Green

Loveedoo

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 6
Published: 30/09/2007
Last Updated: 30/09/2007
Status: completed

Ginny is jealous and bored, bored, bored. A quickie little one-shot that may or may not turn into a series, depending on how the review turn out is. R&R!

Chapters

1. Green

1. Green

The idea for this one-shot came to me when I was in the grocery store. I know, very random, but whatever. It's a lot more angsty than my first few fics, but maybe I should start moving in that direction…

Disclaimer: You know the drill. I won't even say it.

Green

I've always wanted to be One Of Those Girls.

One Of Those Girls who has everything. One Of Those Girls who can buy new robes every single weekend trip to Hogsmeade. One Of Those Girls with the perfect grades, the perfect boyfriend, and the perfect life.

Instead, I wound up with the Weasley Lot, as we like to call it in our family. Poor. Marked by our distinctive red hair. Insanely jealous. Make that obscenely jealous.

You can imagine how happy I was last year when I finally won something that could be envied. I had finally ensnared Harry Potter, he of the dashing heroics and the jet-black hair and the astronomical Quidditch skills. Yes, finally I was One Of Those Girls, in at least some ways.

But everything is ruined by Draco Malfoy.

I was supposed to be happy, in love, positively ecstatic with my new social status and boyfriend. But no. That sneering, jaded, unbelievably gorgeous boy just had to waltz in and steal my heart.

Which is why I'm sitting here, bored, as the Boy-Who-Lived tries to unbutton my shirt.

“Come on, Gin,” he moans in what I suppose passes for an alluring voice in Harry-Land. “I want you.”

I can't help but be disgusted. How could I not, when the guy I really want to be here is seven floors below me and probably tangling tongues with Pansy Parkinson?

Even though Harry's hands are on me in what many would call an intimate position, I feel zero tingles.

Nada. None.

Not like when Draco Malfoy so much as looks at me. Damn him and his gorgeous eyes.

This is insane. I can't think about one guy while making out with another. This can't go on any longer. The sham needs to end.

“Harry,” I say seriously, crossing my legs and rocking back and forth on the desk that I am perched on, “I don't think this is going to work out.”

Hurt, indignation, and something like fear all cross his face at once. “Is this because we haven't gone all the way yet? Because, Gin, I just don't think--”

“It's not that,” I interrupt him. “Christ, do I look like a slut to you?”

He looks wounded.

“Harry, I'm sorry, but we both know that Hermione has had a gigantic crush on you—”

Harry snorts in disbelief, green eyes flashing derision. “That's not true. She's going out with Ron.”

“And it's not working out any more than you and I are,” I say, frustrated. “Go be with her.”

He is torn by indecision, wanting to stay because he never breaks his promises and wanting to go because he is in love. I know the feeling.

“Harry, go,” I plead with him. But I don't need to. His heart is already with Hermione, and his body is halfway out the door to see her.

()()()()()()()()()()()

The next day, I am sitting on a bench reading a book that Hermione would be disgusted to see in my hands. It's some dime novel that I can't even remember the title of. It's positively moronic. Book-love has nothing to do with real love. Real love isn't filled with “heaving bosoms” and “dashing villains.” Real love is knowing who you will want to be with for the rest of time, even if they hate you. It's not doing anything with them, not even being near them. It's just knowing.

As I am pondering how anyone could stand to write this crap, the book is snatched out of my hands. I turn around, a protest ready at my lips, but it quickly dies away.

Because, standing there in all his green-tied, blond-haired glory, is Draco Malfoy.

And instantly the knowledge hits me that there is no way that he will ever want me back.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” he says in a condescending voice that I don't really mind. He examines the book. “Treasures of Araby. Shouldn't someone save the Weaselette from reading this low-class crap? Really, I thought you couldn't get any lower than a Weasel, but apparently I was wrong.”

“Shut up,” I reply weakly, trying my hardest not to stare. But he is just so gorgeous, with his hair like that, and that shirt turned up to the elbows…

Crap. He's talking to me again.

“—why he broke up with you,” Draco finished what must have been a long-winded explanation of why I suck. I would probably agree with every word he said.

“I broke up with him,” I point out, trying to slide the book out of his hands before anybody can see it. He grips it tighter.

“Whatever,” he says, waving his free hand.

I suddenly notice how close his leg is to my leg, and how I can see every individual strand of color in his irises. They are not, I realize, blue, as they look from far away. They are a very fine blue-gray. That's always been my favorite color.

“Yeah,” I say in reply to whatever he's blabbing on about now.

Draco frowns. “I spend about five minutes bashing Potter, and all you can say is, `Yeah?'”

I shrug. I try to grab the book back again, but he jerks it away. The movement puts Draco's leg an infinitesimal bit closer to mine. He sees me looking, but doesn't move.

“You can say whatever you like about him,” I say weakly. Just stay. Whatever it takes, please stay.

He sighs. “I have a lot to say, but I'm not going to.”

I don't care, because he hasn't left yet. As long as he stays, he could be plotting to overthrow the Ministry and I wouldn't care. Stay.

Draco's face is much too close to mine. It makes me uncomfortable, but not in a bad way. Tingles spread up my arms. Get ahold of yourself! I say to myself. He's not even touching you.

God, but just a look turns me into a quivering mass of girl Jell-O.

“Your eyes are brown,” he says in a quiet voice. “I always thought they were green.”

For some reason, it's not surprising to me that he's not being rude. It's pretty welcome, actually.

“There are a lot of things that you don't know about me,” I breathe. God. I sound like one of those girls from the dime novels I was always reading.

“Such as?” he says, pulling his face back from mine. I know he's going to make me actually talk this time.

I sigh. “I'm very jealous.” There. He wouldn't know that.

“Of?”

“You.” The answer has passed my lips and I want to take it back, but then I realize that it's pretty much the truest thing I've ever said.

Draco's lips twitch; I can't help noticing how kissable they look in the late afternoon sunlight. “Nobody would want to be jealous of me,” he mutters. His face is drawing closer. One of his hands creeps behind my shoulders on the bench. The tingles intensify.

“You'd be surprised,” I breathe. Oh, I was bad. Terrible. Horrible. But if it made him stay…

Jesus. I was so far gone it wasn't even funny.

“My life's not exactly idyllic,” he says ruefully.

“It is in comparison to mine.”

“You'd be surprised,” he parrots back at me. I make a face.

And then his lips are crushing mine, like the sweetest fruit I ever tasted, only better because it's him, and his arms around me his hands in my hair his hair in my hands and I don't care who sees.

But it's gone as soon as it came, and I am left breathing raggedly, looking at Draco with new eyes.

His smile is sad, his eyes empty. “I'm sorry, Ginny.”

“Don't be.” My reply is sharper than I wanted it to be, but it does the trick. He stays. He stays.

“It will never work—”

“We'll make it work.” Panic is rising in my throat. I was right. He doesn't want me. He would rather choose his friends and family above me. I know I'm being silly, but being second-best still hurts.

“Jesus.” He exhales, looking at the purple-red-gold sky. A couple of first years roll around playfully down by the lake.

“Is it Pansy?” I want to know. My heart is aching from not knowing.

He laughs a short bark of a laugh. “That slut? I can't stand her.”

“Why?” He needs to tell me.

“Because—oh, shit, we can make it work.”

And then he is kissing me again, so I don't know or care what we were talking about. Who cares if everybody hates us? We'll still have each other.

We come up for air and grin sheepishly at each other. By now I am on Draco's lap, his arms around me. My smile is alight with happiness, possibilities. Who could be jealous of anyone right now? I have Draco.

And that is enough for anyone, at least in my opinion.

()()()()()()()()()()()

This is my first one-shot, so go ahead and give me lots of constructive criticism! Please read + review, and if you're curious, go ahead and read my other fanfics!

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