she had sex with Dean, an empty, painful experience that had ended… badly. And then when she had heard about Bill going missing. And there were dozens of other occurrences, times when there was just nothing left to fight for or against.
She traced the small engraving of a snake on the pipe with her fingernail and sank back against her heels.
How foreign Parseltongue had felt in her mouth, dirty and defiling. She could remember shaping the hisses, the long ‘s’s rolling over her tongue.
Water brushed against her leg, and she looked up, startled. Myrtle had made all the toilets flood, and the puddle was growing. She groaned in irritation, before standing.
“Can't you tell that I need a little time to be alone?” she shouted.
The misty form of Myrtle emerged from the second stall, pouting, as usual. “What do I care?” she snapped in her nasally voice, “Go somewhere else. I don’t want to be miserable with you.”
Ginny gaped at her. “If you weren’t a ghost, I would punch you.”
Myrtle sniffed haughtily, before diving back into her toilet, splashing water and spreading the puddle further across the room. Ginny took a step back, and then let out an angry breath, turning and leaving the bathroom. She stalked down the passage, back to the main stair, when she saw him, the bastard, walking through the Great Hall with Zabini and, of all people, Colin.
She stomped down the stairs to the group, stopped in front of them, and shouted, “Draco Malfoy, you are a COWARD!”
The three of them stared at her, halted in their tracks, each with looks that — in any other circumstance — would have made her laugh. Instead, she felt the blush creeping up her neck. She wasn’t sure who moved first, but she thought it was Zabini, who cleared his throat politely.
“And you,” Draco said, crossing his arms, “are an idiot.”
“Right,” Zabini said, glancing between them, as Ginny mirrored Draco’s stance. “I’ll be off, then. Creevey, we have business to…” he trailed off before he just grabbed Colin’s arm and dragged him towards the stairwell.
“What was that about?” Ginny snapped.
Draco scowled at her. “None of your business.”
She just glared right back with unrestrained anger through the long silence before he raised an eyebrow at her.
“How long did you wait?”
She was shattered instantly by the tone of his voice — curious, but not mocking. She felt herself cave in, different emotions folding in on one another, until she was left with nothing.
“Long enough.”
He was stepping towards her and she really wished he wouldn’t; she wished with every little bit of her left that she could just turn and walk away. But she was falling apart on the landing of the main stair. His hand rested on her shoulder, but she didn’t look up. It was too much, the weight of his hand, of him, along with the bathroom and the candle and the red of her hair.
“Come on,” he said softly, his hand sliding down and wrapping around her wrist to tug her along behind him.
She followed soundlessly, as they crossed the Great Hall and headed toward the dungeon. He pulled her into his stairwell.
“I should have come,” he said.
She frowned at him. “Yeah.”
“What was I supposed to say?”
“Something. Anything. Nothing.”
His hand cupped her cheek, and, just for a second, she let herself lean into it before stepping back. There was solid wall behind her.
“You really are a coward.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
He stepped forward. Once. Twice. The wall was cold, and she dropped her sketchbook to the floor. She was trapped, trapped again by him. Or maybe she had always been trapped, caught in his snare and unable to escape. Why would you want to? a small voice whispered to her.
And then he kissed her, treading into her space, her soul. Just the tiniest brush of lips — a touch and hot breath.
“You can't–” she said, her voice cracking, “You can't kiss me like that.”
“Why not?” he whispered against her neck, moving closer. His lips brushed against her ear, just as soft. Then down her neck.
“It’s not fair, not when you play games and have mood swings and act like a fucking coward,” she said, hearing tears she did not want in her voice.
“Shh, Gin,” he whispered against her lips.
And pretenses be damned, her name on his lips was all the motivation she needed, her emotions tumbled back into her, and she kissed him. Hard. Bruising. He pressed her against the wall, his body firm against hers, as his fingers gently traveled through her hair.
It didn’t fit, all the heat, the pressure, and then patient hands, gentle touches. It was confusing, distorted, and overpowering.
She tugged at his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers, and then ran cold fingers down his spine. He shuddered against her, slowing the kiss. Patient lips to match patient fingers.
She growled against his mouth and could feel his smile in response. It made her blood boil, rage building on top of desire and passion and hurt.
She shoved him away, but he just stepped forward again, his hand reaching up to continue playing with her hair.
“Stop it with the fucking games!” she snapped. “Stop trying to control me.”
He sighed, before bending down to retrieve her sketchbook. She snatched it from him and pulled it against her chest. Not the best shield, admittedly, but it made her feel safer.
He stared at her a long time, his face unreadable. “What would you have liked me to say?”
Ginny shifted uncomfortably; he was still too close.
“I don’t know.”
“Would you have liked me to say that I want to kiss you again?”
She shrugged.
“Would you have liked it if I told you that I’m even more confused than you are?”
She glared at him.
“How about, I feel more at ease when I’m with you than I ever have before?”
“Is that true?” she snapped, unable to control the tone of her voice.
He sighed. “They all are.”
She stared at him, open and waiting before her. “I guess that would have been a good start.”
He smirked at her then, familiar and comforting, and she felt herself smiling lightly back.
“It still doesn’t answer you question.”
“Wha–Which one?”
“What happens now.”
“No, I guess not.”
The silence was there again, and his hand went back to playing with her hair. The hair he was supposed to hate.
“What did you draw while you were waiting?” he asked finally, turning and starting slowly towards the stairs.
She followed him hesitantly, unsure if that was an invitation. “How do you know I was drawing?” she asked, concentrating on not slipping. The stairs appeared much more treacherous than they had before, and she gripped the banister tightly.
“You have charcoal all over your shirt,” he said, tossing a smirk up at her. “And your neck.”
She blushed a little at that, stopping on the landing and watching as he opened the door. She followed him in. The room was a mess, not at all what she had expected. There were books scattered across the floor, papers stacked haphazardly.
He shot her a look, not at all apologetic. “I was studying.”
She nodded, though he wasn’t looking at her, and watched as he lit a fire. Heat flooded the room instantly, and she felt herself relaxing easily. She crossed to the bed and sat down, sinking into the duvet.
She let herself fall backwards and sank into the down feather version heaven. She sighed contentedly. “This is the most comfortable bed ever.”
“Really?” he asked, “It gives me horrible back pains.”
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Spoiled brat.”
He sat down on the other side of the bed, leaning back next to her. “It’s a bit soft.”
It felt like Ginny’s heart had stopped it was beating so fast. She closed her eyes again and tried to control her breathing. In. Out. In. Out. That seemed normal.
“So, what did you draw?” he asked.
She rolled over towards him and pulled her knees up to her chest. “Darkness.”
He turned his head to look at her, and the silence was back.
“We missed dinner,” she said, glancing up at the clock.
“You missed dinner,” he corrected pointedly.
“You ate?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “But I went looking for you.”
She smiled at him, reaching over to touch his hair. “Why didn’t you just look in the library?”
“I figured you had already left.”
Ginny thought about the slowly traveling hands of the clock which had stared down at her and mocked her impatience. “No, I was still there.”
He pulled himself upright, reaching back to muss her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“You apologize too much,” she said, kicking off her shoes and moving across the bed. She felt strangely awkward about how comfortable she was here, but she brushed it aside.
“What else would you have me do?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
She grinned, leaning over to whisper in his ear, “Stop doing things that you need to apologize for.”
“Gin,” he sighed, leaning back against her.
“I guess I’ll have to forgive you,” she said grudgingly, a smile hovering over her lips.
He sank back even further and Ginny let them fall onto the mattress.
“You have too much faith in me,” he said, his eyes closed.
She turned to look down at him, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
So she kissed him.
…
It was only April, and it was already ridiculously warm. Ginny walked towards the lake Friday night as the sun set slowly, dipping orange fingers into itself.
She settled on the grass, just looking, the beauty seeming crystallized as the sun sank towards its destination, diving into the water. The final descent took an hour; and she waited, peacefully, for the air to turn crisp and sting. She leaned back and stared upwards. The hill she sat on raised her above most else, and only a small portion of the mountains was visible if she looked right, the highest turrets of the castle to the left.
It had been a dizzying few weeks — weeks of light conversations and brief kisses; and Ginny was very patiently waiting for the other shoe to drop. He smiled more, was more willing to re-explain things when they occasionally bothered to study, and was always touching her — as if to remind himself that she was still there. It was wonderful, yes, and just being with him filled her with a happiness she didn’t really understand. But there was something in his eyes when he spoke to her, a distance that he was trying not to breach.
She was sinking into a light doze, as stars appeared, first one, then two, then dozens. Tiny pinpricks in the greater canvas.
And when he came, she heard him long before she could see him, his footfalls treading lightly on the grass, leaving hardly any mark. He sat down next to her and stretched out his long legs.
“I thought you were studying.”
“I got bored. I thought you were heading back to the tower.”
“Ron’s a little angry with me.”
She turned slightly, and saw him looking out over the lake.
“Why?” he asked without turning his head.
“I think Harry may have told him what happened.”
Draco glanced down at her, grinning wickedly. “What happened?”
She reached over and swatted him. “Are you gloating?” The smirk was replaced by a look of utter innocence. “Thought so. He asked me out.”
“Oblivious Harry Potter finally asked out besotted Ginny Weasley?”
“Yes. And I am not besotted!”
“Maybe not anymore.” Ginny stuck her tongue out at him, and he chuckled. “I can't believe how childish you are.”
“Oh, shut up.”
He smirked lightly and turned to look out over the lake.
She reached for him and found his hand. She brushed her fingers across it lightly, before resting her own on top of it. They sat like that until all the stars came out, the sunset fading into darkness, the sky empty of all but those tiny pinpricks of light.
“Come inside with me,” he said, pulling her back from near sleep again. “I need someone there to keep me focused.”
“That is the last thing I’ll be doing,” she responded sleepily.
Through half-closed eyelids, she watched him smile at her before she stretched and started to stand. “I’ll go first, if you leave, I’ll just fall asleep.”
She ran her fingers through his hair as she started to walk away, not looking back until she reached the top of the stairs. He was still sitting, staring out at the lake. He glowed in the night, pale skin, pair hair, white shirt. Ginny stared for a moment at what would make a perfect painting, before she stepped through the doors, all peace and reverence.
She let herself into his rooms and walked, without hesitation, over to the bed. She kicked off her shoes, sending one accidentally under the bed, and laid down. It was cold in the room, and she glanced balefully over at the hearth before making a nest out of the duvet, bundling in his scent and feeling perfectly comfortable. He came in five minutes later, but she was already mostly asleep. He walked over and placed a kiss on her forehead, the only part of her visible, before he crossed to his desk. Ginny drifted off to the scratching of his fountain pen on parchment.
…
There was something tickling her foot, rapidly moving fingers across the sole. She jerked her foot to the left, but it just came back with more force. She tried to wiggle away, deeper into her cloud, but they were persistent hands. She jerked away again.
But her spell was broken, and the tickling didn’t stop. Groaning, Ginny tucked her feet under her, slowly opening her eyes.
“Finally,” Draco said, “I thought you were going to sleep forever.”
She moaned groggily, and twisted onto her side, pulling the blanket with her. “Go ‘way.”
He laughed at her, and she felt the bed shift as he climbed up next to her. She was waking slowly, the long cottony threads that held her to sleep falling away. She forced her eyes to open again, and caught him staring down at her.
She tossed an exaggerated pout at him. “I was dreaming.”
“I know. You talk in your sleep.”
She felt herself blushing under that unwavering look.
“It was very colorful.”
She reached up and rested her hand on his neck, and he dipped his head, kissing her forehead. He started to pull away, but she didn’t let go.
“What did I say?” she asked, rising to meet his lips with her own and bringing herself back into the world.
The last of sleep fell away as he kissed her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he pulled her against him, heat building as they tried to get closer.
“You made that noise you make, when I kiss you right here,” Draco whispered against her lips as his fingers traced circles against the skin below her ear. He leaned over and kissed it, and she tipped her head back, a small moan escaping. “And then you said my name.”
His teeth traveled slowly down her neck, and she suddenly realized that they were very much in a bed and not in the library, not in his stairwell, not in the abandoned corridor on the way back to the Gryffindor tower.
“Impossible,” she said, hardly recognizing the throaty whisper that came out of her mouth.
“How’s that?” he asked, kissing along her collarbone and across her shoulder. She longed for those lips on bared skin.
“I always remember those dreams,” she said, pulling him down onto the bed with her.
She could feel his smile against her lips as he kissed her, long and heated, but still holding back. Her hands started on the top buttons shakily. One. Two. Three. Four. And then she could reach his chest, the skin hot and flushed beneath her fingertips. She imagined the red indentations she would leave, if only briefly, and she pressed harder. She was all but begging him to let go.
His lips found purchase on her neck again, placing open-mouth kisses along her throat, and she moaned, forgetting the buttons and just tugging impatiently.
“You’re going to rip it,” he said against her earlobe, spiking heat through her stomach.
“You have dozens more.”
He bit down on the skin and she shuddered.
Five, six, seven, eight. The last button came undone and she slipped her hands around his waist, pulling him down towards her. She bit his lip when he resisted, and he groaned — the most delicious sound she had ever heard.
And when he kissed her this time, she could tell that she had almost won. Whatever edge he was teetering on, he was about to fall. Because it wasn’t fair that she was the only one falling, faster and faster, the blood rushing in her ears, and his mouth on hers.
A tiny bit of fear fisted in her stomach as his hands slipped under her skirt, pulling her hips to his, and despite the fire, the pleasure, the way her skin burned beneath his touch, this didn’t even have a definition yet, and—
“Gin,” he said, pulling back slightly and resting his forehead on hers. “We have to stop.”
She blanked totally, trying to get her breathing back under control, to stifle the disappointment, the relief.
“Why?”
“Gin, I just… can’t. Not to you.”
He pulled away and sat as far away from her as the bed would allow.
“What does that mean?” she asked, reaching for him.
He shrugged her hand away. She crawled across the space and settled down behind him, resting her forehead on his shoulder.
He was tense, but after a moment, he relaxed against her, reaching up to touch her hair, curling it around his fingers. He took a deep breath, and then another.
“I just–”
“Did I, I mean, did I…?” Ginny interrupted him.
“No, it’s not–”
“I mean it’s just because, well–”
“Look, Gin,” he said, cutting her off. “This isn’t exactly the least difficult thing I’ve ever had to say, so will you please stop interrupting me?”
She shut up, wrapping her arms around his waist to pull him a bit closer. He released her hair and took a deep breath, turning so that they were almost facing one another.
“It’d be totally different if you were just another easy…”
“Actually, I’m trying incredibly hard to be easy,” she said with a grin when he trailed off.
He shot her his ‘please shut up’ look, but she could see the smile crinkling at the edge of his eyes.
“But you’re not. Not like that. Not for me. And–”
“Draco,” she said, interrupting him again. “Shut up.”
His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth. But she cut him off with laughter, throwing her head back and releasing some of the tension. When the humor finally abated, she found him watching her.
“You are absolutely insane,” he muttered.
“Yes,” she teased, poking him. “And you respect me, admit it!”
He turned on her, reaching out to tickle her, his hands slipping under her shirt and finding bare skin. She shrieked with laughter as he pinned her to the bed, her giggles turning into breathy sighs as his lips followed his fingers’ path.
“I admit it,” he said finally, rolling off her and propping himself up on his elbow.
She wanted to say it, right then. To tell him how she felt in no uncertain terms, but the words caught in her throat and she was stuck just staring at him. He smiled at her, reaching over to brush his fingers across her lips.
She sighed — the touch a benediction, a prayer — reverential and sacred. Her eyes closed and she rolled across the bed, into his arms.
He pulled her back against his chest, his arm curling around her and holding her tightly to him. Her mind slowly shut down as she relaxed against him, drifting off.
“Gin,” he whispered, combing her hair away from her ear. “You can't stay.”
She elbowed him lightly. “I just want five more minutes.”
He laughed against her ear, his lips running over the shell. “Okay.”
She sighed, relaxed further, and let go.
…
When she woke up, she could tell it was morning. She was cold and there were people talking; her eyes slid open slowly. She was in the Gryffindor common room, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting across from her, whispering softly.
Draco must have brought her back and dumped her on the couch. She could vaguely remember being draped across his back, piggy-back fashion, and trying — and failing — to tell him the password. (It was 'Ronald Weasley is a great big lump' — Hermione had changed it after their last fight.)
Hermione glanced up and saw her opened eyes. The older girl smiled warmly, and Ginny felt momentarily reassured.
“Where have you been?” Ron growled angrily.
Her eyes darted to her brother's anxiously. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb, Ginny,” Harry said with a sigh from the other side of the couch. “I told you I was worried. You’ve been gone most nights for the past two months."
“Has it really been that long?” she asked sitting up. It was already April sixteenth. Four days until her evaluation.
Ron glared at her. “Yes.”
She felt herself start to panic. Four days? She had to study.
“Sorry, guys, I have to go.”
She started to stand, that dreaded feeling that she got when she slept in her clothes washing over her. Ron stood too, cutting off her escape.
“Sit!” he barked.
She stepped back and sat down, hardly even noticing her own obedience. But her anger bubbled up around her as she stared at their faces. Harry’s hurt look, Hermione’s embarrassed one, and Ron’s anger. She took a deep breath.
“Let’s start simple, where were you last night?” Ron asked.
Ginny bit her lip. That was a hard one to answer. “None of your business.”
Ron bristled. “Of course it’s my business, you’re my sister.”
“So?” she asked angrily. “You’re my brother and I don’t demand to know where you are all the fucking time!”
“Ginny,” he said warningly.
“No!” she snapped back. “Shut up and keep out of my life. I don’t care if you think I’m making the biggest mistakes of my life or ruining everything or being just in general stupid. IT IS MY LIFE! And I get to make MY OWN CHOICES! AND MY OWN MISTAKES!”
She stormed away from them and towards the stairs, anger pumping through her veins. It was slightly refreshing though, waking her up, refocusing her desire to do well. She scrubbed herself clean in the shower, dressed, and then headed to the library. It was already ten and in four days she would have to ace her Potions evaluation. A new determination filled her and she flipped through her notes from the year with a focused calm.
She’d be damned if she let Ron win.
...
“You look busy,” Draco said, joining her at their table several hours later.
She murmured in response but didn’t look up.
He opened a book across the table and got to work. The only problem with this was that his knees almost touched hers under the table. She could feel his body heat, smell his scent. He was close enough to touch, and she could lean across the table, grab him, and kiss him.
It was these thoughts that drove her to look up. He was staring at his book, his eyes darting left to right as he read. He looked edible in his grey sweater, his collarbone peeking out of the v-neck. She stared at the skin stretched across his neck, remembering the taste of it. Her fingers tapped against her book, and she pursed her lips.
“You have to leave,” she said.
He looked up. “What?”
“You have to leave,” she said again, staring directly into his eyes.
“Why?”
She frowned. “I can't concentrate with you here.”
He cocked his left eyebrow, stretching his legs out underneath the table. She had to move her own to accommodate them, and she glared as she did so.
“Why not?”
“You smell good.”
He smiled at that. “I’m afraid that I can't leave. I have to study, and I can concentrate much better if you’re around.”
“Liar,” she snapped. “You just want to drive me crazy.”
“That too,” he said with a smirk. “I was thinking about that love sonnet. It would be quite funny to see Snape’s face when you tell him that nature created him for your pleasure.”
She glared at him. “If I lose the bet because of you, I will never forgive you. And my singing voice will deafen you.”
He was still smiling at her with a fondness she didn’t understand.
“Fine, stay,” she said. “I’ll leave.”
“I have a better idea,” he said. “Why don’t you just breathe through your mouth? And then we can both study.”
She glared at him for a moment before her glare broke, and she chuckled drily. “Fine, we’ll both stay, but you’ll have to forgive me if I spontaneously combust.”
“You study with me all the time,” he said dismissively. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
She doubted that, but leaned over her textbook in response. It wasn't really all that bad, having him here was only slightly distracting; and when she concentrated, she realized that she heard the words she read in his voice anyway.
Two hours passed that way when she realized she had a massive crick in her neck. She paused to stretch and caught Draco looking emotionlessly out the window.
“Draco,” she said softly, “What are you thinking about?”
“You talk a lot in your sleep,” he said after a long silence.
She almost didn’t hear him at all. It was only because she was staring at him staring out the window.
“I thought we went over this already.”
“Yeah, I was just thinking about it.”
“Did I say something when you took me back to the tower?” she asked, making a few notes on the margins of her notebook paper. She glanced up at his face, taking in the contemplative stare and the suspicion lurking in his eyes.
“Nothing that made any sense.”
The way he said it left her feeling a little uneasy, but she forced herself to look away and return to her book.
“Ginny,” he said a few minutes later, and she glanced up, confused. He had never called her that before.
“What?” she asked, trying to ignore the cold fist in her stomach.
“I don't think we should do this.”
Her breath caught in her throat, feeling almost as though she had been ripped open; she didn’t even need to ask what he was talking about.
“Wha–why?”
“I just don’t think that the two of us together will be worth it.”
“Not worth it? Why not?” she said, her throat constricting painfully, even as anger spiked in her belly. “I thought you and I were good together.”
“It’s not as simple as all that, Gin.”
She glared at him. “Don’t talk to me about simplicity.”
“Look, I'm not trying to patronize you, I’m just saying that there is no one who would accept us as a couple and, anyway, I’m leaving. I don’t want to be your secret, and I know you don’t want to be mine.”
“Don’t assume anything,” she snapped, feeling slightly nauseous. “Plus, your mother would definitely accept us.”
He sighed. “You're making this really difficult.”
“Well, what would you like me to do? Just give up like you're doing now?” she snapped, the anger taking over now.
He was staring at his hands and his hair had fallen in his eyes, but Ginny could tell that she had gotten to him.
“I'm not 'giving up'. I just think that you — we — should take some time. Consider more carefully what you want, what you're asking – not just of me, but also of yourself.”
He wouldn’t meet her eyes across the table and she furiously started gathering her books.
“Good luck on your NEWTs,” she said, her voice laced with cold fury before she stalked from the library.
…
Ginny did a very good job of pretending that she didn’t care. She made it through the next four days, did what she felt to be an excellent job on her Potions evaluation, and then trudged back to the common room. With nothing else driving her, she fell onto one of the couches, and then proceeded to sleep through the rest of her Wednesday.
The noises in the evening pulled her from her doze, but she didn’t move, choosing instead to lie silently. Her eyes cracked open, and she watched the shifting of colors, the reds and the golds and the blacks, fading together in a cold haze, as people darted around the room and laughed, the sounds mixing, the colors blending, the feelings fading.
But that was how it was supposed to work, she told herself. Time forgives no man; life makes no exceptions. She allowed herself one night and one day to brood, and then she stopped. She forced herself to get up, to finish her Transfiguration special project, her Herbology essay, and the other work that was piling up, forgotten. It was the end of term, finals were in less than two weeks, and she had so much to catch up on.
So she forced herself to work, to pretend, to keep moving.
But, apparently, the only person she had convinced was herself. Even Snape had stared at her worriedly when he had handed back her evaluation marks. She had smiled at him and thanked him as she shoved them deep into her bag.
It was like a chunk of her was missing, the chunk that inspired her. It hadn’t always belonged to him, she had been fine before she had accidentally tumbled into his mother, before she had seem him smile, but now that he was gone, he had taken that huge chunk of her with him.
A far larger chunk than she thought he deserved.
The hardest part, though, was the sense that it wasn’t over, that he was asking her to reevaluate what she wanted, but she had no idea what she wanted either. He was leaving, that much was true, and he was also Malfoy and she was Weasley, and there was no escaping that. He had said that they might not be worth it; it hurt her to think that he may have been right.
So it was with a heavy heart that she sat down in the common room the Friday before exams, joining her brother and Hermione on the couch.
“Are you okay, Gin?” Ron asked tentatively.
“Huh?” she responded, looking up. “Yeah, how were NEWTs?”
He nodded, “Survivable, but I’m glad I’ll never have to do anything as painful as that again. Worse than Crucio.”
Ginny laughed lightly before glancing at Hermione. “You survive as well?”
Hermione nodded quickly, “But I’m a bit worried at the state of our workforce, I mean, is that all we’re expected to know? The most important things from each exam were left off. I made notes at the end, but if that's all that’s required of a person to earn a NEWT in…”
Ginny began to block her out as Hermione went into an in depth description of why it was necessary to understand the political ramifications of a treaty written between Goblins and Centaurs in the late seventeen forties, choosing instead to count the horizontal rows of tiles above the hearth.
“Ginny?” Ron whispered softly. “Are you really okay? The past few weeks you’ve been strangely quiet.”
She smiled at him and ruffled his hair. “Yeah, I’m fine. I've just been stressed out waiting for results and prepping for exams. I'm glad it's almost all over."
“You haven’t gotten your Potions results yet?” he asked, confused.
“Uh, maybe I have.” Digging through her bag with a frown, she pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. “Here they are.”
Ron gaped at his sister. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked as Hermione stared at the paper she'd snatched from Ginny’s hands.
“Congratulations, Ginny!”
Ginny looked over at Hermione from the hearth. “What?”
“You did amazingly, you'll definitely pass!”
Hermione looked so happy, Ginny tried to smile back at her. But there was a burden on her shoulders that was weighing her down. She glanced up at Ron, who looked a bit green, but still incredibly concerned.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
Hermione handed the sheet over, and there it was: a giant green ‘O’ at the top with a paragraph long comment underneath in Snape’s scrawling hand. And suddenly, Ginny was laughing, because it hadn’t all been pointless. He had helped her and maybe she had helped him, but it didn’t really matter all that much because love had changed her; it's the only thing that ever really would. She could look at her life and the person that she was and the person that she is, and it's her loves that had made her that way. There was nothing to be but grateful for that.
It wasn’t exactly clarity, but it was acceptance.
She laughed until she cried and then she stood up, staring into Ron’s startled blue eyes, her own narrowing wickedly.
“Next week, after finals. I hope you didn’t try to burn those old dress robes.”
Ron swallowed heavily and she cackled, before heading up the stairs to her dorm. Next week was finals week. She still had a lot of studying to do, there was no reason to give up yet.
…
Ginny let out a great whooping call as she stepped out of the castle on Thursday afternoon. Everything was finished and there was nothing but the next three days!
She felt loose and light and even though there was nothing she wanted to do more than go curl up in Draco’s bed and sleep for decades, she knew, after weeks of silence, that it wasn’t really an option. He had been pretty absent from her line of sight for the first week after their argument, but he had slowly started cropping up again, talking to Blaise and Colin in the hall — though Colin would never fill her in — or sitting next to Pansy at the Slytherin table.
He had finished his NEWTs on the previous Friday and had apparently thrown a massive party in the Room of Requirement. Even Harry and Hermione had come back slightly tipsy, a very drunk Ron suspended between their shoulders. But Ginny hadn’t heard from him, she hadn’t even caught him looking in her direction.
There was a huge crowd gathering on the hill in front of the lawn and Colin peered at it curiously. “What’s going on, I wonder?”
Ginny grinned. “It’s the bet, come on,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him down the stairs at a run. “There is no way I am missing this.”
They laughed together as the reached the crest of the hill, and though Ginny had been prepared for it, she couldn’t stop the hysterical giggles when she saw Ron. In his hands he held a Muggle CD player that Hermione had rigged for these purposes, and he was dressed in his fourth year dress robes which were really, really far too small for him. They were much too short and too tight across the chest.
Colin collapsed onto the ground in laughter and Ron shot him a withering look. The front door of the school opened again and again, letting more and more students out, all of whom joined the crowd watching Ron, hysteria taking over.
He was growing angrier, and angrier, and the show hadn’t even started yet.
After a while, he cleared his throat anxiously, looking at Ginny. “This is for my sister, who is wonderful and talented and so much smarter than me.”
“Than I,” Hermione hissed, through her chortles.
He rolled his eyes– “Than I” –before pressing the play button on the stereo. The first notes of a violin sonata had only just sounded over the space when a cold voice interrupted.
“What is going on here?”
The crowd parted and Snape appeared at the back. Ron turned an even brighter red, and shuffled on his feet, but the horrified look on Snape’s face was by far funnier than any face Ron could make.
Ginny stifled her laughter, and turned to Snape. “Professor, my brother has prepared a performance to celebrate the end of his school career, you should stay and watch.”
A flash of blond hair behind him, but then it was gone and Snape was nodding cruelly. “Very well.”
Ron turned to glare at her. “I am going to kill you. Slowly.”
“Aww,” she said, grinning sweetly, “Such loving words, darling brother. Weren’t you going to dance, though, instead of talk?”
And so it began, plie, pirouette, arabesque, grand jeté, and again and again. The crowd roared with laughter, and Ron turned bright red. The funniest thing about it, though, was his grace. There he was, in hideous maroon dress robes with lacy trim that were far too small and clashed horribly with his hair, but he was good — each turn perfect, his extension remarkable.
It wasn’t long before the laughter turned into cheers, a rambunctious group of students all enjoying the show. Ginny turned to look back at Snape, who appeared to be fighting a very strong urge to spontaneously combust, which just made Ginny laugh even harder. And then, there it was again, that flash of pale blond hair, walking away.
Ginny’s spirit soared, freed by her laughter, and she started to chase after him. Someone called to her but it was all just noise.
She grabbed his arm when she caught up to him, at the very bottom of the hill. “Draco,” she said, smiling at him broadly.
He smiled lightly back, as if he couldn’t help himself. “Your brother has extraordinarily unexpected grace.”
Ginny pouted. “I know, it’s almost not fair. Maybe I should have made him sing opera instead.”
Draco laughed, and then they faded back into silence. He reached up and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, curling it around his finger. He looked soft and sort of sad as he asked her, “What did you want?”
She stared at him for a moment, his eyes focused on the curl wrapped around his finger.
“I want you to kiss me.”
He glanced at her, surprised, and his left eyebrow cocked. "What?"
“The war’s over, Draco, stop looking for things to fight against and kiss me, right here, right no–”
And so he did, cutting her off as he pulled her into his arms tightly, his lips on hers, his hands buried fully in her hair.
Ginny kissed him back hungrily, letting herself feel full again for the first time in weeks, her hands sliding around him and holding him against her. She was sinking, sighing, sailing. The kiss wasn’t gentle but it wasn’t harsh; it was a reaffirmation. A declaration. A promise. It was warm and slow, tired and fresh.
They hardly noticed the silence surrounding them, until a very distinct voice shouted, “WHAT THE HELL?”
Ginny pulled away, startled, her face flushed and happy, to look directly at Ron. And what a sight. The tight burgundy robes pulled at his shoulders as he strained to get through the crowd, his face slowly growing redder and redder.
“WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK IS GOING ON?”
And Ginny just laughed, fully and heartily, her head thrown back soaking up the sun. She grabbed Draco’s hand, cutting off whatever witty response he had for her brother as she started dragging him quickly back to the castle.
“Run,” she shouted, laughing, as their feet carried them away from the crowd.
There was nothing more right, more perfect, than the way she felt just then. And when she glanced at Draco, half a step behind, she knew he felt the same way. Love changes you, inevitably — sometimes for better, sometimes for worse — but there is always change.
To love or to be loved? Why not just do both?
...
It had started off as a candle, but all that could be made out now was the flame, the wick, and the small amount of light surrounding it. There had been a painting in the background, books, and a person. But now it was just black.
She sneezed.
She hadn’t really been waiting for him the entire time; if he had been coming, he would have arrived within the first thirty minutes. No, she hadn’t been waiting for him; she had been waiting to find the energy to stand back up, to go back to the common room, and to maybe accept that he really hadn’t shown. She didn’t know exactly what she should feel about that, but she did know that she was angry. She just didn’t know with whom she was angry.
She blew lightly on the drawing, sending black powder across the table, before she closed it. It took a little longer to convince herself to stand, but, eventually, she did, her heart heavy and maybe more than a little bruised.
She walked slowly from the library, ignoring the snickering Ravenclaws who stared at her ruffled and dirty appearance. She ignored everything, trying not to focus on anything as she traveled down the third floor corridor, down the main stairs, taking the second left on the second floor.
Moaning Myrtle glared at her when she came into the bathroom before disappearing. She was obviously still a little sore about that whole diary incident. Ginny took the second sink on the left, washing her hands under the hot tap, before grabbing a towel to fix her face.
She stared into the mirror, looking at her pale skin, washed out by a long night and an exhausting day. Her freckles stood out angrily, dark brown defects marking her and — what was it that Draco had said last year — defining her status. And her red hair, darkened by the short winter days, made it even worse. She was all starkness, palest white, eyes too dark, hair too bright. She stood out, and not like Draco, who was watchable; she was just a sore thumb, an eyesore.
There were too many intrinsic contradictions about her. She would have loved to just blend into the background but she was incapable of it. Working against something as real as that for the past six years had only made it worse.
The hot water still running, she sank to her knees, staring at the pipes. How long had it been since she had come here?
Right after Harry, Ron, and Hermione had taken off? And then before, after she had sex with Dean, an empty, painful experience that had ended… badly. And then when she had heard about Bill going missing. And there were dozens of other occurrences, times when there was just nothing left to fight for or against.
She traced the small engraving of a snake on the pipe with her fingernail and sank back against her heels.
How foreign Parseltongue had felt in her mouth, dirty and defiling. She could remember shaping the hisses, the long ‘s’s rolling over her tongue.
Water brushed against her leg, and she looked up, startled. Myrtle had made all the toilets flood, and the puddle was growing. She groaned in irritation, before standing.
“Can't you tell that I need a little time to be alone?” she shouted.
The misty form of Myrtle emerged from the second stall, pouting, as usual. “What do I care?” she snapped in her nasally voice, “Go somewhere else. I don’t want to be miserable with you.”
Ginny gaped at her. “If you weren’t a ghost, I would punch you.”
Myrtle sniffed haughtily, before diving back into her toilet, splashing water and spreading the puddle further across the room. Ginny took a step back, and then let out an angry breath, turning and leaving the bathroom. She stalked down the passage, back to the main stair, when she saw him, the bastard, walking through the Great Hall with Zabini and, of all people, Colin.
She stomped down the stairs to the group, stopped in front of them, and shouted, “Draco Malfoy, you are a COWARD!”
The three of them stared at her, halted in their tracks, each with looks that — in any other circumstance — would have made her laugh. Instead, she felt the blush creeping up her neck. She wasn’t sure who moved first, but she thought it was Zabini, who cleared his throat politely.
“And you,” Draco said, crossing his arms, “are an idiot.”
“Right,” Zabini said, glancing between them, as Ginny mirrored Draco’s stance. “I’ll be off, then. Creevey, we have business to…” he trailed off before he just grabbed Colin’s arm and dragged him towards the stairwell.
“What was that about?” Ginny snapped.
Draco scowled at her. “None of your business.”
She just glared right back with unrestrained anger through the long silence before he raised an eyebrow at her.
“How long did you wait?”
She was shattered instantly by the tone of his voice — curious, but not mocking. She felt herself cave in, different emotions folding in on one another, until she was left with nothing.
“Long enough.”
He was stepping towards her and she really wished he wouldn’t; she wished with every little bit of her left that she could just turn and walk away. But she was falling apart on the landing of the main stair. His hand rested on her shoulder, but she didn’t look up. It was too much, the weight of his hand, of him, along with the bathroom and the candle and the red of her hair.
“Come on,” he said softly, his hand sliding down and wrapping around her wrist to tug her along behind him.
She followed soundlessly, as they crossed the Great Hall and headed toward the dungeon. He pulled her into his stairwell.
“I should have come,” he said.
She frowned at him. “Yeah.”
“What was I supposed to say?”
“Something. Anything. Nothing.”
His hand cupped her cheek, and, just for a second, she let herself lean into it before stepping back. There was solid wall behind her.
“You really are a coward.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
He stepped forward. Once. Twice. The wall was cold, and she dropped her sketchbook to the floor. She was trapped, trapped again by him. Or maybe she had always been trapped, caught in his snare and unable to escape. Why would you want to? a small voice whispered to her.
And then he kissed her, treading into her space, her soul. Just the tiniest brush of lips — a touch and hot breath.
“You can't–” she said, her voice cracking, “You can't kiss me like that.”
“Why not?” he whispered against her neck, moving closer. His lips brushed against her ear, just as soft. Then down her neck.
“It’s not fair, not when you play games and have mood swings and act like a fucking coward,” she said, hearing tears she did not want in her voice.
“Shh, Gin,” he whispered against her lips.
And pretenses be damned, her name on his lips was all the motivation she needed, her emotions tumbled back into her, and she kissed him. Hard. Bruising. He pressed her against the wall, his body firm against hers, as his fingers gently traveled through her hair.
It didn’t fit, all the heat, the pressure, and then patient hands, gentle touches. It was confusing, distorted, and overpowering.
She tugged at his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers, and then ran cold fingers down his spine. He shuddered against her, slowing the kiss. Patient lips to match patient fingers.
She growled against his mouth and could feel his smile in response. It made her blood boil, rage building on top of desire and passion and hurt.
She shoved him away, but he just stepped forward again, his hand reaching up to continue playing with her hair.
“Stop it with the fucking games!” she snapped. “Stop trying to control me.”
He sighed, before bending down to retrieve her sketchbook. She snatched it from him and pulled it against her chest. Not the best shield, admittedly, but it made her feel safer.
He stared at her a long time, his face unreadable. “What would you have liked me to say?”
Ginny shifted uncomfortably; he was still too close.
“I don’t know.”
“Would you have liked me to say that I want to kiss you again?”
She shrugged.
“Would you have liked it if I told you that I’m even more confused than you are?”
She glared at him.
“How about, I feel more at ease when I’m with you than I ever have before?”
“Is that true?” she snapped, unable to control the tone of her voice.
He sighed. “They all are.”
She stared at him, open and waiting before her. “I guess that would have been a good start.”
He smirked at her then, familiar and comforting, and she felt herself smiling lightly back.
“It still doesn’t answer you question.”
“Wha–Which one?”
“What happens now.”
“No, I guess not.”
The silence was there again, and his hand went back to playing with her hair. The hair he was supposed to hate.
“What did you draw while you were waiting?” he asked finally, turning and starting slowly towards the stairs.
She followed him hesitantly, unsure if that was an invitation. “How do you know I was drawing?” she asked, concentrating on not slipping. The stairs appeared much more treacherous than they had before, and she gripped the banister tightly.
“You have charcoal all over your shirt,” he said, tossing a smirk up at her. “And your neck.”
She blushed a little at that, stopping on the landing and watching as he opened the door. She followed him in. The room was a mess, not at all what she had expected. There were books scattered across the floor, papers stacked haphazardly.
He shot her a look, not at all apologetic. “I was studying.”
She nodded, though he wasn’t looking at her, and watched as he lit a fire. Heat flooded the room instantly, and she felt herself relaxing easily. She crossed to the bed and sat down, sinking into the duvet.
She let herself fall backwards and sank into the down feather version heaven. She sighed contentedly. “This is the most comfortable bed ever.”
“Really?” he asked, “It gives me horrible back pains.”
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Spoiled brat.”
He sat down on the other side of the bed, leaning back next to her. “It’s a bit soft.”
It felt like Ginny’s heart had stopped it was beating so fast. She closed her eyes again and tried to control her breathing. In. Out. In. Out. That seemed normal.
“So, what did you draw?” he asked.
She rolled over towards him and pulled her knees up to her chest. “Darkness.”
He turned his head to look at her, and the silence was back.
“We missed dinner,” she said, glancing up at the clock.
“You missed dinner,” he corrected pointedly.
“You ate?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “But I went looking for you.”
She smiled at him, reaching over to touch his hair. “Why didn’t you just look in the library?”
“I figured you had already left.”
Ginny thought about the slowly traveling hands of the clock which had stared down at her and mocked her impatience. “No, I was still there.”
He pulled himself upright, reaching back to muss her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“You apologize too much,” she said, kicking off her shoes and moving across the bed. She felt strangely awkward about how comfortable she was here, but she brushed it aside.
“What else would you have me do?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
She grinned, leaning over to whisper in his ear, “Stop doing things that you need to apologize for.”
“Gin,” he sighed, leaning back against her.
“I guess I’ll have to forgive you,” she said grudgingly, a smile hovering over her lips.
He sank back even further and Ginny let them fall onto the mattress.
“You have too much faith in me,” he said, his eyes closed.
She turned to look down at him, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
So she kissed him.
…
It was only April, and it was already ridiculously warm. Ginny walked towards the lake Friday night as the sun set slowly, dipping orange fingers into itself.
She settled on the grass, just looking, the beauty seeming crystallized as the sun sank towards its destination, diving into the water. The final descent took an hour; and she waited, peacefully, for the air to turn crisp and sting. She leaned back and stared upwards. The hill she sat on raised her above most else, and only a small portion of the mountains was visible if she looked right, the highest turrets of the castle to the left.
It had been a dizzying few weeks — weeks of light conversations and brief kisses; and Ginny was very patiently waiting for the other shoe to drop. He smiled more, was more willing to re-explain things when they occasionally bothered to study, and was always touching her — as if to remind himself that she was still there. It was wonderful, yes, and just being with him filled her with a happiness she didn’t really understand. But there was something in his eyes when he spoke to her, a distance that he was trying not to breach.
She was sinking into a light doze, as stars appeared, first one, then two, then dozens. Tiny pinpricks in the greater canvas.
And when he came, she heard him long before she could see him, his footfalls treading lightly on the grass, leaving hardly any mark. He sat down next to her and stretched out his long legs.
“I thought you were studying.”
“I got bored. I thought you were heading back to the tower.”
“Ron’s a little angry with me.”
She turned slightly, and saw him looking out over the lake.
“Why?” he asked without turning his head.
“I think Harry may have told him what happened.”
Draco glanced down at her, grinning wickedly. “What happened?”
She reached over and swatted him. “Are you gloating?” The smirk was replaced by a look of utter innocence. “Thought so. He asked me out.”
“Oblivious Harry Potter finally asked out besotted Ginny Weasley?”
“Yes. And I am not besotted!”
“Maybe not anymore.” Ginny stuck her tongue out at him, and he chuckled. “I can't believe how childish you are.”
“Oh, shut up.”
He smirked lightly and turned to look out over the lake.
She reached for him and found his hand. She brushed her fingers across it lightly, before resting her own on top of it. They sat like that until all the stars came out, the sunset fading into darkness, the sky empty of all but those tiny pinpricks of light.
“Come inside with me,” he said, pulling her back from near sleep again. “I need someone there to keep me focused.”
“That is the last thing I’ll be doing,” she responded sleepily.
Through half-closed eyelids, she watched him smile at her before she stretched and started to stand. “I’ll go first, if you leave, I’ll just fall asleep.”
She ran her fingers through his hair as she started to walk away, not looking back until she reached the top of the stairs. He was still sitting, staring out at the lake. He glowed in the night, pale skin, pair hair, white shirt. Ginny stared for a moment at what would make a perfect painting, before she stepped through the doors, all peace and reverence.
She let herself into his rooms and walked, without hesitation, over to the bed. She kicked off her shoes, sending one accidentally under the bed, and laid down. It was cold in the room, and she glanced balefully over at the hearth before making a nest out of the duvet, bundling in his scent and feeling perfectly comfortable. He came in five minutes later, but she was already mostly asleep. He walked over and placed a kiss on her forehead, the only part of her visible, before he crossed to his desk. Ginny drifted off to the scratching of his fountain pen on parchment.
…
There was something tickling her foot, rapidly moving fingers across the sole. She jerked her foot to the left, but it just came back with more force. She tried to wiggle away, deeper into her cloud, but they were persistent hands. She jerked away again.
But her spell was broken, and the tickling didn’t stop. Groaning, Ginny tucked her feet under her, slowly opening her eyes.
“Finally,” Draco said, “I thought you were going to sleep forever.”
She moaned groggily, and twisted onto her side, pulling the blanket with her. “Go ‘way.”
He laughed at her, and she felt the bed shift as he climbed up next to her. She was waking slowly, the long cottony threads that held her to sleep falling away. She forced her eyes to open again, and caught him staring down at her.
She tossed an exaggerated pout at him. “I was dreaming.”
“I know. You talk in your sleep.”
She felt herself blushing under that unwavering look.
“It was very colorful.”
She reached up and rested her hand on his neck, and he dipped his head, kissing her forehead. He started to pull away, but she didn’t let go.
“What did I say?” she asked, rising to meet his lips with her own and bringing herself back into the world.
The last of sleep fell away as he kissed her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he pulled her against him, heat building as they tried to get closer.
“You made that noise you make, when I kiss you right here,” Draco whispered against her lips as his fingers traced circles against the skin below her ear. He leaned over and kissed it, and she tipped her head back, a small moan escaping. “And then you said my name.”
His teeth traveled slowly down her neck, and she suddenly realized that they were very much in a bed and not in the library, not in his stairwell, not in the abandoned corridor on the way back to the Gryffindor tower.
“Impossible,” she said, hardly recognizing the throaty whisper that came out of her mouth.
“How’s that?” he asked, kissing along her collarbone and across her shoulder. She longed for those lips on bared skin.
“I always remember those dreams,” she said, pulling him down onto the bed with her.
She could feel his smile against her lips as he kissed her, long and heated, but still holding back. Her hands started on the top buttons shakily. One. Two. Three. Four. And then she could reach his chest, the skin hot and flushed beneath her fingertips. She imagined the red indentations she would leave, if only briefly, and she pressed harder. She was all but begging him to let go.
His lips found purchase on her neck again, placing open-mouth kisses along her throat, and she moaned, forgetting the buttons and just tugging impatiently.
“You’re going to rip it,” he said against her earlobe, spiking heat through her stomach.
“You have dozens more.”
He bit down on the skin and she shuddered.
Five, six, seven, eight. The last button came undone and she slipped her hands around his waist, pulling him down towards her. She bit his lip when he resisted, and he groaned — the most delicious sound she had ever heard.
And when he kissed her this time, she could tell that she had almost won. Whatever edge he was teetering on, he was about to fall. Because it wasn’t fair that she was the only one falling, faster and faster, the blood rushing in her ears, and his mouth on hers.
A tiny bit of fear fisted in her stomach as his hands slipped under her skirt, pulling her hips to his, and despite the fire, the pleasure, the way her skin burned beneath his touch, this didn’t even have a definition yet, and—
“Gin,” he said, pulling back slightly and resting his forehead on hers. “We have to stop.”
She blanked totally, trying to get her breathing back under control, to stifle the disappointment, the relief.
“Why?”
“Gin, I just… can’t. Not to you.”
He pulled away and sat as far away from her as the bed would allow.
“What does that mean?” she asked, reaching for him.
He shrugged her hand away. She crawled across the space and settled down behind him, resting her forehead on his shoulder.
He was tense, but after a moment, he relaxed against her, reaching up to touch her hair, curling it around his fingers. He took a deep breath, and then another.
“I just–”
“Did I, I mean, did I…?” Ginny interrupted him.
“No, it’s not–”
“I mean it’s just because, well–”
“Look, Gin,” he said, cutting her off. “This isn’t exactly the least difficult thing I’ve ever had to say, so will you please stop interrupting me?”
She shut up, wrapping her arms around his waist to pull him a bit closer. He released her hair and took a deep breath, turning so that they were almost facing one another.
“It’d be totally different if you were just another easy…”
“Actually, I’m trying incredibly hard to be easy,” she said with a grin when he trailed off.
He shot her his ‘please shut up’ look, but she could see the smile crinkling at the edge of his eyes.
“But you’re not. Not like that. Not for me. And–”
“Draco,” she said, interrupting him again. “Shut up.”
His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth. But she cut him off with laughter, throwing her head back and releasing some of the tension. When the humor finally abated, she found him watching her.
“You are absolutely insane,” he muttered.
“Yes,” she teased, poking him. “And you respect me, admit it!”
He turned on her, reaching out to tickle her, his hands slipping under her shirt and finding bare skin. She shrieked with laughter as he pinned her to the bed, her giggles turning into breathy sighs as his lips followed his fingers’ path.
“I admit it,” he said finally, rolling off her and propping himself up on his elbow.
She wanted to say it, right then. To tell him how she felt in no uncertain terms, but the words caught in her throat and she was stuck just staring at him. He smiled at her, reaching over to brush his fingers across her lips.
She sighed — the touch a benediction, a prayer — reverential and sacred. Her eyes closed and she rolled across the bed, into his arms.
He pulled her back against his chest, his arm curling around her and holding her tightly to him. Her mind slowly shut down as she relaxed against him, drifting off.
“Gin,” he whispered, combing her hair away from her ear. “You can't stay.”
She elbowed him lightly. “I just want five more minutes.”
He laughed against her ear, his lips running over the shell. “Okay.”
She sighed, relaxed further, and let go.
…
When she woke up, she could tell it was morning. She was cold and there were people talking; her eyes slid open slowly. She was in the Gryffindor common room, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting across from her, whispering softly.
Draco must have brought her back and dumped her on the couch. She could vaguely remember being draped across his back, piggy-back fashion, and trying — and failing — to tell him the password. (It was 'Ronald Weasley is a great big lump' — Hermione had changed it after their last fight.)
Hermione glanced up and saw her opened eyes. The older girl smiled warmly, and Ginny felt momentarily reassured.
“Where have you been?” Ron growled angrily.
Her eyes darted to her brother's anxiously. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb, Ginny,” Harry said with a sigh from the other side of the couch. “I told you I was worried. You’ve been gone most nights for the past two months."
“Has it really been that long?” she asked sitting up. It was already April sixteenth. Four days until her evaluation.
Ron glared at her. “Yes.”
She felt herself start to panic. Four days? She had to study.
“Sorry, guys, I have to go.”
She started to stand, that dreaded feeling that she got when she slept in her clothes washing over her. Ron stood too, cutting off her escape.
“Sit!” he barked.
She stepped back and sat down, hardly even noticing her own obedience. But her anger bubbled up around her as she stared at their faces. Harry’s hurt look, Hermione’s embarrassed one, and Ron’s anger. She took a deep breath.
“Let’s start simple, where were you last night?” Ron asked.
Ginny bit her lip. That was a hard one to answer. “None of your business.”
Ron bristled. “Of course it’s my business, you’re my sister.”
“So?” she asked angrily. “You’re my brother and I don’t demand to know where you are all the fucking time!”
“Ginny,” he said warningly.
“No!” she snapped back. “Shut up and keep out of my life. I don’t care if you think I’m making the biggest mistakes of my life or ruining everything or being just in general stupid. IT IS MY LIFE! And I get to make MY OWN CHOICES! AND MY OWN MISTAKES!”
She stormed away from them and towards the stairs, anger pumping through her veins. It was slightly refreshing though, waking her up, refocusing her desire to do well. She scrubbed herself clean in the shower, dressed, and then headed to the library. It was already ten and in four days she would have to ace her Potions evaluation. A new determination filled her and she flipped through her notes from the year with a focused calm.
She’d be damned if she let Ron win.
...
“You look busy,” Draco said, joining her at their table several hours later.
She murmured in response but didn’t look up.
He opened a book across the table and got to work. The only problem with this was that his knees almost touched hers under the table. She could feel his body heat, smell his scent. He was close enough to touch, and she could lean across the table, grab him, and kiss him.
It was these thoughts that drove her to look up. He was staring at his book, his eyes darting left to right as he read. He looked edible in his grey sweater, his collarbone peeking out of the v-neck. She stared at the skin stretched across his neck, remembering the taste of it. Her fingers tapped against her book, and she pursed her lips.
“You have to leave,” she said.
He looked up. “What?”
“You have to leave,” she said again, staring directly into his eyes.
“Why?”
She frowned. “I can't concentrate with you here.”
He cocked his left eyebrow, stretching his legs out underneath the table. She had to move her own to accommodate them, and she glared as she did so.
“Why not?”
“You smell good.”
He smiled at that. “I’m afraid that I can't leave. I have to study, and I can concentrate much better if you’re around.”
“Liar,” she snapped. “You just want to drive me crazy.”
“That too,” he said with a smirk. “I was thinking about that love sonnet. It would be quite funny to see Snape’s face when you tell him that nature created him for your pleasure.”
She glared at him. “If I lose the bet because of you, I will never forgive you. And my singing voice will deafen you.”
He was still smiling at her with a fondness she didn’t understand.
“Fine, stay,” she said. “I’ll leave.”
“I have a better idea,” he said. “Why don’t you just breathe through your mouth? And then we can both study.”
She glared at him for a moment before her glare broke, and she chuckled drily. “Fine, we’ll both stay, but you’ll have to forgive me if I spontaneously combust.”
“You study with me all the time,” he said dismissively. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
She doubted that, but leaned over her textbook in response. It wasn't really all that bad, having him here was only slightly distracting; and when she concentrated, she realized that she heard the words she read in his voice anyway.
Two hours passed that way when she realized she had a massive crick in her neck. She paused to stretch and caught Draco looking emotionlessly out the window.
“Draco,” she said softly, “What are you thinking about?”
“You talk a lot in your sleep,” he said after a long silence.
She almost didn’t hear him at all. It was only because she was staring at him staring out the window.
“I thought we went over this already.”
“Yeah, I was just thinking about it.”
“Did I say something when you took me back to the tower?” she asked, making a few notes on the margins of her notebook paper. She glanced up at his face, taking in the contemplative stare and the suspicion lurking in his eyes.
“Nothing that made any sense.”
The way he said it left her feeling a little uneasy, but she forced herself to look away and return to her book.
“Ginny,” he said a few minutes later, and she glanced up, confused. He had never called her that before.
“What?” she asked, trying to ignore the cold fist in her stomach.
“I don't think we should do this.”
Her breath caught in her throat, feeling almost as though she had been ripped open; she didn’t even need to ask what he was talking about.
“Wha–why?”
“I just don’t think that the two of us together will be worth it.”
“Not worth it? Why not?” she said, her throat constricting painfully, even as anger spiked in her belly. “I thought you and I were good together.”
“It’s not as simple as all that, Gin.”
She glared at him. “Don’t talk to me about simplicity.”
“Look, I'm not trying to patronize you, I’m just saying that there is no one who would accept us as a couple and, anyway, I’m leaving. I don’t want to be your secret, and I know you don’t want to be mine.”
“Don’t assume anything,” she snapped, feeling slightly nauseous. “Plus, your mother would definitely accept us.”
He sighed. “You're making this really difficult.”
“Well, what would you like me to do? Just give up like you're doing now?” she snapped, the anger taking over now.
He was staring at his hands and his hair had fallen in his eyes, but Ginny could tell that she had gotten to him.
“I'm not 'giving up'. I just think that you — we — should take some time. Consider more carefully what you want, what you're asking – not just of me, but also of yourself.”
He wouldn’t meet her eyes across the table and she furiously started gathering her books.
“Good luck on your NEWTs,” she said, her voice laced with cold fury before she stalked from the library.
…
Ginny did a very good job of pretending that she didn’t care. She made it through the next four days, did what she felt to be an excellent job on her Potions evaluation, and then trudged back to the common room. With nothing else driving her, she fell onto one of the couches, and then proceeded to sleep through the rest of her Wednesday.
The noises in the evening pulled her from her doze, but she didn’t move, choosing instead to lie silently. Her eyes cracked open, and she watched the shifting of colors, the reds and the golds and the blacks, fading together in a cold haze, as people darted around the room and laughed, the sounds mixing, the colors blending, the feelings fading.
But that was how it was supposed to work, she told herself. Time forgives no man; life makes no exceptions. She allowed herself one night and one day to brood, and then she stopped. She forced herself to get up, to finish her Transfiguration special project, her Herbology essay, and the other work that was piling up, forgotten. It was the end of term, finals were in less than two weeks, and she had so much to catch up on.
So she forced herself to work, to pretend, to keep moving.
But, apparently, the only person she had convinced was herself. Even Snape had stared at her worriedly when he had handed back her evaluation marks. She had smiled at him and thanked him as she shoved them deep into her bag.
It was like a chunk of her was missing, the chunk that inspired her. It hadn’t always belonged to him, she had been fine before she had accidentally tumbled into his mother, before she had seem him smile, but now that he was gone, he had taken that huge chunk of her with him.
A far larger chunk than she thought he deserved.
The hardest part, though, was the sense that it wasn’t over, that he was asking her to reevaluate what she wanted, but she had no idea what she wanted either. He was leaving, that much was true, and he was also Malfoy and she was Weasley, and there was no escaping that. He had said that they might not be worth it; it hurt her to think that he may have been right.
So it was with a heavy heart that she sat down in the common room the Friday before exams, joining her brother and Hermione on the couch.
“Are you okay, Gin?” Ron asked tentatively.
“Huh?” she responded, looking up. “Yeah, how were NEWTs?”
He nodded, “Survivable, but I’m glad I’ll never have to do anything as painful as that again. Worse than Crucio.”
Ginny laughed lightly before glancing at Hermione. “You survive as well?”
Hermione nodded quickly, “But I’m a bit worried at the state of our workforce, I mean, is that all we’re expected to know? The most important things from each exam were left off. I made notes at the end, but if that's all that’s required of a person to earn a NEWT in…”
Ginny began to block her out as Hermione went into an in depth description of why it was necessary to understand the political ramifications of a treaty written between Goblins and Centaurs in the late seventeen forties, choosing instead to count the horizontal rows of tiles above the hearth.
“Ginny?” Ron whispered softly. “Are you really okay? The past few weeks you’ve been strangely quiet.”
She smiled at him and ruffled his hair. “Yeah, I’m fine. I've just been stressed out waiting for results and prepping for exams. I'm glad it's almost all over."
“You haven’t gotten your Potions results yet?” he asked, confused.
“Uh, maybe I have.” Digging through her bag with a frown, she pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. “Here they are.”
Ron gaped at his sister. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked as Hermione stared at the paper she'd snatched from Ginny’s hands.
“Congratulations, Ginny!”
Ginny looked over at Hermione from the hearth. “What?”
“You did amazingly, you'll definitely pass!”
Hermione looked so happy, Ginny tried to smile back at her. But there was a burden on her shoulders that was weighing her down. She glanced up at Ron, who looked a bit green, but still incredibly concerned.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
Hermione handed the sheet over, and there it was: a giant green ‘O’ at the top with a paragraph long comment underneath in Snape’s scrawling hand. And suddenly, Ginny was laughing, because it hadn’t all been pointless. He had helped her and maybe she had helped him, but it didn’t really matter all that much because love had changed her; it's the only thing that ever really would. She could look at her life and the person that she was and the person that she is, and it's her loves that had made her that way. There was nothing to be but grateful for that.
It wasn’t exactly clarity, but it was acceptance.
She laughed until she cried and then she stood up, staring into Ron’s startled blue eyes, her own narrowing wickedly.
“Next week, after finals. I hope you didn’t try to burn those old dress robes.”
Ron swallowed heavily and she cackled, before heading up the stairs to her dorm. Next week was finals week. She still had a lot of studying to do, there was no reason to give up yet.
…
Ginny let out a great whooping call as she stepped out of the castle on Thursday afternoon. Everything was finished and there was nothing but the next three days!
She felt loose and light and even though there was nothing she wanted to do more than go curl up in Draco’s bed and sleep for decades, she knew, after weeks of silence, that it wasn’t really an option. He had been pretty absent from her line of sight for the first week after their argument, but he had slowly started cropping up again, talking to Blaise and Colin in the hall — though Colin would never fill her in — or sitting next to Pansy at the Slytherin table.
He had finished his NEWTs on the previous Friday and had apparently thrown a massive party in the Room of Requirement. Even Harry and Hermione had come back slightly tipsy, a very drunk Ron suspended between their shoulders. But Ginny hadn’t heard from him, she hadn’t even caught him looking in her direction.
There was a huge crowd gathering on the hill in front of the lawn and Colin peered at it curiously. “What’s going on, I wonder?”
Ginny grinned. “It’s the bet, come on,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him down the stairs at a run. “There is no way I am missing this.”
They laughed together as the reached the crest of the hill, and though Ginny had been prepared for it, she couldn’t stop the hysterical giggles when she saw Ron. In his hands he held a Muggle CD player that Hermione had rigged for these purposes, and he was dressed in his fourth year dress robes which were really, really far too small for him. They were much too short and too tight across the chest.
Colin collapsed onto the ground in laughter and Ron shot him a withering look. The front door of the school opened again and again, letting more and more students out, all of whom joined the crowd watching Ron, hysteria taking over.
He was growing angrier, and angrier, and the show hadn’t even started yet.
After a while, he cleared his throat anxiously, looking at Ginny. “This is for my sister, who is wonderful and talented and so much smarter than me.”
“Than I,” Hermione hissed, through her chortles.
He rolled his eyes– “Than I” –before pressing the play button on the stereo. The first notes of a violin sonata had only just sounded over the space when a cold voice interrupted.
“What is going on here?”
The crowd parted and Snape appeared at the back. Ron turned an even brighter red, and shuffled on his feet, but the horrified look on Snape’s face was by far funnier than any face Ron could make.
Ginny stifled her laughter, and turned to Snape. “Professor, my brother has prepared a performance to celebrate the end of his school career, you should stay and watch.”
A flash of blond hair behind him, but then it was gone and Snape was nodding cruelly. “Very well.”
Ron turned to glare at her. “I am going to kill you. Slowly.”
“Aww,” she said, grinning sweetly, “Such loving words, darling brother. Weren’t you going to dance, though, instead of talk?”
And so it began, plie, pirouette, arabesque, grand jeté, and again and again. The crowd roared with laughter, and Ron turned bright red. The funniest thing about it, though, was his grace. There he was, in hideous maroon dress robes with lacy trim that were far too small and clashed horribly with his hair, but he was good — each turn perfect, his extension remarkable.
It wasn’t long before the laughter turned into cheers, a rambunctious group of students all enjoying the show. Ginny turned to look back at Snape, who appeared to be fighting a very strong urge to spontaneously combust, which just made Ginny laugh even harder. And then, there it was again, that flash of pale blond hair, walking away.
Ginny’s spirit soared, freed by her laughter, and she started to chase after him. Someone called to her but it was all just noise.
She grabbed his arm when she caught up to him, at the very bottom of the hill. “Draco,” she said, smiling at him broadly.
He smiled lightly back, as if he couldn’t help himself. “Your brother has extraordinarily unexpected grace.”
Ginny pouted. “I know, it’s almost not fair. Maybe I should have made him sing opera instead.”
Draco laughed, and then they faded back into silence. He reached up and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, curling it around his finger. He looked soft and sort of sad as he asked her, “What did you want?”
She stared at him for a moment, his eyes focused on the curl wrapped around his finger.
“I want you to kiss me.”
He glanced at her, surprised, and his left eyebrow cocked. "What?"
“The war’s over, Draco, stop looking for things to fight against and kiss me, right here, right no–”
And so he did, cutting her off as he pulled her into his arms tightly, his lips on hers, his hands buried fully in her hair.
Ginny kissed him back hungrily, letting herself feel full again for the first time in weeks, her hands sliding around him and holding him against her. She was sinking, sighing, sailing. The kiss wasn’t gentle but it wasn’t harsh; it was a reaffirmation. A declaration. A promise. It was warm and slow, tired and fresh.
They hardly noticed the silence surrounding them, until a very distinct voice shouted, “WHAT THE HELL?”
Ginny pulled away, startled, her face flushed and happy, to look directly at Ron. And what a sight. The tight burgundy robes pulled at his shoulders as he strained to get through the crowd, his face slowly growing redder and redder.
“WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK IS GOING ON?”
And Ginny just laughed, fully and heartily, her head thrown back soaking up the sun. She grabbed Draco’s hand, cutting off whatever witty response he had for her brother as she started dragging him quickly back to the castle.
“Run,” she shouted, laughing, as their feet carried them away from the crowd.
There was nothing more right, more perfect, than the way she felt just then. And when she glanced at Draco, half a step behind, she knew he felt the same way. Love changes you, inevitably — sometimes for better, sometimes for worse — but there is always change.
To love or to be loved? Why not just do both?
...
Author notes: A big thank you to everyone who read, and massive hugs for all who reviewed! xx
The End.
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