Fan Fiction
The Art of Obsession
Harry Potter
by Error-in G

DISCLAIMER: I acknowledge that none of the Harry Potter rights belong to me, nor did I create the Harry Potter series or any character originally in it. I take credit only for any original characters and/or the plot variations.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a response to rowan-greenleaf's challenge, Ginny Draws Draco.

Oneshot: The Art of Obsession

My name is Ginevra Molly Weasley, and I am now a fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am just a typical witch; I listen to The Weird Sisters, have several older brothers, love to draw, live in a magical house, can perform a wicked Bat Bogie hex and have a slight obsession with Draco Malfoy.

Yeah, you heard me right.

He's tall and lean, powerful and naturally beautiful. He has platinum blond hair that barely reaches his shoulders, and he usually keeps it pulled back in a ponytail: the most unfeminine ponytail that I've ever seen, I might add. He has cold grey eyes that seem to look down on everything, but I think that observation is incorrect (I'll explain later). He has a pointed face with fine, almost femininely delicate features.

Draco wears white button up shirts and rolls the sleeves up to his elbows to show off his forearms. His silver and green tie brings out the color of his eyes quite nicely, and his pants are always excellently tailored and perfectly fitted.

Now, as for his eyes: His grey eyes aren't cold, they're distant. I don't think Draco Malfoy looks down on everyone; I think he just observes them objectively. You see, if he looked down on everyone, he would be horribly unhappy. Wouldn't you? Besides that, his eyes only look cold because they're grey. When was the last time you saw someone with grey eyes that looked warm? That's right, never. And you never will.

But you don't have to take my word for it. Besides, you're a Gryffindor, you think it's wrong that I should like the son of Lucious Malfoy, I know it. That's your problem.

Don't worry, I will never be with Draco Malfoy. Ever. I'm a Weasley, a Weasle-bee, as he calls us. But it isn't offensive, he's just living up to the reputation he has. He has to, doesn't he? It doesn't bother me. Not really.

So, about that obsession I have with Draco? I never talk to him, I don't think I've said a nice word to him in my life, even. He's pretty much in the elite of Hogwarts, and I'm, well, not. But I do get my Malfoy fix, certainly. When I'm lonely he's all that keeps me company, he understands me, he'll look into my eyes and let me know that he understands me.

Okay, maybe not.

But I do feel like I have a part of him with me at all times. You see, I have this muggle sketch book that my dad bought for me last year. It's almost full now, which is a little sad, but that's okay… especially because of what it's full of. You see, nearly half of the drawings are of the subject of my obsession. You guessed it: Draco Malfoy.

I have sketches of him playing Quidditch, dueling, studying, sleeping, and even snogging with his girlfriend Pansy Parkinson. No, I'm not crazy. Have you ever seen those girls that all they draw are horses? Horses, horses, horses… and they never look that much different. Well, it's a waste of time. Drawing Draco is like drawing the wind. I can capture nature, beauty, everything un-capture-able on paper just by drawing Draco.

That's right. Draco Malfoy. He's beautiful, honestly. You wouldn't believe it. I don't like to brag, but I think my pictures do him a fair amount of justice. Of course, no one could ever do Draco Malfoy justice, but still…

Ginny raised her head from the sketch that she was working on and looked at the subject that she was drawing. He was reclining on the lawn with fellow-Slytherins, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle, about fifty yards away. The air was still and the sun shone down so that, even at this distance, Ginny could see that his face was gleaming with sweat and his hair stringy and damp.

He was talking effortlessly with Zabini, the dark boy that contrasted Draco so beautifully. If Ginny had been working in water colors she would have been sure to add him to the drawing for effect, but as she was using only a pencil it would have been futile to do so.

The picture lying in Ginny's lap was a very close likeness to the boy it depicted. Its legs were stretched out and it was leaned back on its arms. Rather than limp, stringy hair there was a slight breeze in the picture, causing little wisps of hair to blow into his face. His feet, crossed at the ankle, were in perfect proportion to the rest of himself, not awkwardly too big or small like many artists' depictions might be.

Ginny smiled down at the picture as she sketched the lines of his loosened tie around his neck, adding the diagonal stripes with careful precision. His shirt wasn't quite buttoned all the way, revealing a portion of his neck and chest that wouldn't have been visible otherwise. Ginny had the urge to march right over there to Mr. Draco Malfoy and straddle his legs, loosening his tie until she could throw it over his head and unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his surely-perfect torso. Come to think of it, she hadn't ever seen him without his shirt on… except, of course, in dreams and her own life-like drawings.

But Ginny remained where she was. She carefully started to add shadows to the picture. A dark bit here below his arms, a dark bit there where his hair cast his face into shadow. She added the grass he was reclining on, soft and plush like grass so often is in the very end of summer. Right now Draco was talking, a look of obvious annoyance and superiority on his face, but in Ginny's picture the boy was wearing a small and mysterious smile, his intense eyes looking up at the viewer. And the viewer was, and only would be, Ginevra Weasley. This Draco was her Draco. The Draco on paper: the Draco that she created and commanded… and the Draco that loved her.

Ginny closed her eyes and imagined… imagined Draco looking her direction, and standing up. He would forsake Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle, his idiot "friends", and he would walk right towards her, where she sat on the grass in the shade of a tree. His intense eyes would stare into her, looking right through her as he walked closer, slowly. It would be agony to have to wait for him.

But Ginny knew full well that Draco would never, ever come to her. She looked once more at her finished drawing and, without closing the sketch book, shoved it into her bag. She gave Draco one last fleeting glance and stood up to head back up to the castle again. Ginevra Weasley had spent enough time for the day hoping to earn a glance from Draco Malfoy, and now was time to go up to the library and work on that Potions essay for Snape.

The library, on this Saturday afternoon, was full of people. There was only one empty table, so Ginny spread out her potions book and reference books that she'd hunted down in the jungle of books and sat down. The table was next to a window and the sunlight from outside shone in, warming Ginny's back and shining across her books and roll of parchment.

The atmosphere in the library was anything but a studious one, it was a little on the loud side and was interfering with Ginny's concentration. She would begin to write her essay and then hear an interesting snippet of conversation from someone nearby and be forced to stop. Finally she dropped her quill and surrendered to the distraction of the people around her, pulling her sketch book out of her bag and flipping back a few pages.

There was a picture of Draco, of course, straddling a broom. His long, lean body was stretched out flat along it, his right arm reaching far in front of his, and his thin fingers outstretched. His legs and left hand clutched the broom, raw concentration and determination on his handsome face. His long hair was whipping the air behind him, and his Quidditch robes were billowed out most becomingly. Ginny ran her fingers along his two dimensional body, feeling a tingle deep in her own…

She turned the page, revealing a picture of the same piece of flesh that had been on the last page. This time it was just a portrait. His fine, delicate features had been sketched carefully, his face as pointed on paper as it was in person. His hair was pulled back in a very loose ponytail and his mouth was curved down into a frown that was attractive nonetheless.

Ginny flipped to her latest drawing of her favorite human being, admiring the exceptionally fine likeness of Draco. She let the book lay open on the table, staring down into his eyes. She wished she could capture the spirit in them; his eyes were the only thing she felt she couldn't even begin to accurately draw. Minutes passed with only this picture of Draco existing to Ginny, and she felt butterflies slowly fluttering inside of her as she admired even this picture of him.

"Well, well, well… if it isn't little Weasle-bee."

A sharp voice interrupted Ginny's thoughts, a voice that she identified immediately. Ginny's head snapped up and she slammed the sketch book shut, her eyes meeting the gray eyes that were eying her critically. She couldn't bring herself to say anything; with just the table separating the two of them. They were so close. Too close. Ginny's breathing increased slightly, her butterflies fluttering faster and more intensely… more like moths now, really, erratic and unpredictable.

"What's that there?" Draco reached forward to grab Ginny's sketch book, but she had the presence of mind to snatch it up and hold it flat against her breasts. Draco's facial features contorted into a haughty grin as his hand withdrew. "Why won't you show me?" He asked.

"It's… it's mine." Ginny said, uncertainly keeping eye contact. Her books were still spread across the table and he leaned forward onto it, leaning in closer to her. Her stomach seemed to freefall with every centimeter nearer he got.

"Does little Weasley have a secret?" He whispered, a smile playing at his sensual red lips. Ginny had to press her nails into her sketch book to refrain from reaching up and touching those lips with her fingers, just to feel how soft she knew they would surely be. She nodded her head slowly, unsure entirely of what she was doing until he had grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet roughly. Ginny hadn't the presence of mind to do anything but hang onto her sketchbook and follow Draco as he stalked from the library.

Right as the two passed through the library doors, Ginny's feet faltered and she looked back. "My books…" She said lamely, still clutching the most important of the books to her chest with her free hand. But Draco paid no attention and hurried through the corridors with Ginny in tow, thankfully through near-empty corridors. Ginny's mind was reeling. Where was he going? Why were his fingers so comfortably warm and why was it that his fingers enclosed on her wrist made her feel so like his? The thoughts crossed her mind over and over again as chills ran through her body and she followed the white blond boy blindly.

Draco stopped abruptly, causing Ginny to run into his back. "Brat…" He muttered, throwing open a door and pushing her inside, following closely behind.

Ginny saw that she was in an old lavatory, the walls stained with rust stains from the water, and the sinks with lime. Some of the stall doors were hanging slightly crooked on their hinges and she knew this must be the bathroom in which the entrance to The Chamber of Secrets was. She stumbled to a near sink and leaned against it, watching Draco whisper something with his wand pointed at the door and then turn to her.

"Are you going to show me what's in that book of yours?" Draco asked lazily, walking slowly and steadily toward Ginny. His hair was stall damp with sweat, and there were spots below his arms where sweat had leaked through his shirt. He was beautiful in a more rugged way today than usual.

Ginny stared at Draco, crossing her hands in front of her sketchbook. There was no way she could possibly let anyone ever see the contents, let alone Draco pretty-boy Malfoy himself! She didn't know what he'd think, he'd probably laugh at her or, worse, get mad and destroy the sketches. Ginny subconsciously took a step away from Draco, who had stopped moving closer and now stood merely a few steps away.

"Won't you give it here?" Draco asked, his tone dangerous. Ginny shook her head hard, her eyes still latched on his face. "Accio book!" The sketchbook flew out of Ginny's hands and Draco caught it in his own, shoving his wand back in the pocket of his pants. A look of triumph crossed his face as he turned to the sink and set the book down, opening it to a page randomly in the middle. "Now, which page was I not supposed to see?..." Draco mused.

Ginny watched in horror as Draco flipped from the simple landscape he had opened to, to a picture of himself standing at a table in the dungeons, stirring a steaming cauldron. Her stomach seemed to clench up as if it was about to thoroughly reject everything she'd eaten today. Draco's back was to her so she could just barely see his face in the mirror as he looked down at the drawing that was so clearly himself. He studied it, a blank look on his face, and then turned the page to find another. This one was of him asleep, something Ginny had not seen but imagined. She bit her lip as he turned the page again.

Draco's face remained a mask as Ginny's teeth tore into her bottom lip. A line of blood trickled down her lip and onto her chin from the force that she steadily bit down with. Draco flipped through the pages, revealing sketch after sketch of himself: his gorgeous, wonderful, perfect self… the part of him that loved Ginny, because Ginny was his creator, and he must love her. Silence filled the bathroom, except for the slow drip of water that came from a leaky facet a few sinks down from where Draco stood. Ginny realized that Draco had not flipped a page for a while and was carefully studying one particular sketch. She silently stepped forward a few steps until she stood right behind him and could peer around his shoulder to see the sketch that had been completed not long before.

"You drew this today." Draco's dangerously quiet but altogether different than usual voice filled the room and, though it wasn't a question, Ginny felt compelled to answer him.

"Yes… when you were sitting on the grass out by—"

Draco interrupted, slamming the sketch book suddenly shut and causing Ginny to jump. "I know when you drew it, I saw you." He said quietly, leaving the sketch book lying on the sink and turning around to face Ginny. His face was only inches from her own. "How long, Weasley?" He whispered, his voice dangerously low.

Ginny longed to take a step back, to turn around, to run away. But she couldn't do anything but stare up into his distant grey eyes and gape up at him. She was silent for a few long moments, and finally looked down at the floor and answered: "Since the beginning of last year." She could feel his eyes on her as she stared down at the floor and it felt as if he could somehow see right through her.

Draco said nothing, but he continued to stare; Ginny knew because she could feel the force of his eyes on her. The drip, drip, drip of the sink was all the noise that there was in the deserted bathroom, and it pounded on Ginny's eardrums painfully. She saw Draco move his arms up and before she could do anything felt his hands, one on either side, press on her face and tip it up towards his own face. Ginny's heart beat sped up rapidly and the moths in her stomach took flight again. There was a tingle down her spine as he stared into her eyes, and then, suddenly, his eyes were much too close to focus on at all.

As Draco's lips closed over Ginny's she felt the immediate urge to pull away, but he wouldn't let her. She kept her mouth closed, struggling steadily against his hands, but to no avail. A warm, wet muscle pushed through her lips and into her mouth, exploring without hesitation. Ginny felt strangely violated: she hadn't invited this tongue into her mouth. She hadn't ever been kissed, though she knew the theory behind it. Curse the theory! Her mind thought angrily, as it wasn't helping her decide what to do anyhow.

Draco's mouth was opening and closing quickly, pushing his tongue deeper into her mouth and holding her head tightly close to his own. Ginny felt a tingle, but not in her spine… this one was in an entirely different place, an almost unfamiliar place to her. She felt the unmistakable need to wrap her arms around him, and so her hands snaked up between his arms to latch around his neck. She stretched up on tiptoe and uncertainly responded to his tongue in her mouth. She met his tongue in the middle and pressed against it, tasting it, tasting him: perfection. She could feel his hands run from her face to her waist, wrapping around her and pulling her body flat up against his own.

Ginny stumbled as Draco pulled her closer, falling momentarily off of her toes and breaking the lock of their lips. She stretched up to meet his mouth once more, startled to feel his manhood pressed against her leg, and feeling again the urge to leave, but she didn't. The tingling increased, and she felt hot between her legs, something she couldn't entirely understand. Draco's hands slid lower, firmly grasping the flesh that he found there, causing Ginny's body to grow stiff. He continued to kiss her, the movement of his tongue and of his lips increasing in time with Ginny's own.

"Ohhh, how wonderful!" A dreamy, sappy and high-pitched girl's voice sounded behind them. Ginny jumped away from Draco and looked behind her to see a transparent figure sitting on the top of one of the stall doors. She smiled down at them in a sad, sentimental way, and Ginny knew this had to be Moaning Myrtle. She heard the tear of paper behind her, and quickly turned to see Draco holding the notebook, having ripped out the newest drawing.

"We'll have to do this again sometime, Weasley." He said, his voice low as he held out the sketchbook to Ginny, shoving the picture he held unceremoniously into his pocket.

Ginny's hunger for him had not been quenched, nor had it been even slightly satisfied. Rather, her hunger was a needier, hungrier feeling. She watched as he flashed her one last smile, his grey eyes radiating a kind of warmth that one might think held a sliver of affection, and then turned to go.

Of course, no one could ever do Draco Malfoy justice, but still…I think he approves of my renditions of him. I must say, though… ever since the other day in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, I've been able to capture so much more of Draco's eyes in my sketches: his grey eyes that really do radiate something other than a closed, cold feeling.

I hope he's as good as his word. We'll have to do it again sometime, Malfoy.

Author's Concluding Note: There's nothing to say, really. This is, as I mentioned, a response to rowan-greenleaf's challenge. Reviews are greatly appreciated, especially if they're critical reviews. -- Error-in G