Preface
This is your miserable schoolgirl crush, complete with staring, mild stalking and bad poetry…really bad poetry. We're talking awkward Old-English and overused metaphors about hearts and eyes and feelings.
This is agonizing for months and years about whether or not he likes you when it is perfectly clear to everyone else that he barely even knows you. You're just his friend's little sister.
This is preteen angsty unrequited love, the worst kind.
Ginny Weasley is in love with Harry Potter. Well, not really; she's in love with the idea of Harry Potter. The thing is…she doesn't really know him that well. She's just built up this image in her mind, this persona that is Harry. And he's perfect. Who wouldn't love this guy? Handsome, smart, funny, athletic; a hero. He's her knight-in-shining-armor, her personal savior. Remember in her first year? With the chamber? He saved her life. Wouldn't you be interested in him, too?
What Ginny doesn't get is this: Harry is far from perfect. Sure, he's good looking, and he is athletic, but he's not that good in classes, aside from Defense. He can be funny, but he's not hilarious. He's actually fairly antisocial half of the time, with a tendency towards depression. He bottles up his emotions a lot. He's awkward, too, with girls. He's a good guy, don't get me wrong, but he has his character flaws like everyone else.
You can't tell Ginny any of this, though…she will only find it endearing. She'll acknowledge the shortcomings, but they will only become glamorized and incorporated into her image of Harry…now he is the tortured hero, tall, dark, and brooding. She wants to help soothe him, heal him. Sounds like the blurb of a Harlequin paperback, no?
Shortcomings should be endearing, but you have to remember that this is a person with dreams and ideas, not some predictable static character that is always the same. Life is not scripted.
This is a hole she has fallen into. She is stuck wanting this boy she has put on a pedestal, and he is too high up for her to speak to, too far away to be normal. Which is what he wants; just some normalcy already, ok?
She doesn't understand. She is sick with reverent longing for a boy who is mortal, fallible…it's doomed. The only cure for lovesickness is a broken heart.
The options here are limited. There are only two, really, and they both come down to pain. Ginny can either: a) Do nothing(sweet aching pain eating her insides), or b) Tell him(swift stabbing pain that leaves her hollow). This obsession is like an infection; the wound can't heal unless you clean it out.
And so she will tell him.
One night, on the fourth floor, she finds him walking alone. He does this sometimes, pacing cold stone hallways, thinking. She is giddy with anticipation.
He is nervous, too, but in a different way. He can see the affection in her flushed cheeks. It makes him cringe inwardly, for what he must do, must say to her. "I'm sorry."
And it's true. He is sorry.
He doesn't want to hurt her. He is so afraid, because, here it is beating warm in his hand, her heart...and it's so fragile, fluttering pulse, and he is so big and clumsy. What can he do?
It's okay, please don't cry...no, there's nothing wrong with you, don't think that...it really is just me, I just, I can't...
Poor Harry. Poor boy. He's so good, so nice. He will save you. He will help you with your homework, hold open the door, battle to the death with an evil genocidal warlord. Hero-boy here is the sole contender against the dark side at the tender age of fifteen. It's a lot for him. Maybe it's not fair that he has to do this, too.
I'll bet he feels like shit. Congratulations, Harry Potter, you just crushed your first heart.
He was lying when he said it was him and not her. It really is her. Not that she's ugly or boring or unintelligent...she's desirable enough(even if she doesn't feel that way all of the time). What's wrong is her mindset.
You can't idolize the people you love, especially someone like Harry. You have to remember that people aren't perfect; everyone is awkward and unsure and insecure and we're all just floating around on this revolving hunk of rock and dirt, trying to keep it together long enough to come to some sort of understanding about something.
This is a fact we tend to forget, probably because feeling alone in the world appeals to our vanity. Most everyone has the same experiences. Contrary to apparent popular belief, you are not the only one who has ever felt sad, lonely, angry, contented, lost, shy, glowing, broken, betrayed, euphoric. These are common human emotions. You are not as sufferingly unique as you think you are.
Which is to say that this is a typical situation in the life of an adolescent girl. Rejection, I mean. It sucks, You know? Loving someone who doesn't love you back. And, yeah, let's call it love. Why not? You could say that it isn't real, isn't valid because she's so young and it's not reciprocated, but there are all kinds of love, and who the fuck are you to say what love is or isn't?
This kind of love is so heavy that she cannot stand under it's weight, which is why she is huddled on the floor in an alcove when he finds her. The skin around her eyes is tight and dry from crying, and her breathing is shallow, but he cannot see these sign of distress in the dim light; all he can think of is the prospect of verbal taunts and points taken. He is a prefect, after all.
If she had not been so withdrawn into herself, she would have noticed the footsteps, the shock of silvery hair, the shadowed sneer...too late.
"Why are you on the floor, Weaslette? Did you sell your bed to pay for your schoolbooks? Cause I'll bet you could afford to buy robes that fit you if you slept in Potter's bed...or did he get a boyfriend?"
Okay, so maybe it wasn't his best ever. He'll concede that. He's just so good at this, so fucking good at exploiting weaknesses that even though he's not in top form, it's still biting.
She is so tired, and so upset already...now the hot despair is stinging at her eyes again, more tears welling up although she thought she was empty. And, shit, the hurt is expanding in her stomach, pumping from the soreness of her heart into her veins, flowing into limbs raw with emotion. Here is the pain of rejection in the middle, surrounded by self-loathing and agony with a tad of shame over there in the corner. She's a wreck.
This should be all in a days work: Draco Malfoy wakes up, eats lunch, makes girls cry. You would think he'd be used to this; but here is the iron fist of guilt, clenching his abdomen. He winces in recognition. I guess this isn't a new emotion after all.
We can see the traces of memory in his face: at seven years old, when he forgot to feed his pet rat for two weeks and it died; at ten when he broke Ted Nott's arm while roughhousing; those times he yelled at his mother. He felt horrid.
He's not completely cold-hearted, you know...he just suppresses his emotions a lot. He has a reputation to maintain, a name that he's made for himself. He won't let his conscience get in the way of his ambition, his identity...because, who is he if he isn't cruelly refined, always cool, calm, and collected? This is what he knows how to do.
But this is not what he knows how to deal with. He is used to anger, frustration, fighting back; with words and fists, no matter how feeble. These tears...this choked sob, this despair is unknown. It's uncomfortable.
All he really wants to do is leave, but he's a prefect and she's out after hours in a deserted hallway bawling her eyes out. What can he do?
"Look, uh...Weasley. Could you be a bit quieter? I'm trying to think. Come on, it really can't be all that bad...oh, stop that! 10 points from Gryffindor for hyperventilating."
Great. On top of everything else, Draco Malfoy is standing over her, flustered and brooding, taking points from her for crying! It's all too much and somehow it's hilarious, and now she is laughing too, laughing and crying and being generally loud and unstable, and it's just perfect because Malfoy looks even more bewildered. How messed up do you have to be to unsettle the Ice Prince of Slytherin?
He really does seem upset now, and she supposes that she must look a bit disturbed since she's having an emotional breakdown on the floor. She notices that he's muttering to himself and tries to breathe more evenly so she can hear.
"...obviously don't know what I'm doing, standing around at this time of night...wish I'd taken the dungeons...fecking hell, never trying to speak to a girl again, they're bloody insane..."
Maybe it's just that she's on the rebound, or maybe there's something particularly endearing about subconscious rambling, but she can't help thinking that this is kind of cute, this perplexed boy who is still standing here anxiously trying to figure out what to do, and...trying to help. It's nice, to have someone who just wants to make things better.
This is how it starts, you know. All it takes is the thought to trip you up, and then before you know it, you're falling again.
a/n: I've been mulling over this one for a while...don't know how long it will be, I'll try to update soon.