Disclaimer: Own none.

Note: For this...Nothing yet. Later? Maybe.
Rating: Anything is possible.


Secret Garden.........
.........With purplish Tulips...and
Creamy eyed Lilies.... And red-berried bushes
.... Of many a splendor...A secret of...
Colors, with a shielding of Green...
.... To the many...For years
...................Unseen.....................

..................
.........................................

To the students of the castle. The roaming life of its ancient corridors. The mist and haze that settles upon its open doors. The rhythm in which it stands for.

I give you this.

My secret garden.

........................................

Sighing, the little red head glanced upwards, away from her yellowed parchment. The ink fading away into its fine threads, gleaming so and so, whenever the wind felt like blowing.

The first of many things that you'll notice, I might guess, are her eyes.

No. Dont roll your own set.

They weren't peculiar by any chance, nor were they gifted by a bizarre color.

No. Not this heroine.

It was the feeling that took you by surprise. The way those eyes felt. So shrewd and sharp, the way they swiveled along the many bushes that veiled her little bench. The way they traced the birds amongst their nests, and the way in which they caught the hidden dance steps of the butterflies near her head.

They didnt widen, her eyes. Nor did they sharpen.

In a way, they just watched...

And felt. And wrote. What they saw.


.........................................

Brushing away at her finished article for the new edition of 'Hogwarts Daily', Hogwart's first newspaper, she laid it next to her on the bench, and proceeded to fold her legs under her.

Closing her eyes, she listened to the sounds. Chirping and wind, and leaves and light.

They mingled well. Ginny soon dozed off.

....

Her eyes cracked open in the very moment of his arrival.

The leaves were crunched under the solid step of his boots and the sun set, taking away its warmth, that not a second ago was blanketing her face in gold.

Arg.

He was standing, his head angled slightly. The eyes were staring at a point in space, and the mouth slightly apart.

...

He was known to her, to the whole school. He was Head Boy and the title itself gave him the authority and popularity he holds.

Well, not really. Given the slightly overpowering fact that he's head of the darkest, most notorious House on Hogwarts grounds.

Oh, and add the little fact that he's a Malfoy, too.

..No matter..

His looks were what fascinated her, though. Not the handsome longish face, nor the tall slender grace in which he held himself.

His look and character as a whole, I mean.

He was fair, yet dark, black in true color.

His hair a startling white, with gray eyes that matched, and pale skin that rivals Snow white's.

Yet he dressed from head to toe in black. The sweater, the pants, the long coat.

He spoke black. Well, the few syllables he uttered that is.

He was an enigma of sorts. The sort that starts the puzzle, that invites the promise, and breaks away the mystery.

And yet..

..........................................

His eyes were clearing away, even from her safe distance, for he was just behind the bushes that shielded her, she could clearly feel his senses break free.

As expected, his eyes found her faster than the flap of a bird's wing. The stare was somewhat customary.

It was the fact that he was now walking to where she sat, that freaked her heart awake, and sent the panic a frenzy.

You do not want to see a Slytherin walk up to you. The expectation, the nervousness, the, dare I say it, anticipation that courses through and through...

She felt the cold bite, and the clouds form. The sun was setting, and the blue light began to settle and shade away at their features, making him more menacing than before.

He stood a step, and the moment his foot settled, he angled his head a little and, stared.

A move that intimidated. And to Ginny, caused the fine hairs to shield at his left eye.

Stepping up and away from the bench, and turning away from the taller figure, the petite form of our red head gathered her stuff and placed her delicate article neatly inside her leather worn satchel.

Placing it over her head, so it settles across her chest, she glanced at the Slytherin and stared back.

The rustle of her sudden activity did not interrupt the serenity of twilight.

It kept going.

The wind blew away at their clothes and hair, and the leaves brushed against his pants and swirled about her skirt.

Between them, the blue winged butterflies, kept dancing.

The only thing between them.

....

For some things, words are simply not needed. Not because they aren't enough, no, but because they're too much. Too much for something so simple.

Fragile and easy to break.

Their silence, was in fact, if you noticed, a deal.

To never tell the others about this.

To never tell away their secret garden.

.........................................

And so, that was why the first paragraph, (an excerpt from Ginny's article) was delicately burned by her nimble hands.

She'll keep it a secret. Not for him. And maybe not even for her.

Maybe. For the secret itself.

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Kay. Intro chapter. Not sure where it'll lead. Ideas?