Disclaimer and Author's Note: I do not own Harry Potter or anything to do with Harry Potter. I've said it before and I'll say it again: If I owned Harry Potter, that would make me Joanne Katherine Rowling. And if I were J.K. Rowling, would I really be sitting on my computer and writing Harry Potter FANFICTION? If I were J.K.R., wouldn't I have something better to do? Instead of writing fanfiction stories that'll never happen, wouldn't I just write the REAL HARRY POTTER? Just possibly?
Okay, so that was my disclaimer. Here's my author's note.
I don't actually believe this will happen. It's just highly unlikely. So this may or may not be a oneshot. I just need reviewers, and you guys can be the ones to tell me whether or not it should be a oneshot or a continuation.
So . . . REVIEW OR DIE! I mean . . . uh . . . review, or I will be terribly, um, disappointed.
Rated M for sexual content OO.
I buried my face in her hair, her beautiful, marvelous bright red hair, and inhaled. The flowery scent that was Ginny filled my nose, filled my very soul.
She gave a slight sigh of contentment. I didn't blame her. I have been known in my year to be one of the best snoggers anywhere (not to brag). And, naturally, that's what we had been doing.
I had dated around a lot. I remember how one girl used to fawn over me every day, but I barely gave her notice. I didn't want her. I didn't want any one of those girls that I came with into those dark closets and abandoned classrooms. I wanted Ginny. And, at last, I had her. She belonged to me. But alas, she belonged also to someone else.
Ginny was dating a Gryffindor, Dean Thomas at that time, when she was actually with me. Bloody Thomas, just a mudblood git who didn't realize just what he had. He was the lucky one who could love her, hold her, kiss her in public. I never had that.
I know, even now, how Ginny would have disapproved of me calling anyone a mudblood. But even she couldn't break such a habit. I had been raised to hate muggle-borns and blood traitors, such as herself and her family.
I remember when I first saw her. I had hated her. I'd thought that she was just another poor, idiotic, blood-traitor of a Weasley. And she was poor. And she was a blood traitor. And she was indeed a Weasley, the family that I had been taught to hate. But she was no idiot. I was the idiot for not seeing her for the beautiful, blossoming flower that she was.
The first year, I merely gazed at her from afar, wishing that we could be together. Then I tried to take matters into my own hands. I had asked her out. Over and over again. But she had rejected me. Over and over again. I think she thought that I was merely going to try and play a cruel trick on her.
Finally, one day, after she had been practicing Quidditch, I had come up to her. She had tried to shrug me off, but I wouldn't let her. Nobody else was in sight. I had grabbed hold of her and then I had kissed her. And I loved it. At first, she had been to shocked to respond. Then she had returned the kiss, much to my delight. And then she had pulled away.
She had asked me what the hell I was doing. But that was the first day. And, even though she didn't like it, I saw it in her eyes. She loved me. She was confused, but she loved me.
It had still taken a long time for her to admit it. But one day, finally, in a broom closet that I hadn't even known existed, she pulled me to her. And she kissed me. And that was the beginning of our secret relationship.
But, as I say, it had to be secret. We could never be seen together. Otherwise, I could be killed, both of us disgraced. And if I weren't murdered, I would be kicked out of my home, my family. And then where would I go? Surely not to her house.
It wasn't until my fourth year, her third, when I realized how much I wanted her, how much I needed her. She had been so obsessed with goddamn Potter, my worst enemy. And yet, I gazed at her, and I truly began to see her.
It was that day, the day that stupid Potter and the rest of the Triwizard champions were going to try and get past those dragons.
It was when it was Potter's turn, against the Hungarian Horntail. I was just laughing at him with my old friends, when I randomly glanced around the crowd. Her hair caught my eye. And then I saw her, and I couldn't look away.
How could her hair be so incredibly shiny? Her numerous freckles seemed sexy in the light. Her brown eyes were sharp with fear and adoration. For Potter.
I realized that I wanted her to look at me like that. I wanted to be her hero. I wanted to grab her in my arms and . . .
One of my friends had snapped me out of my thoughts by asking me what I was staring at.
But back to when Ginny was dating Dean.
We were the Room of Requirement. The very room where I had been planning and rebuilding a certain something, one that would ruin Hogwarts forever, and kill the man in charge of it.
I stared straight into her eyes just then. I saw the love that sparked in them, just as I had that day after her Quidditch practice.
We were only sixteen and fifteen. Were we really going to do this?
I kissed her again. It was a passionate kiss. I pressed my body against hers, and, slowly, we became more and more horizontal. We ended up on a bed, a bed covered in red silk sheets, the luxurious red of her hair.
It was going to happen. I couldn't believe it.
She unbuttoned my shirt, and I did the same with hers. My hands explored her body, and we came incredibly close. It was all little kisses, everywhere imaginable.
We became one. I had never expected to ever do this, to gain this experience before I was married. And, even more incredibly, with I her /I .
I remember how it felt. It felt like, instead of me actually being there, I was watching two people from overhead expressing their unending, incredible love.
After it was all over, we lay together on the bed. And then she said it. Those three words that any human wants to hear. Even Lord Voldemort, no matter how he denies it. Even though I already knew, it was still so incredible to hear.
"I love you, Draco Malfoy."