The True Story of Harry Potter

Draco evaluated the girl sitting in the chair before him. She had just agreed that he was indeed a man, a very sexy and attractive man according to her body language. If he just moved a little closer, maybe an inch or two, he would be within striking distance. Then he could touch the softness of her skin again, run his fingers through her coppery tresses, pull her closer and press his lips against hers, finally tasting her.

What was he thinking? She was a Weasley, for Circe's sake - a very attractive one at that - but Malfoys did not fantasize about Weasleys, gorgeous or otherwise. Shaking his head to rid his brain of the ridiculous images, Draco took charge of the conversation again.

“Much to the dismay of your friends, I did not scream like a girl in the Forbidden Forest,” he whispered, succumbing to temptation and curling one fiery lock of hair around his finger, rubbing it gingerly with his thumb. With a smirk, he gave a little tug then let go and reclined into the back of the chair, delighted in the silky feel of her hair.

Ginny continued to bite her lip and squirm uncomfortably in her leather seat. Her hand moved to smooth down the locks he had just held, and she began twisting a section in imitation of his actions. She looked at him through her lashes with hesitant, big, brown eyes. Was she nervous, or perhaps she didn't trust herself? He knew that his charm, magic notwithstanding, was getting to her; he could feel it.

“We were sent in there for detention, you do realize? It was hardly appropriate and most unacceptable; first years should not be in the Forbidden Forest, or anyone else for that matter.” He wrinkled his brow, disgusted by the mere thought.

Her coy behavior abated; Ginny sat upright, smoothed her robes and cleared her throat before asserting herself. “Why did you get detention in the first place?” she asked with determined indifference.

“I was out of bed after curfew. I had found out that Potter and his little entourage were getting rid of that dragon at midnight, so I tried to have another look at it, a closer look,” Draco divulged.

“How did you find out about that? They never tell anyone what they are up to,” she asked in awe.

“When your brother was laid up in the hospital wing, suffering from a dragon bite, I visited him and asked if I could see it,” Draco said, amusement dancing in his eyes at the memory of the Weasel's swollen hand. “He refused, of course, but he couldn't really hide an injury like that.”

Draco stretched his long legs, causing them to brush lightly against hers. He quirked an eyebrow at the startling sensations that rose in his body from touching her.

“He wanted me to leave, so he threw one of his books at me and told Madam Pomfrey I had come in to borrow it. She rushed me out of the hospital wing, just like he wanted. But in the book was a letter about the dragon. I found out that the three of them were taking the dragon to the tallest tower at midnight to be rid of it, and I wanted a last glance at the creature. Most unfortunately for me, that never happened as I was caught by McGonagall.”

Ginny hastily added, “And you told her about Harry and Hermione, so they could be your scapegoats.” She glared at him while she crossed her arms over her chest, daring him to deny it.

“I had nothing to do with entrapping them. McGonagall had dealt with me by time they exposed themselves. I heard Filch caught them. As for Longbottom, well, he got himself caught. All four of us were given detention with Hagrid.” He sneered, obviously annoyed by the half-giant. “He was the one who caused all the trouble to begin with. Then the oaf took us into the Forbidden Forrest, pairing me with Longbottom of all people.”

Ginny suppressed a giggle as she tried to glower at him. “You have had a history with Neville, haven't you? You underestimate him,” she said knowingly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Longbottom has a habit of clumsiness. I was practicing wand movements with spells back in first year, and he walked right into the path of a Leg-Locker Curse. To be paired with him was like asking to be bitten by a werewolf. The only consolation was we had the protection of that boarhound, Fang.”

At this declaration, Ginny snorted. “You do know that Fang is a coward, don't you?”

“Yes, but I think he was braver than Longbottom. Maybe they could make Fang a Gryffindor; after all, Longbottom qualifies.”

Ginny stared at him furiously, her mouth pinched in a firm line, her cheeks pinkening.

Holding his hand up to ward off the legendary Weasley temper he had already been subjected to, Draco quickly added, “Merlin, Weaslette, that was a joke. Where is your sense of humor? Just like when I sneaked behind Longbottom to give him a little scare in the Forbidden Forest. You should have seen it. He squealed like a pig and shot sparks out of his wand without even checking to see what it was. Come on, Weaslette, can't you see the wit in that?”

“You know, you may be more like Fred and George than you would like to think,” she shot back, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“I hardly think you can compare us. I am a Malfoy,” he sparred.

“Yes, that's true. Malfoys scream in big, bad, scary forests. Fred and George have never screamed, to my recollection.”

“I did not scream!” he insisted. Was she still on about that? He could feel his own cheeks warming with exasperation. He planted both feet on the floor, leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, regarding her with resolution. “You still don't know what happened, do you? I was with Potter when we saw a dark, cloaked figure sucking the blood from a unicorn.”

Ginny's smile from their previous banter ceased. Her body shivered at his words. Draco wondered what was the cause of her tremble. Did she know that kind of feeling, the feeling that came from meeting evil? Noticing her wide, inquisitive eyes, he stopped his pondering to continue revealing his memories of the Forbidden Forest.

“We didn't know what it was, but you could feel the evil in the air; it was as thick as the silver blood all over the tree roots and leaf-covered ground. That cloaked thing was slithering around the unicorn, blood dripping off its face - if it had one. That was all I needed to see to know we were in danger, real danger. I ran for my life, and so did Fang.”

She inched forward, both intrigued and horrified by his story. “But, but you left Harry there, alone,” she murmured mournfully.

“He was frozen in fear. I had to stop and yell at him to move. The idiot acted like he didn't even hear my words. I kept saying, `Come on! Get out of here!' Then that thing began moving toward Potter, and he just fell down,” Draco said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I couldn't do anything but bolt out of there to find Hagrid. I did send up sparks with my wand, and when I finally found Hagrid, I told him about Potter. He instructed me to take Longbottom back to the castle while he and Hermione went looking for Harry. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“You helped Harry? I mean, you got help for him?” Ginny quietly asked, a curtain of red and gold falling on either side of her face.

“I'm not that heartless; is that what you think of me? Of course I went for help,” he said, gently pushing her stray locks behind one ear, his hand lingering just a moment longer than needed.

“I never said you were heartless, Draco,” she sighed exasperatedly, slouching into her chair away from his touch and pausing a moment while she cocked her head to the side. Her mahogany eyes were studying the Slytherin with interest. “We are on a first name basis, now, right?”

Draco gave a sharp nod as he shifted his weight and leaned back in his chair. His silver eyes never left her scrutinizing stare. He did not want to break eye contact; that would be a sign of weakness.

“Well, Draco, I'll admit your side of the story makes sense, but don't forget - I've seen a lot of stunts you've pulled and your viciousness. You've been cruel to a lot of people for no reason other than bigotry as far as I can tell,” Ginny sadly said.

“Would you care to be more specific, Weaslette?” Draco sneered.

“Hagrid, whose only crime is loving exotic magical creatures, doesn't deserve to be treated like dirt by you just because he is half giant. What happened to you your third year was your fault for insulting the Hippogriff; even the Slytherins know that,” she pointed out, regret lacing her words.

“You're mistaken if you think you know everything there is to know about my relationship with Hagrid, among others. You assume too much, Ginny. Do you remember the first time we met at Flourish and Blotts?” he asked haughtily.

“Of course, how could I forget? I-I mean you were so nasty to us,” she hastily explained as her cheeks reddened, and she suddenly appeared to be uncomfortable.

“Well, you know by that time Potter and I weren't exactly best mates, and that included all of his groupies,” Draco scoffed.

“I would hardly say we were his groupies. We were just friends shopping for our schoolbooks together,” Ginny tersely interrupted.

“Really? You were a chum of Potter then? And now?” Draco snidely asked.

“Well - er, I suppose not,” she grumbled. “Fine. You were right. That day I was a groupie, a silly little girl with a silly little crush on the Boy Who Lived. I've grown up a lot since then, and I've given up childish whims and fancies.”

“You certainly have grown up, Ginny,” Draco said approvingly as his eyes glided over the young witch. He smiled inwardly at just how mature she had become and how every pureblooded wizard could appreciate that. “So you no longer fancy the messy-haired pillock?”

“Never you mind who I fancy, Draco Malfoy. Get on with your story about Hagrid.”

“Well, that day I overheard Hagrid tell your father that my entire family is rotten to the core and a bunch of other derogatory nonsense. I find it ironic, Ginny, that you lot don't mind someone saying nasty things about my family, behind our backs, no less, but when I speak my mind with enough integrity to say it to his face, I get labeled the evil one,” Draco spat.

“Fair point, Draco. Why don't we make a friendly pact? You don't pigeonhole me with my brother's friends, and I won't group you in with Dark Lords, Death Eaters, and evil,” she said, the corners of her mouth curling.

“I'll agree to that. Care to seal the deal with a handshake?” Draco asked cheekily as he stood and extended his hand.

“Agreed,” she giggled, moving out of her chair and putting her much smaller hand in his.

Draco took hold of the soft, dainty hand and brought it to his lips, breathing in the scent of lavender with a hint of vanilla. He gently brushed his lips across the back of her delicate, freckle-dusted skin, smiling when he felt the smallest of shivers trickling down her arm. He raised his eyes to hers, continuing the contact of his lips and her hand, causing her to adorably blush crimson again.