A/N: Sorry for the delay. I've been on a writing brink...you'd think with summer here I'd have more time on my hands, wouldn't you? Unfortunately, not the case. Sadly. But here I am, with another chapter. I hope you like...this one was really difficult to write and I still feel as if I could've done a lot better, but how I could've done better I don't really know. Hopefully my brilliance was good enough...
Thanks for all you that reviewed and continuously begged me to update, it's the only thing that kept me at this story!
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Seven Days Later
Chapter Three: Not What I Expected At All
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Malfoy sighed, rubbing his temples as he looked at me from across the table.
"I'm assuming you heard."
"Heard what?"
"Don't play dumb, Virginia. Although it does suit you Weasleys nicely."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mal-Draco."
Merlin damnit, was I being obvious?
"I'm okay, little Weasel." I couldn't look him in the eye. "Really, I am. I certainly don't need pity from the likes of you."
"I don't pity you," I whispered, still unable to look him in the eye. Instead I focused my gaze on my quill, noticing the delicate droop of the feathers as I swished it back and forth.
"Like hell you don't. You're probably thinking how sad it must be for poor little Malfoy. How absolutely terrible. Save your bloody tears."
"I-"
"If you're going to be stuttering your way tonight, I've had enough. I'm sick of this library as it is. All these musty odors are clogging my delicate pores."
Malfoy pushed his chair out and grabbed his things, ignoring me as he swept past me and towards the large double doors.
I don't really know why I followed him.
Maybe it was the way he looked that morning in the great hall, the desperate glaze in his eyes that seemed to suck the breath out of my lungs. Or maybe it was the way his face remained expressionless, void of his smirk, his pout...his smile. Or maybe it was just the fact that Draco Malfoy called me Virginia, caught me in his warm embrace and didn't let go. Maybe it was the fact that I was falling hard for the bastard.
Whatever the reason, I grabbed my things and ran out of the library after him, frantically trying to follow him. Thankfully, I saw the swish of his cloak move past Uric the Oddball and I lengthened my stances. I followed for a full seven minutes and eleven flights of stairs before he ran into a room and closed the door behind him.
Here was the point of no return
I could either turn back and pretend this never happened, fall back into our comfortable routine...or I could walk in, and change things forever.
Because I wasn't naive. I knew things would change. We wouldn't be friends or anything, but things would change.
Well. I hate boredom.
So I slowly opened the door, peeking my head in before stepping fully into the room.
Malfoy was no where to be found.
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"Ginny, what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Well...allright."
"I'm just tired. From all the studying I've been doing, my head feels like a wet mess of Ron's attempts at a hangover potion."
"Why don't you take a break, Gin?"
"Hath my ears hearest you correctly? Is Hermione Granger telling me to take a break from studying?"
"Preoccupation does nothing for concentration. Why do you think I allow Harry and Ron to play chess so often? Sheer, easy entertainment."
"I don't know..."
"You could go out for a fly," Hermione said, peering out the window next to her as her bewitched needles continued to make wooly bladders. I mean, hats. "Or not. Malfoy just got on his broom."
Malfoy?
"Malfoy?"
"Yeah. Over the quidditch pitch...guess flying's not an option anymore."
Hermione turned back around to look around the common room.
"Have you seen Harry lately?"
"Nope."
Malfoy on the quidditch pitch...
"It's so weird, I feel like...like he's actively avoiding me, or something. Has he talked to you about anything? It's like he doesn't trust me anymore..."
Should I go? I mean, I don't want to seem staulkerish. But...I wanted to go. I mean, I want to go. See Malfoy. Quidditch pitch...
"I'm sure it's nothing, Hermione. Maybe he's pmsing."
"Males don't pms, Ginny."
"Sure they do. They just don't bleed out their vaginas."
"They don't have vaginas, either."
"They have penises. It's an even worse curse."
That's weird though, isn't it? That I wanted to see Malfoy? Usually I do all in my power to avoid him...like he was avoiding me. Since yesterday, when Hermione told me what happened to his mum, he was acting even more solitary than usual. He wasn't flanked by his two flowerpots, for one. Sat alone without the presence of fucking prissy Parkinson at the Slytherin table...
"Ginny, what would your mum do if she heard you talking the way you do. You Weasleys just don't know the idea of censorship, do you?"
In three days we had our presentation, and we still hadn't got together to do any real work.
"Living with my brothers...I'm the most censored of us all."
Did I really care about that anymore? Suddenly, seeking revenge on Harry didn't seem quite as important. Or showing up Malfoy. I just...
I just wanted to see the bastard.
"That's a scary thought."
"I think I'm going to take a walk, Hermione. This common room's getting stuffy all of a sudden, I hate drafty castles sometimes," I said while grabbing my cloak from the floor next to the squashy armchair. "And if I see Harry, I'll tell him to dock his head on straight."
"Thanks, Gin," Hermione replied, giving me a small smile before flipping the Phantom of the Opera book in her hands open.
Quidditch pitch.
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"What the fuck are you doing, little Weasley."
What was I expecting, a warm welcome?
"Good to see you too, Malfoy."
"Oh shut up! Shut the fuck up!"
Hm. Malfoy, the usual calm and composed snivelly nosed brat.
Malfoy dove down on his broomstick, landing hard and marching up to me, his hair wild and his eyes even crazier. I'd never seen him this vulnerable, this rough. He nearly charged at me like an animal, shoving his face in front of mine.
"Let's go comfort poor, twisted Malfoy! The sudden orphan who's father is a murderer and who's mother is a snivelling carcass! He must be a Deatheater, the sad bastard! Right? Right Virginia?!"
I had no words. All I could do there was lock my knees and stare, my mouth slightly open. This was just strange to me. I didn't know what I expected when I went down to the pitch but this certainly wasn't in any of my peripheral vision.
"And what's with you! Following me around like a wet dog, staring at me with those eyes like I'm some disfigured, dying baby dragon! Merlin Weasley, you drive me mad! I don't need your fucking pity, I don't need anyone's! I'm perfectly, undeniably fine!"
He was breathing hard from all his yelling, his hands clenching and unclenching next to his stiff body. Suddenly he took a deep breath and stepped backwards, his jaw tight and his eyes closed.
"Why don't you just fucking go and leave me the hell alone, Weasley," he said. I bristled at the way he wouldn't even look at me.
"I thought we agreed my name was Ginny."
His brow furrowed and his nose flared and his shoulders tensed...and it was wonderful.
He ducked his head and his unkempt hair fell in front of his eyes, shielding me from any emotion he was surely hiding from me. This happened to me all the time, and I was used to this brink, this sacrifice.
Pain is always shielded by anger. Bitterness, wrath...once it's all gone, all you have left is the sorrow. After you scream and chuck and kick and you can't say anything else due to the rawness in your throat, you only had one thing left to do. Cry. It took all the self restraint in the world to keep tears at bay, and after unleashing such emotion, your body was too weak to continue. Suddenly all you could was push your back against the wall, fall to your knees and cry.
"Just go, can't you?" he finally asked me, letting out deep, controlled breaths. After a few moments, when he realized I wasn't moving, he turned around swiftly and approached his fallen broom.
All of a sudden, I found myself moving. It was like I was possessed, made to walk to him, but it made, strangely, the most sense in the world.
"I thought I told you to leave me the fuck alone!" he screamed, whirling around to face me.
"Draco...you're crying."
I don't know why I said it. I think I was so stunned by the idea of Draco crying that it came out in all my stupefied glory.
He stopped, blinking, looking confused before taking his fingers and swiping them under his eyes. To his amazement, he found tears clinging to his skin. He looked back at me, his brow furrowed before he finally whispered, "you called me Draco."
"That's your name, isn't it?" I croaked out, my throat dry as I felt my heart squeeze. Crying was so foreign to him it amazed him...and yet his name on my lips was what brought a gentle tone to his own words.
"Yeah," he said, wiping away the rest of his tears. "But so's Malfoy."
"You're not your father, you know."
"I know that," he snapped, the fire back in his words as he turned to glare at me. "I realize that I'm not my father."
"No, I don't think you do."
I took a step closer, suddenly desperate to make him understand that I didn't hate him.
"I'm..." Draco looked at me, hesitating, before sighing and scratching his neck as he looked away. "I'm sorry for what he did third year."
"You shouldn't need to apologize for what he did."
"I know...I just wanted you to know. That I'm...sorry. For what...happened to you."
"Well thanks, Draco."
"And you know, I don't really hate you. Or...or your family. Or the mud...Granger. I just...I don't know. I was just brought up to think that I...I had to, or something...I..."
He turned towards me, sighing before glaring at me. "No, I take that back." I swallowed. "I do hate you, for what you do to me. I mean fuck it, why the hell am I telling you this shit? My entire fucking life's story? It's like...I feel obligated. What spell did you use, Weasley? What fucking potion?"
"Nothing," I said, my eyes wide.
"It has to be! I wouldn't do this fucking shit if I weren't...if I weren't under some damned spell! I'm a Malfoy, I don't-"
But he stopped after he spoke those words. His eyes were wide with rage but with a sudden realization, they fell to sorrow. Those three words, "I'm a Malfoy," were so familiar in his mouth that he spoke them with whatever compulsion of condescending fervor he felt. He closed his mouth and straightened his back before whispering "I'm a Malfoy," his eyes darting to my red hair.
"No," I whispered, racing forwards to catch his face in my hands. I don't really know why I did it...but he looked so incredibly lost. So lost it scared me, seeing his eyes suddenly dull. I was so used to seeing...I don't know...something in them...hatred, mischievousness, that it killed me to see him so...so lifeless...
I missed the bastard. Gone were the taunts, the mockery...the only thing left was a shell-less ghost who didn't know where to turn, only knowing that he was a arsehole because that was his blood. His calling.
Only I didn't believe it.
"Merlin, Draco, will you look at me?"
My palms cupped his cheeks as he finally moved his eyes away from my hair and into my eyes, looking the most vulnerable I had ever seen him. The only person who even touched the lifelessness he held was Harry, Harry in his worst state.
"You're not a Malfoy! It's only a name, it's not your life's calling, you're not destined to follow whatever heritage your forefathers have left behind-"
"I am," he said, swallowing before prying my hands away from his face. "I mean...look at you. You're a Weasley." Noticing the sudden coldness of my eyes he shook his head, licking his lips before saying, "I didn't mean it that way...I just meant...look at your family. You...you're you because of them, aren't you? Same...same morals, same ambitions. Family's blood, you can't just tear away from it...and people hate you for it. People...people hate me for it, too..."
Draco took a deep breath, looking down at my hands. He was still holding them...I never noticed. Huh. His fingers were calloused, like Harry's, but they felt so much more...delicate than his. They were cold, though, and pale, but his fingers were long and held mine gently.
"You hate me," he whispered, swallowing once more.
"No!" I said, shaking my head as he looked at me. "I don't!"
"Yeah, you do," he said, smiling slightly as he looked back down at my hands. "You say differently...but you do. It's in the way you look at me, the way you can't stand to be around me. Everyone hates me."
This was so weird. Draco was sharing his sincere, soft side of him and I didn't know what to do. I knew he was lost with himself, that he was trying to prove to himself he wasn't anything like his father, but it was still weird. It still left me speechless, wondering if he really was on some potion or under some spell.
Oh my Merlin, this wasn't what I was expecting when I told Hermione I was going to go out for a bit. I wasn't expecting to hear such a confessional from Draco...why was he being like this? It was throwing me off, and I needed my head clear right now. Hearing him talking like this and having him hold my hands the way he was was doing funny things to me...
"Stop it," I said, swallowing and shaking my head slightly. "You...you have to get your head on straight. People don't hate you, they respect you. But keep this up and...and they won't have anything left to respect. Blood doesn't keep you tied to your family, love does. And you don't love your father, right? So...so you don't have to have anything to do with him. You don't."
"You make it sound so easy, little Weaslette."
He chuckled, a lifeless, echo of a chuckle, before taking a deep breathe and looking around at the stadium.
He needed this.
"Come on, Draco. Let's go flying."
He gave me a grateful smile, even if it was a small smile, and we climbed our broomsticks. We didn't talk for the next thirty two minutes and twelve seconds; we'd done enough of that. Instead, we just flew.
I still had a mountain load of homework to do, just waiting for me in my dormitory, so after one last glance at Draco my feet touched the ground. I began to walk up to the castle but I heard my name being called. Turning around, I saw Draco dive down and before I knew it his lips were on mine, his hands in my hair.
What?
What the fucking hell?
It was brilliant. Couldn't have lasted more than two seconds, but it was bleeding brilliant. His mouth was surprisingly warm and...and it was just brilliant.
Brilliant.
Just a soft, physical show of gratitude, I knew.
This was dangerous.
I was falling for the bastard and kissing him wasn't going to fix it. If anything, it would increase my infatuation.
Draco was a fucking damn amazing kisser...
Why was he kissing me again?
Bleeding brilliant.
"Thanks," he whispered, his lips a centimeter from mine. He was so close that when his lips moved to say that word, it subtly touched my own.
It was the sexiest thing I had ever witnessed for myself.
"You owe me," I replied before winding my hand behind his head and crushing his lips back onto mine.
Not what I had expected at all.
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