Just a little fluffy piece I drafted five or six years ago.

He walked briskly down Diagon Alley with the air of a young boy in the invincible faze of his development. His father had taken him along to sort out some matters, none of which particularly interested this boy. Instead, at the first chance he could seize, he had slipped off to admire the wares of Quality Quidditch Supplies. The review of the new Cleansweep in the Daily Prophet had been especially glowing, and surely the managers would allow the young Malfoy a test ride.

Though only about eight years old, those around him seemed to know him and draw aside in respect (or, in some cases, fear or loathing). No one bashed him around, as would be expected on this busy day for commerce, but one person did cry out to stop him:

"Hey you!" With the scowl of a child, one more cute than threatening, set upon his face, he turned on his heel to see who dared to address him like that.

Running towards him was a lass about a year younger than him. Her long, red hair flew out behind her as she ran and when she stopped, it fell in soft, cascading waves. Though she stood quite a few inches shorter than him, her bright, lively, brown eyes met his cold grey ones unflinchingly.

"Excuse me, but you dropped this," she said quietly, holding out a small bag.

For a moment, he was befuddled, but finally managed a "Thank you," as his upbringing demanded.

Her reply was a smile. "You're welcome."

"Ginny, where are you?" a male voice called from a doorway. Through the crowd, another red-head could be seen standing at his full height, looking around with an air of distress and a hint of weariness, as though this wasn't a rare occurrence.

With a smile and a wave, she ran off to the source of the voice. Once again her hair streamed behind her like the tail of a comet, sending one thought through Draco's mind: She's beautiful.

Seven Years Later

The sun was just beginning to paint the sky orange as Draco wandered around Hogwarts castle. He had just wormed his way out of a possible fight with Pansy and had no intention of going back to his common room anytime soon. Besides, he was a Malfoy; rules existed so he could be above them.

It was nearly midnight when he heard the sound of someone softly weeping. A slender figure sat framed in a large window, turned to gaze out over the lake below. Even though the sconces were out and the moon shed very little light, he knew who it was.

"Ginny," he called softly, as though she was a shy horse on the far side of a small paddock.

She nearly tumbled out the window when the silence was shattered, though somehow managed to catch herself in time. With as much aplomb as she could muster, she tried to remove all emotion from her face and replied, "Yes, Malfoy?"

Within his chest, his heart throbbed miserably. How much she had changed over the years! Those eyes, once so joyful and trusting, had become a heavy locked door through which the sound of a brewing storm was barely audible. He imagined that, when those doors were finally breached, everything beyond would be dark and dead. At the end of his second year, after the Heir of Slytherin scare, he had noticed these changes, but had thought nothing of it. Through his third year it got even worse and he was helpless to do anything about it. But now, beyond the reach of petty grudges and politics, maybe he could do something.

"Ginny," he repeated, taking a step towards her.

An effort was made to move back, but once again she checked herself before she fell. She did steal a quick glance behind her, as though calculating the risks involved.

"Please let me help," he murmured, stepping back. "I know you're keeping your emotions inside, but you can't. Just give me a chance. Please."

She looked down at her feet and began to tremble slightly. This time, she didn't flinch as he stepped in, not even as he gathered her into his arms. The tears began to flood down her face, as though he had destroyed the dam holding them back. The calm before the storm had ended.

As he held her late into the night, Draco couldn't help but think, She's as beautiful as she was the first time I met her.