Chapter 7
Humiliation
If Ginny hadn’t been so abjectly humiliated, she might have found humor in seeing Draco Malfoy, for the first time in her experience, completely disconcerted. He dropped his hands to his side, his features slack, and his seventeen-year-old eyes making a valiant, but losing struggle not to look at the faded cotton knickers now clearly on display.
“I swear, I didn’t do it--!” He started to defend himself, but the look of confusion on his pointed features only grew as tears flooded Ginny’s chocolate eyes, and she bent to grope blindly for the skirt.
“It’s rubbish!” She hissed violently, as she yanked the skirt back over her hips and held it in place with her hands. “Rubbish!” She couldn’t bear to look at Draco’s face. She couldn’t stand to see the contemptuous sneer which- great kisser or not- had to be there or, of it wasn’t, the look of pity which would hurt even worse.
Before the stunned Slytherin could speak she wrenched the broom closet open and bolted down the hall.
“Ginny! Wait!” Draco called after her, his long strides easily matching her own.
He had nearly caught her by the time that they reached Gryffindor tower.
“Quidditch Cards!” She panted to the fat lady, and then slid through the porthole just before Draco could make her stop, so that the painting slammed shut in his face.
The tears that had been leaking from behind her lids were flowing faster now, her body shook with small tremors of sobs. It wasn’t fair! She’d never complained about being poor! She’d never asked her parents for things they couldn’t afford! She’d always made due with what she had, but this was too much to bear! Couldn’t she at least have one memory that was shiny and happy and new? The kiss in the broom closet had been perfect- Draco had been perfect, and now it was ruined- ruined by a tatty, used skirt that had never been quite up to scratch.
“What’s going on, Weaslette?”
Ginny jumped as Draco’s oily drawl sounded next to her ear. She looked up and saw, through tear-blurred eyes, a sheepish looking Colin Creevy and an extremely put-out Draco Malfoy.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She sniffled.
“Too bad.” He was acting like the old Draco now: coldly superior. In some measure, this was a relief. She knew how to respond, and she was less acutely aware of how a very short time ago her lips had been locked to his. He slid an arm under hers, then hauled her to her feet. “C’Mon.” He commanded.
Still pinching her waistband closed with her hands, she obeyed, following him to a reading alcove just off the main commons. She slid into a chair opposite him at the wide table, and studied his face. The stern mask was beginning to slip, so that, once more he looked like an ardent, yet uncertain boy.
“I really didn’t mean for anything to happen, Gin.” He said quietly. “I don’t know what-“
“It wasn’t you.” She admitted quietly. “It was the stupid skirt. Mum bought it too small and the fastening, and…” her explanation was buried in a fresh flood of tears. Draco squirmed in his seat, and Ginny was vaguely reminded of Harry’s retelling of his kiss with Cho Chang: “wet”. Was that how Draco would describe this to Crabbe and Goyle?
“Why did you wear it if it didn’t fit?” Clearly, none of this was making sense.
“Because it was new. Because…” Ginny chewed her lip. “Because it was new, and I thought it would look nice and you would never know. Because, I wanted you to see me as…as….as not just some other poor Weasley.” She hiccupped.
Draco stood.
“You wouldn’t understand.” Ginny said bitterly.
“You could at least let me try.” Draco’s grey eyes flickered with indecision.
For a moment, she thought that he was going to walk toward her, but he didn’t. He started toward the door. “For the record, I wasn’t looking at your skirt, Weaslette.” He said over his shoulder. “I was looking at you.”
Then, he was gone.
~*~*~*~
Six miserable days had passed during which time Ginny was unable, despite her best efforts, to contrive a way to rationalize the fiasco as Draco’s fault.
Malfoy had acted every inch the gentleman- even better than she had allowed herself to hope, and she had behaved like a spoiled baby.
Well, not spoiled exactly, Ginny thought with a smirk. Nevertheless, now that the sting of mortification had faded, she found it more difficult to look back upon her actions without regret. For his part, Draco had made no move to contact her. From time to time, sitting in the great hall, she would catch his eye and he never looked away. She had the sense that he was waiting- waiting for her to come to him.
“I was looking at you” Draco had said. Even two years later, standing in his mother’s foyer, Ginny wasn’t certain what she thought that he had seen.
Humiliation
If Ginny hadn’t been so abjectly humiliated, she might have found humor in seeing Draco Malfoy, for the first time in her experience, completely disconcerted. He dropped his hands to his side, his features slack, and his seventeen-year-old eyes making a valiant, but losing struggle not to look at the faded cotton knickers now clearly on display.
“I swear, I didn’t do it--!” He started to defend himself, but the look of confusion on his pointed features only grew as tears flooded Ginny’s chocolate eyes, and she bent to grope blindly for the skirt.
“It’s rubbish!” She hissed violently, as she yanked the skirt back over her hips and held it in place with her hands. “Rubbish!” She couldn’t bear to look at Draco’s face. She couldn’t stand to see the contemptuous sneer which- great kisser or not- had to be there or, of it wasn’t, the look of pity which would hurt even worse.
Before the stunned Slytherin could speak she wrenched the broom closet open and bolted down the hall.
“Ginny! Wait!” Draco called after her, his long strides easily matching her own.
He had nearly caught her by the time that they reached Gryffindor tower.
“Quidditch Cards!” She panted to the fat lady, and then slid through the porthole just before Draco could make her stop, so that the painting slammed shut in his face.
The tears that had been leaking from behind her lids were flowing faster now, her body shook with small tremors of sobs. It wasn’t fair! She’d never complained about being poor! She’d never asked her parents for things they couldn’t afford! She’d always made due with what she had, but this was too much to bear! Couldn’t she at least have one memory that was shiny and happy and new? The kiss in the broom closet had been perfect- Draco had been perfect, and now it was ruined- ruined by a tatty, used skirt that had never been quite up to scratch.
“What’s going on, Weaslette?”
Ginny jumped as Draco’s oily drawl sounded next to her ear. She looked up and saw, through tear-blurred eyes, a sheepish looking Colin Creevy and an extremely put-out Draco Malfoy.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She sniffled.
“Too bad.” He was acting like the old Draco now: coldly superior. In some measure, this was a relief. She knew how to respond, and she was less acutely aware of how a very short time ago her lips had been locked to his. He slid an arm under hers, then hauled her to her feet. “C’Mon.” He commanded.
Still pinching her waistband closed with her hands, she obeyed, following him to a reading alcove just off the main commons. She slid into a chair opposite him at the wide table, and studied his face. The stern mask was beginning to slip, so that, once more he looked like an ardent, yet uncertain boy.
“I really didn’t mean for anything to happen, Gin.” He said quietly. “I don’t know what-“
“It wasn’t you.” She admitted quietly. “It was the stupid skirt. Mum bought it too small and the fastening, and…” her explanation was buried in a fresh flood of tears. Draco squirmed in his seat, and Ginny was vaguely reminded of Harry’s retelling of his kiss with Cho Chang: “wet”. Was that how Draco would describe this to Crabbe and Goyle?
“Why did you wear it if it didn’t fit?” Clearly, none of this was making sense.
“Because it was new. Because…” Ginny chewed her lip. “Because it was new, and I thought it would look nice and you would never know. Because, I wanted you to see me as…as….as not just some other poor Weasley.” She hiccupped.
Draco stood.
“You wouldn’t understand.” Ginny said bitterly.
“You could at least let me try.” Draco’s grey eyes flickered with indecision.
For a moment, she thought that he was going to walk toward her, but he didn’t. He started toward the door. “For the record, I wasn’t looking at your skirt, Weaslette.” He said over his shoulder. “I was looking at you.”
Then, he was gone.
~*~*~*~
Six miserable days had passed during which time Ginny was unable, despite her best efforts, to contrive a way to rationalize the fiasco as Draco’s fault.
Malfoy had acted every inch the gentleman- even better than she had allowed herself to hope, and she had behaved like a spoiled baby.
Well, not spoiled exactly, Ginny thought with a smirk. Nevertheless, now that the sting of mortification had faded, she found it more difficult to look back upon her actions without regret. For his part, Draco had made no move to contact her. From time to time, sitting in the great hall, she would catch his eye and he never looked away. She had the sense that he was waiting- waiting for her to come to him.
“I was looking at you” Draco had said. Even two years later, standing in his mother’s foyer, Ginny wasn’t certain what she thought that he had seen.
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