It was at exactly six twenty-one that Ginny decided she didn't hate Draco Malfoy anymore.
It was at exactly six twenty-one and fifteen seconds that she realized she was crazy for it.
But, when faced with the dire, and utterly confusing turn of events before her, no one could question her lack of dislike for the boy, nor her self-contemplation of insanity due to her lack of dislike for the boy. After all, one can begin to like someone after disliking them for a very long time. It isn't normal, however, to begin liking someone whom you've disliked for a very long time, just because he's called you a name.
"You look ridiculous in that thing," Malfoy said, his shadow looming over Ginny like the Slytherin equivalent to a sporadic and very nasty rain cloud. Sadly, she'd left her umbrella at her dorm.
"And what's wrong with my clothes, Malfoy?" she asked stiffly, setting her book on the floor beside her. They were in the library – the token location of their meetings, as both were known to be terrible bookworms of their own fashion. As it was no special occasion, this early-evening reading session, Ginny had decided against any special clothing. At the moment, she was sporting a worn pair of jeans, ripped at the bottom due to her vertical displacement and their length, and an old Chudley Cannons T-shirt. Admittedly, they were a little ragged and not at all what someone might call presentable attire, but they were comfortable and damnit if she wasn't going to be snug in the library.
"Well, they're not exactly what I'd call prime fashion there, Weasley. That shirt has got to be twenty years old." Malfoy sneered, "Not that it matter what you're wearing, the way you're sprawled out on the floor."
That was true. She was leaning against a bookshelf devoted to books on Muggle parking violations. She'd never been disturbed by anyone but Malfoy.
"It's not nearly that old. And the proper word is vintage, my dear, dear Malfoy. Not that you could possibly know anything about good taste. Just look at that get-up you're in now."
It actually would have been a nice little outfit, had Malfoy not decided to pull the whole thing together with an atrocious…thing tied around his neck. His pants were dressy and black, his shirt pressed and white, his sleeves worn rolled elegantly to the elbows. But that tie.
It deserved to be an entity of itself. If there ever was a notice somewhere declaring the single worst tie in history, or perhaps a definition in some dictionary proclaiming the meaning of 'Horribly Bad Ties That Should Never Have Seen the Light of Day on the Wrong Side of a Rotting Tomato, Let Alone Been Worn in Public', Malfoy's tie would be in the provided picture, grinning and smiling like all hell. It looked as if someone had decided that, instead of simply choosing one or two colors for their little work of art, they would find every color imaginable, in crayon, and draw them all together in a scribble that would eventually turn into a disgusting green-brown color no one could possibly like. Add some fish and a few bright turquoise hearts, and you could safely say you had the correct hideousness of Draco Malfoy's tie.
Malfoy scowled, turning a bit, as if to hide his disgrace to society from her view. Awful kind of him. "Don't talk about my clothing, She-Weasel. Everything I'm wearing was more expensive than your entire wardrobe."
"Then I feel someone needs to tell you this, Malfoy. Whoever sold you that tie had commited highway robbery." From her seat on the floor, Ginny smirked absently at him. After all – she would as soon as die than admit it – she enjoyed arguing with him. Especially when he danced around with something as worthy of insult as that tie on.
"What's wrong with my tie, Weasley? Are you implying that my mother has bad taste? I rather liked it." From the way he was grimacing, you could tell his feelings were quite the opposite. Somehow, Ginny believed that mummy dearest had jinxed the tie on her son via some long-distance spell. Heh, served him right.
"Your mother, Malfoy, has worse taste than the back end of a Hinkypunk."
Heh, Ginny thought to herself. She thought that had been quite clever. Until, of course, she realized that technically, Hinkypunks didn't have much of a back end.
Malfoy frowned at her, the creases in his forehead sharpening considerably. He was thinking of some way to defend his dear mother's honor, despite his agreeing with her. The combined effort was nearly too much.
"W-well at least I don't look like a ragamuffin." He announced proudly.
Whatever comment Ginny had been thinking of disappeared. Brilliantly, she dropped her jaw, before erupting in the girliest bout of giggles she ever remembered having. Draco stared, openly surprised.
"That's got to be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, Draco Malfoy," she replied, once her side had stopped hurting, "Or should I say, Drakey-love?"
Draco glared at her. What had she just called him? Never in his life had he been called something as sickeningly sweet as…ugh, he couldn't even think it. Aside from, perhaps, the nicknames Pansy had called him when he was doing his best to ignore her, (in fact, he thought of his most diabolical and Slytherin-like schemes when he was ignoring Pansy).
"Somebody just jinx you, Weasley?" he looked around, "Whoever it was needs to tell me the countercurse, before I catch it."
"No on jinxed me, you prat." Ginny said, grinning, "You called me a ragamuffin."
"Yeah…?"
"Well, the only person that's ever called me 'ragamuffin' is my mother. It's her favorite term of endearment for me." At Draco's confused glance, she shook her head, "You know, like 'Male Offspring' is probably your mother's favorite thing to call you."
Ginny thought that had been particularly witty as well. Then all thoughts of wit left her as Draco pulled his wand from his back pocket. She frowned. After all, they'd been exchanging insults in the library for months. She thought they were way past threatening hexes.
He dropped down against the bookeshelf across from her, (of which was graced by many dusty tomes of medieval Icelandic cookbooks). "You're fairly right, you know. My mother is an absolute shrew. She's done nothing for me but force horrible fashion and terribly stupid girls on me. Very attractive girls – quite unlike you, Weasley – but stupid nonetheless. And I most definitely don't 'rather like' this tie at all. Have any good unsticking charms handy?"
"Woah, there, Malfoy." Ginny replied, holding her hands up, "Just because you called me a ragamuffin doesn't mean I automatically like you. What's in it for me?"
Truth was, she really did like him. She was simply calling herself crazy for it. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she noted the time – a few seconds after six twenty-one.
"Well…you won't see this tie anymore."
Oh…tempting.
She shook her head, "Not good enough."
Draco thought a moment, "I'll let you call me Drakey-love."
Oh…so, so tempting.
"In public?"
Draco looked insulted, "Oh, please. Never."
Ginny frowned. "No go. I'm going to need something a little better than the tie."
Draco thought a moment longer. "I've got it."
And then he kissed her, crossing the aisle distance in the blink of an eye, his slightly chapped lips pressing softly onto her lightly glossed ones. For a moment, Ginny was still, her mind still mulling tediously over whether she was insane. It switched for a second to the issue of his sanity, before landing at last at something that might have got a little like: Oh dear, this is nice. Best respond to that, love.
And so she did, grabbing his hideous tie and pulling him close. He slid his hands into her ponytail, pulling the band away easily. She moaned quietly in protest, but didn't linger on it. As her – admittedly slightly unbrushed – hair fell lightly to her shoulders, she lifted her hands in an attempt to equally muss his head.
The tie loosened and fell off in her hand. Startled, Ginny broke away from Draco, pushing him into a sitting position.
"Why, Draco Malfoy. This wasn't stuck on you at all. It's not even a proper tie!" holding up the incredibly ugly clip-on, she looked fairly scandalized. Grinning, she ruffled his hair and tossed the slip of fabric away, "Drakey-love, were you just trying to get at me?"
"Wouldn't dream of it, ragamuffin."
And they were oblivious of surroundings once again, happily snogging, a lone and ugly tie forgotten on the floor some feet away. It would later be retrieved by a House Elf with mismatched socks and a tea cozy for a hat, who would love it with the special, unrequited devotion it needed. Luckily, though, neither Draco Malfoy for Ginny Weasley ever saw it again.