Versus
And it really can't be called a war anymore. Maybe it was, back when they were younger, but now it's nothing more than a few exchanged insults and glares across the Great Hall at breakfast-time. So much more and so much less. They lock eyes one particular morning and she doesn't have the heart to look away.
Battle-lines are drawn: Slytherin versus Gryffindor, Good versus Bad, Right versus Wrong. Slytherin versus everyone, really; Slytherin versus Slytherin, even. Because, as everyone knows, Slytherin loves a good fight. Maybe the Lion can bite off the Snake's head, after all, but you can be sure that the Snake will get in a few poisonous bites himself before he expires. And everyone knows this about Slytherin, and everyone knows that Slytherin and Gryffindor's feud is the most bitter and emotional one of all. Malfoy versus Potter. Malfoy versus Granger. Malfoy versus Weasley. Malfoy and Weasley versus the world.
(In a world where thinking only in terms of black and white can be fatal, she can't bring herself to think in shades of gray.)
Weasley versus Weasley; stubborn Ron versus naïve Ginny. Wrong versus Right (or perhaps vice versa), Logic versus Dreams, Truth versus Reason. Life versus Death. Ron wants to squash the life out of her.
Parkinson pretends not to notice the way he looks at her. The other Slytherins, being as busy and ambitious as they are, don't; but Parkinson does. She notices the way his eyes linger a bit too long and, glaring into her kidney pudding, says nothing. Because, after all, what could she say? Nothing. Nothing she could say would ever change it. And, besides, she doesn't love him, anyway. Oh, no, she doesn't. (Oh, yes, she does.)
Potter knows. Oh, does Potter know. Not only does he know; he's decided that he has an opinion on it. He's decided that he doesn't like it-not at all. For Ron's sake and for his own sake, too, he knows-if he had only loved Ginny back, then maybe this might never have happened. But he can't now and he won't. Lot of good it would do now, anyway. The damage is done, and, for once, Potter isn't able to save the day.
Is anything really Right? Is Truth nothing but the insignificant opinions of insignificant people who rely more on feelings than on facts? Is anyone really Good, or are we all just different types of Bad? Ginny doesn't know anymore, and she isn't sure that she wants to.
"You haven't told anyone." It is a fact, and she says it dryly, not anticipating an honest answer.
"Of course not," he replies, rolling his eyes, his answer painfully truthful. She looks down and doesn't let on that the words cut through her to the bone.
"You don't love me, then?" she asks, trying to sound nonchalant but coming across as desperate.
"Do you even know what love is?" he asks, smirking. "This isn't love."
"I suppose not," she snaps. "It's hate." A moment's pause, and then-
"...But you're everything to me." This time she knows she sounds desperate, but she doesn't care. His eyes show no emotion as he stares hard at her and then walks away. She supposes that her promise of everything means nothing to him.
It isn't love. It's hate and passion and lust and desire and darkness and light and everything else imaginable, but it certainly isn't love. She doesn't love him as he flaunts his Dark Mark at the Slytherin table at dinner with a complete disregard of security, and he doesn't love her as she talks excitedly with Hermione about her future plans to become an Auror. It isn't love. But, with each passing day, they find that they despise each other less and less.
Death Eaters versus Aurors. Wizards and witches versus Muggles and Muggle sympathizers. Purebloods versus Mudbloods and blood-traitors. Draco Malfoy versus Ginevra Weasley, though somehow she feels that she's at fault and not him.
Ron, that night, refuses to meet her eyes as she speaks to him. And suddenly, she realizes that he knows. But he doesn't look angry; only sad. Only mournful. Only melancholy and regretful and hopeful and confused, all at the same time.
"I have to go," she says abruptly, and she leaves. He has no time to consider what has just happened, so he shrugs and continues eating.
"You really need to talk to her," Hermione mutters from his right side.
"I know," Ron replies, "but I doubt that she'll listen." If Ginny were there, she would agree; but she's not, so Hermione agrees for her.
"You're right, Ron," she whispers. "I just wish we could do something..."
"I've tried," Ron says softly. "I've tried, but nothing works. She doesn't care."
"She'll come to her senses eventually," Hermione mutters, trying to convince herself. She knows that she's lying.
Time versus Life. Reason versus Virtue. Darkness versus Light. Draco versus Ginny. She knows that they will never be anything more than an endless stream of battles and heated arguments and kisses when no one is looking but they might as well be, but he's everything she has. But even love, when love is all you have to give, isn't everything. It isn't even always enough.
(end)