AN: In my defense, I really tried to make this third person. Draco was having none of it. And yes, clearly I identify with Draco on some level because I always want to write from his POV. I have noticed this. He's just so much fun to work with!
One-shot. Draco/Ginny. Pansy is jealous, even though Draco isn't dating her. And Draco might be staring at the Weaselette, but that means absolutely nothing. Right? Fourth-year ball.
Title from Jonathan Rhys-Meyers "This Time."
./.
…Watching Life Pass from the Sidelines…
./.
You've never been a fan of balls or dances. Maybe because since you were knee-high Pansy had been dragging you with her.
Maybe because your robes had to be perfect or your mother would be upset.
Probably because from a very young age you'd learned that Malfoy's do not have fun. A lesson your father had made sure was drummed into him.
So the ball fourth year, with bloody Potter and the godawful Gryffindors prancing around their hero was not something you were looking forward to all that much.
Fleur had spent a couple wasted minutes hoping you'd drool over her, if only for bragging rights, but you'd not exactly been interested. In fact, all the girls brave enough to approach you with an invitation had been met with a snarl (including Pansy, but unfortunately she was rather used to it by now).
She's no doubt told everyone that the two of you are going together, and for once you aren't exactly willing to put up with her fawning and lying and her pretensions of grandeur and civility.
She's a bitch, to not put too fine a point on it, and if you have to deal with her claw marks in your arm from her not getting her way one more bloody time, there's a high probability that you're going to go mad.
So here you are. Sitting down at one of the tables. Avoiding looking at stupid-face Potter or idiot-boy Weasel or…mudblood.
You can't really call her stupid. You don't even dislike her all that much, to be fair, she's just a bit of a know-it-all. And a mudblood, of course, which kind of puts the kibosh on thinking she resembles anything like a human being, but still. Even you can't justify calling her stupid.
Your father probably would. But then, your father sort of is. Stupid, that is. When it comes to things like that.
The Weaselette's with that inept half-squib, Longbottom, which should be amusing. It is amusing. You just aren't smiling.
Because you aren't having fun. Because you're bloody well miserable. Because Pansy's made it good and clear that because you'd refused to dance with her, she's going to make your life a living hell. And you know she can. She's done it before.
It's rather a shame that your father had also made sure to drum in that it's never all right to hit a girl. Chivalry from the man you know had tortured plenty of female muggles in his heyday. But then, you've always known your father was a bastard.
Which is when you realize that when you've been off daydreaming, you've also been staring at the Weaselette. Not looking. Not glancing. No, we're talking full-out staring.
Way to uphold the Malfoy reputation, you stupid sod.
She's frowning at you. No surprise there. Actually, it sort of is, because you rather thought she'd be glaring. But she's just frowning. Thoughtful-like. It's a little off, actually, so you scowl at her.
She grins.
It startles you so badly that you completely accidentally spur-of-the-moment, taken-by-surprise, completely without meaning to grin back at her.
As soon as you realize your eyes widen and then you glare at her, your best glare, the one that can make first-years squeak and hide under desks (you've actually done that before, it was magnificent, even if McGonagall was good and pissed).
She rolls her eyes at you, and then winces as Neville steps on her foot. You can't help but smirk at that, a nasty-sort of smirk you think, except her lips are twitching as if the two of you are sharing some sort of private joke, and that's not right at all, you don't share anything with the nasty little blood traitor, so you look firmly away and cross your arms determinedly, so she's clear that you aren't having any of that.
Except you kind of need to see her reaction.
So you flick your eyes back, just briefly, just to make sure that she knows how utterly disgusted you are with her, and she just looks amused at your antics.
Antics.
You don't have antics. You're Draco bloody Malfoy!
You look away again, and this time you don't look back.
Except.
Oh, and this is awkward, Draco.
Pansy, your oh-so-irritating stalker, has been watching you. And she's been watching you stare at the Weaselette.
So maybe you'd never have looked back at the Weaselette, maybe you'd have turned away for good, and that would be it, one awkward little moment in the fourth year ball that would never be mentioned again.
Except.
"He's my boyfriend, you blood-traitor!"
Pansy's screech cuts through the noise of the ball, and the music stutters, and you turn to look at them just as Pansy full-out slaps the Weaselette across the face.
And.
And maybe it would be funny.
It certainly should be.
But you are not bloody well that bitch's boyfriend!
You stand up, and maybe you aren't realizing it but you are full out scowling, the sort of scowl that can terrify even third years, and you are cutting through the crowd like a knife until you are standing next to the Weaselette, who looks like she's about to go three rounds with Pansy and come out holding her scalp as a trophy.
Potter and Weasel-boy are heading through the crowd towards you, and Mudblood is no doubt around somewhere, but you look Pansy in the eye.
"I'm not your boyfriend," you say, and your voice is level—too level, the sort of level that if she knew what was good for her she's be running level.
"I'm not going to let this stupid bint—" Pansy says, breathless fury, and she reaches out to shove the Weaselette and you step in front of her.
"Back off, Pansy," you say. "Leave her alone."
The Weaselette, who now that you notice comes up barely past your chin, has slid around to stand by your side, and she certainly has the look of one who is about to pounce, so you grab her arm, because this dissolving into a fight will only make things worse.
"Let go of my sister!" Weasel growls as he shoves forward, but the Weasel-twins are now on either side and appear to be holding him back.
"Your intentions, sir?" one of them asks, smiling impishly, as if he knows more than you do, and you blink at him.
"That bitch—" Pansy yells, and Mudblood appears magically behind her and grabs her arm. She starts to swing at her, and Potter pulls Mudblood out of the way.
"Pansy," Potter says, looking as if he's going to try to reason his way out of this one stupid Gryffindor that he is and you roll your eyes.
Pansy punches him in the face, and he staggers, taken by surprise. This really, really should be funny.
"Pansy, that's enough," you say, and merlin your voice is level, right now, despite the number of people who are now staring at this little spectacle. Where the hell are the teachers?
She scratches you across the face, and how does she always take you by surprise like that?, and you can tell that that drew blood.
The Weaselette's eyes have narrowed as she looks between you and psycho-girl Pansy.
"Perhaps you didn't hear him," she says, gently removing the hand that you didn't even realize was still holding onto her arm and stepping forward, so that she's now inches from Pansy, and this really, really doesn't seem like a good idea.
"Aw, look, Ginny's standing up for her man," one of the Weasel-twins says to the other, and you blink, because nothing about this is making sense.
"Draco's mine," Pansy snarls, and the Weaselette raises an eyebrow.
"Listen, bitch," she says, and all three Weasel's jaws drop simultaneously. Mudblood is smiling proudly at her. "I think Draco's got better taste than to slum with the likes of you."
And you look at her, how she's standing, and you realize what she's doing, so when Pansy shrieks and rushes and the Weaselette drops her as if it were nothing, you can't help but smile at the beauty of the taunt.
"Well," Dumbledore says, swooping in now that everything's finished. "Perhaps, Blaise, you can help Ms. Parkinson down to the infirmary? As for you, Miss Weasley, I hope you didn't hurt your hand in that blatant case of self-defense?"
"No, Professor Dumbledore, I'm all right," she says.
"Well, then!" Dumbledore declares loudly, "Minstrels, play on!"
As the music starts up again, Weasel and Potter and Mudblood pull the Weaselette away to ascertain her health, but none of them are glaring at you as if by your mere proximity to her you're planning on eating her, which is a sort of nice but unusual development.
The two Weasel-twins, unfortunately, immediately drag you away to a corner where they begin giving you the third degree on your intentions, which is frankly confusing.
"Malfoy," the Weaselette cuts in, pulling you away from her brothers and sending them a glare. "Thank you for helping," she says. You shift your feet uncomfortably.
"I'm not her boyfriend," you half-grumble, and she grins.
"I think the entire school knows that, now," she says. "But you didn't have to help out, and—"
"Why is everyone staring at us?" you cut in, because they are—bloody well everyone at the ball, except Fleur who appears to be making out with Cedric, even though Cedric keeps glancing over her shoulder at the two of you. Dumbledore is standing on a table, and McGonagall and Snape are talking discreetly in a corner and trading money.
It's frankly disturbing.
You glance at the Golden Trio just in time to see Mudblood wink at the Weaselette, and if that weren't surprising enough, Potter nods grudgingly at you. He elbows Weasel and with a roll of his eyes Weasel shrugs, and then pointedly points to his eyes and at you, the clear I'm watching you gesture.
"What's going on?" you say again, because something here is decidedly not right.
"Why do you watch me all the time?" she asks, which is, okay, awkward, and you don't watch her all the time, just sometimes at dinner or breakfast or passing in the hall, or, all right, just now, but definitely not always, and what does that even mean? And what is she trying to get at? And…and…
"Want to dance?" you ask her. She grins.
"Anymore ex's I need to watch out for?" she asks, smirking, and you frown at her.
"I've never dated anyone," you say, firm, because damnit to hell you never dated Pansy and why does no one understand this?
"So I'll be the first, hm?" Weaslette asks, and your eyes widen, and okay, yes, yes, yes suddenly everything makes sense.
Especially why you just asked her to dance, because you were kind of wondering about that.
Huh.
Well.
Explaining this to your father will be fun.
Maybe you can stay at Hogwarts for the summer.
And for, you know, the rest of your life.
"I suppose you will be, Ginny," you drawl, and the smile she shines up at you is decidedly blinding in its brilliance, and screw your father, you're actually having fun at this stupid ball, and Pansy is gone for good, and Ginny is holding your hand snugly and smiling as if you simply being you was incredibly amazing.
You blink, suddenly startled.
"Wait, does this mean I have to be friends with Potter and everyone?" you say, no doubt looking horrified, and she laughs.
"We can work up to that," she says, and you nod, a little relieved, and glance up at the Golden Trio that really doesn't look all that bad. Especially not since your father's going to kill you anyway (or at least quite literally attempt to) for holding Ginny's hand.
"Right," you say.
You lead her on to the dance floor, realize everyone is still staring at you, and glare at Hermione, who jumps and then drags Weasel (baby steps) onto the floor, smacking Potter as she passes. Potter grabs a conveniently placed Gryffindor girl, and the twins follow suit, and gradually everyone else gets back to their own business.
You aren't even the top story of the night after someone opens a door and the entire hall sees McGonagall and Snape making out.
Scarring, that.
Finis
AN: I've been meaning to write a Ginny/Draco fic for a while, and this just came out of the blue a couple of days ago. Finally typed and posted it, so make of it what you will. Love, Wolfie