Like a Lonely House—A Love Story Told in Nineteen Parts

"So I wait for you like a lonely house, till you will see me again and live in me. Til then my windows ache."

-Pablo Neruda

Part I:

I stand on the Platform and sigh, wishing Draco would just stop talking about Lefevre already. It's over—he's the only one who still can't see it—and it bound to end in disaster, just like it did last year. I glance over to where Lefevre's standing with Potter, looking so in love I want to be sick, and fight not to roll my eyes.

Only a Malfoy would have the arrogance to think he can win her back now that she's dating the Boy Who Sodding Lived. Then again, Drake has always been something of a glutton for punishment.

Daddy issues, I suppose, though I'd never say that to him. I'm not a complete bastard, and he is my friend, after all. Still, that doesn't keep me from privately thinking he's an idiot. What was the point of wanting someone who is never going to want you back? Honestly, why anyone would want to put themselves through that sort of torture is beyond me.

Is it really, though?

Maybe not, some dark part of me admits as I watch Ginny Weasley appear onto the platform and gravitate towards them. My heart gives a little annoying flutter as I watch her toss her copper hair over one shoulder. What I wouldn't give to run my hands through it even once. Hell, I'm not proud; I would settle for getting close enough to smell it. I bet it smells amazing.

Snap out of it, I scold myself. She's just a silly girl, for Merlin's sake. And I'm—well I'm me, aren't I? A rich, fit bloke who can have any girl he wants. So why do I want her? That's easy, I tell myself; I want to shag her.

But I don't, though.

Well, I mean, I do. Of course I do. Even at sixteen she's every man's wildest fantasy. That hair and those eyes and that arse—

I sigh.

What I suppose I meant was, I don't just want to shag her. I mostly just want to learn everything there is to know about her. I want to hear her laugh, see her smile at me. She's never, not once in the five years we've being going to school together, smiled at me, and even I—with my lifetime of perfectly honed indifference—can't deny how much it stings.

What is it about me that she finds so distasteful? I mean, honestly, what have I ever done to her?

So I hate her brother and her house and all her housemates. So what? And sure, maybe my best friend is trying to win her best friend away from her. What does that have to do with us? Besides, I never told Draco to pursue Leolin. In fact, I'd love nothing more for him to stop.

Maybe I ought to tell Ginny that. Hey, I'm on your side; I think they'd be shite together, too. Fancy having dinner sometime?

As I contemplating this(fantasizing about it, if I'm being honest), she looks over at me. Well, technically she's looking at Draco—glaring, actually—but eventually she looks at me, and my heart does that annoying flutter thing again.

Merlin, maybe I do hate her. At the very least, I hate her for making me feel like a teenage girl, and an ugly one at that. In some desperate attempt to regain some control over the situation, I pull a Draco and give her a shameful up-down instead of a smile.

I don't know why—I regret it pretty much as soon as I've done it—and now she's scowling at me. The ship is sinking fast now, I ought to just abort, but instead I double down and wink at her.

The scowl deepens, but I note with satisfaction that now she's blushing too. I knew it. She thinks I'm sexy.

Of course she does; I am sexy.

Incredibly sexy. So sexy, in fact, that it boggles my mind that she doesn't want me. Who wouldn't want me? Everyone wants me.

Except…her.

She's not blushing anymore, and the scowl has turned to a downright sneer. It's the kind of look you reserve for someone you genuinely can't stand. It's the kind of look Lefevre and Pucey are always giving each other. Ugh, it's the kind of look she usually reserves just for Draco. It's so far from the smile I'd wanted to I have to fight not to swear out loud.

Goddamnit, Zabini, I seethe to myself. You've blown it. Great, and now she's turning her back to me. Brilliant.

I turn to Draco, scowling, ready to tell him we ought to just get on the sodding train already, only to find he's not paying attention to me. Instead he's watching Lefevre storm towards us, giving him the same odious look Weasley just gave me.

I clench my jaw. We're both fucking idiots.

Don't get involved, Gin, I tell myself as I watch Leolin and Malfoy from across the hall. It's none of your business. I've been watching them all Feast, since before sorting even started, and I know I should just let it go, but I can't.

I love her, I remind myself, she's my best friend, and it's clear from her furrowed brow and curled lip that she's taking no pleasure in sitting next to Malfoy. Still, the temptation to tap Harry on the shoulder and tell him everything lingers.

It's a debate I've been having with myself for a full year now: should I tell Harry what went down between Leolin and Malfoy last year? I admit I often want to, but then I also have to admit why I want to. It's certainly not because I'm trying to be a good friend. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm tempted to do it because despite the fact she's like a sister to me, I'm jealous of her. That, and I'm coincidentally in love with her boyfriend.

Why oh why did I introduce them? Of course Harry was going to bloody fall in love with her; she's beautiful and funny and smart and great.

I glance over at him, only to find he's watching her, green eyes sparkling from behind his glasses. And he's not the only one. I caught Malfoy watching her, too, drinking her in like she's an expensive wine.

I roll my eyes somewhat bitterly. Why couldn't anyone ever look at me like that? Ironically enough, I do feel someone looking at me, and I let my eyes slide down the Slytherin table several seats as my frown deepens.

Zabini, I think with loathing. What the bloody hell does he want?

He looks away momentarily to say something to Adrian Pucey, and I take the opportunity to study him. I do, in the effort of fairness, have to admit he's rather gorgeous.

Not that I care, but I do sometimes catch myself wondering if his dark skin is as soft as it looks. I'm sure it is, but only because he's vain and probably hires someone to moisturize it for him. He looks back at me, those mesmerising jade green eyes—

No, absolutely not. I'm not going to sit here and fantasize about Zabini just because I'm lonely. He's vile, no matter how handsome he is. He's a twat, a horrible bastard, and unlike Leolin, bad boys aren't my type. I sneer at him for good measure so he knows I mean business.

He doesn't, though. In fact, he smiles in response, teeth sparkling against his dark complexion. Merlin's beard, I wish he would just give up, already.

He leans over to Pucey again, saying something that makes him laugh. My scowl deepens when they both turn back to look at me. I'm get the feeling I'm the butt of some misogynist joke between them, and that suspicion seems to be confirmed when Pucey winks at me.

Ugh, bastards, the lot of them.

Maybe that's what this was. Five galleons if you can get in Ginny's Weasley's knickers. I flush with embarrassment, flipping Pucey a foul hand gesture when he blows me a kiss. They both bloody wish. I would sooner die than touch either of them, especially Zabini. The next time he tries to talk to me, I'm going to tell him that. We'll see how he likes that, the prick.

a/n: so this is an experiment, just trying out something new and seeing where it goes. First-person is by no means my forte, but I intend to see this through. As always, constuctive crit (or flames) are always welcome

In other news, it's that time again where I'm calling for new OCs for the Eden Trilogy. As fans of the series know, some of the bests OCs, including Felix and Torrii Thivierge, were created through this system, which is why I keep doing it. Also, it's just tons of fun to make up new characters. If you have a character, fill out the survey below and either PM me or leave it to me in a comment. Happy characer creating, and please REVIEW.

xx

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