His hands are wrapped around her waist and her head is fit snugly against his chest. The moon is full and the air smells of roses and there's just the slightest breeze. He pulls away and his face is mere inches away, noses brushing. Skin kissing skin and an explosion of emotions go off in her chest.
But, of course, that isn't life. That isn't real.
Just a dream.
Because in her dreams, Ginny is tall and slender and beautiful. Draco Malfoy likes her, maybe even loves her. And in her dreams, their blood couldn't matter less and family loyalty couldn't be less important.
But that's all they are. Dreams.
Because this is life, and Ginny is stuck at five feet three inches and certainly not fat but definitely not skinny either. She's got freckles instead of porcelain skin, her flaming hair looks like someone's set a match to it and curls crazily instead of being glossy and sleek and straight, and her eyes are a little too far apart and her lips not quite full enough. And Draco Malfoy doesn't know she exists, probably has never even laid eyes on her before. He's off being exotically handsome, carelessly graceful, shamelessly perfect, coolly intelligent.
And in this hell of a reality, their blood couldn't mean more and family loyalty couldn't be any more important. She's Ginny Weasley and he's Draco Malfoy and at the end of the day, no amount of wishing, dreaming, or hoping will ever change that.
It's just a dream but Merlin, it's a beautiful one.