"Scuse" means apology.


Il Dragone

Chapter Seven: "Scuse"

Come on over, and do the twist,
ahhhh haaaaa!
Overdo it, and have a fit,
ahhhh haaaaa!


Love you so much, it makes me sick
ahhhhh haaaa!
Come on over, and do the twist
ahhhhh haaaa!

Beat me outta me,
(beat it, beat it)
beat me outta me.

She keeps it pumpin',
straight to my heart …

--"Aneurysm", by Nirvana

X

I'm sitting at the Gryffindor table, having just skipped dinner in favor of dessert. I'm not in the mood to talk, so I sit in silence, vaguely listening to the conversations around me as I spear up a strawberry.

My fork falters in mid-air when the platinum blond object of my obsessions enters the Great Hall, flanked by his entourage.

I notice mine are not the only pair of eyes that have darted towards him; when Draco Malfoy walks into a room, the air just changes, heads turn.

So what about Draco Malfoy, you ask?

Well, I don't know if you've ever had a moment so shameful, so completely humiliating, that at first you wish the ground would literally open up and swallow you, but soon your mind just blocks it out, and refuses to accept it even happened.

That's sort of what happened to me, and I thank my sub-conscious for using such a clever defense mechanism. I have to say, after being subject to years of humiliation (Midnight Sexcapades? Come on), I'm more than equipped to deal with these sorts of things.

It's what allows me to sit calmly at the dinner table, eating strawberry shortcake as if I hadn't a care in the world, as if the three hottest boys at school hadn't overheard my embarrassing proclamation of sexual freedom. (Surprisingly, the story of how I said I might just "go down to Slytherin to get myself fucked" by Draco hasn't broken out all over the castle, as I had initially feared. Who knew boys could be so discreet?)

Oddly enough, the same mental blocking I'm experiencing seems to have happened to Ron. Ever since that moment in the courtyard, he's been in a sort of stupor. He and Draco Malfoy have been carefully ignoring each other these last few days, and the subject of the Slytherin Quidditch captain hasn't resurfaced between us.

My brother is sitting a few spots away from me now, talking quietly with his two best friends.

Hermione, by the way, is still somewhat subdued after the Fred thing. She's looking rather skinny these days, but has finally put down Hogwarts: A History.

My eyes slide over her and the remaining two thirds of the Golden Trio, and then continue to travel across the room, to the magnificent head of platinum blond hair at the Slytherin table.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about him, about the way we looked at each other when he was about to kiss me…

Draco hasn't so much as looked in my direction in the past seventy-two hours, though I've made a point of not hiding; I've nothing to be ashamed of...Shut up.

As I observe him covertly now, my heart catches at how beautiful he is. He's sitting there, not really eating, keeping to himself, although he's surrounded by his Housemates. Blaise, who sits faithfully by his side -looking rather pretty- never once speaks to him. No one does.

I take it it's one of his brooding days. There had seemed to be less of those, since he started the club, but lately Draco's reverted to being taciturn.

I wonder what's troubling him, and -remembering the way we looked into each others eyes just before we almost kissed- for a moment it occurs to me that maybe he's upset over everything that's happened between us lately.

But then I snap out of it, and realize I'm being stupid again…this is Draco Malfoy I'm talking about.

As if to drill this last concept into my brain, the beautiful Aiken Dunn walks over to him. I watch as she stands behind him, and wraps her arms around his neck, to which he remains impassive.

She inclines her head and whispers into Draco's ear, and I observe detachedly the way his hair looks almost white next to her darker blond. And they look good together; that's a shock, right there.

Aiken continues to speak into his ear, and I can't help but notice the way Draco's face seems to have relaxed, and a ghost of a smile plays over his beautiful lips. And then he stands and leaves the table, walking towards the exit of the Great Hall, with Aiken tugging him away by the hand.

Once again, I try to tear my eyes away from the sight of him, try to concentrate on my dessert, but I can't. And quite suddenly, and to my immense surprise, Draco turns his head as he walks out of the Great Hall, and his gray eyes latch onto mine.

X

I'm supposed to be meeting with Cho now, just the two of us. I'm running a few minutes late, clutching my heavy books to me tightly. As I round the corner towards the library, I see my editor-in-chief standing out in the hallway, talking heatedly with Paul Keegan, of all people.

They seem to be arguing over something, and even from here I can see the angry flush in Cho's porcelain cheeks, and the way her usually cold eyes seem to be sparkling with fury. Paul seems to be the more calm of the two, but the strong line of his jaw is visible tensed.

I'm so intent on the two of them as I'm walking that I bump into someone and drop my stuff all over the place, causing the couple to turn to me, looking surprised.

I hasten to look away from them.

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaims. "How clumsy of me! Here, let me help you."

We both bend down and start to gather my things. All of my books are lying strewn about the floor, and some of the contents of my bag (quills, chocolate, a travel-size bottle of hand lotion, chocolate…) have spilled out. I frantically grab for a pad wrapped in bright green plastic, (it's the kind of pad you don't want boys to see, if you're a teenage girl), when suddenly I notice a pair of beautifully polished shoes standing in front of me.

I look up to discover the handsome Ravenclaw seventh year, Paul, standing there looking at me curiously. As I watch he bends down -ignoring the item of menstrual hygiene- and picks up the box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans I bought in Hogsmeade last Saturday.

"Mind if I have one?" he inquires, holding his hand out to me to help me up.

He smiles and I take his hand, with the pad now out of sight in the safety of the pocket of my school robes.

"Sure, have as many as you like," I reply, smiling back.

He opens the box and picks out a bright purple bean, popping it into his mouth. A second later his handsome features twist into a comical grimace

.

"Tripe," he says, handing the box back to me, and I wince sympathetically. He swallows, and then grins. "Ginny, right?"

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "And you're Paul?"

"Yep, that's me. Nice to me you," he says, still smiling, and looking at me intently with his startling blue eyes.

I look back at him, thinking that he looks like an older, infinitely handsomer version of Harry, who's on the skinny side now, and has always looked young for his age, anyway.

Then I notice Hermione has finished gathering my things, and is standing there observing us with an amused expression.

"Oh," I say quickly, "this is my friend-"

"-Hermione Granger. I know," the Ravenclaw says, nodding to her, and then turning back to me again. Some strands of raven black hair have fallen over his blue eyes, but he makes no effort to brush them away. "Well, Ginny, you better not keep Cho waiting. See you around." He flashes me a smile, nods at Hermione again, and walks away.

I follow him with my eyes, and nearly topple over when Hermione stacks my heavy books in my arms, grinning widely. "Watch out, Malfoy…" she says softly, giving me a half grin. "Bye Ginny."

I snort.

I only wish Draco had something to worry about…

Anyway, the all-knowing Paul is right; I better not keep Cho Chang waiting.

When I enter the library I find her seated at what is now our usual newspaper chat table.

As I take a seat across from her, I can't help but notice Cho's cheeks are still flushed, and she looks rather upset.

We're not friends though, as you well know, so I don't feel comfortable asking her if something's wrong. Fortunately she doesn't give me time for any questions. She looks at me and says, "We have a meeting with Dumbledore and Snape at the end of the week."

"Snape?" I inquire, tilting my head to the side.

"Yeah," Cho says dismissively, "he's our faculty supervisor, Weasley; didn't I tell you?"

Ummm, no, you stupid bitch, you didn't.

"I've been meeting with him over the course of the past few weeks…are you alright? Anyway, we have to meet him and Dumbledore to present them with a final layout of the paper, subject for approval…" The beautiful Asian girl continues to speak, and I try not to glare at her, not to alert her to the nature of my thoughts, which are, basically: that greedy Ravenclaw hussy! That shameless harlot! Does she intend to get her grimy paws on every single gorgeous Slytherin I'm remotely (okay, not so remotely), interested in?

DAMN HER, DAMN HER TO HELL AND BACK!

Um, yeah.

I, uh, am well aware that Cho meeting with Snape is hardly her "getting her grimy paws on him", but I'm still piqued, and I suspect it's got nothing to do with my Potions Master, really, but rather a certain sixth year Slytherin. Fortunately, I'm good at emotional concealment by now; I feign nonchalance as we go over our talking points, as if nothing were the matter.

Cho is talking about her concern that we're not ready for this meeting, and that we might not be able to finish everything in time.

I pretend to listen.

All the while I keep sneaking her glances, trying to guess what Draco likes the most about her.

Is it her pouty lips?

Mine are, pouty, too; Michael Corner once said I had a "bumblebee kissed mouth", I'll have you know.

Is it her boobs? Is it her long, silky black hair? Her eyes? Cho has eyes like a shark, or a doll; black, and mean. But still, very beautiful…

Ugh, I'm sick, I know it.

And this doubt is just killing me. Everyone assumes that Draco and Cho have gotten back together again, and neither of them does anything to dispel these rumors. Quite the contrary, really. But Draco behaves as if he weren't in a relationship –you saw him with Aiken just now. I'd like to believe they left in order to do some impulsive night de-gnoming of the gardens of Hogwarts, but somehow I doubt it.

The image of Draco and Aiken in a tangle of bare limbs flashes through my mind now, and causes an unexpected stab of pain to go through me. I brush it away, and concentrate on Cho again.

I've come so close to just asking her straight out.

I stare at her intently now, as if the answer to my doubts would suddenly appear written across her smooth forehead.

The question is on the tip of my tongue.

"Are you and Draco back together again?"

Fortunately, and as always, the little pride I have left stops me.

X

It's Tuesday morning, and it's cold.

I draw my robes around me, stomping my feet vigorously on the hard ground. I should have donned something warmer than my school robes over my pajamas, but I didn't think of that.

Why have I gotten up at the crack of dawn today? And why am I walking towards the Quidditch pitch now, where I know the Slytherin Quidditch team is currently engaging in their tri-weekly morning jog?

Well, you see, it's like this: I have to apologize to Draco, I simply must.

And before you say anything, let me just tell you I've given up on him entirely. I'm not daft. I know I can't hold a candle to Cho, or to Aiken Dunn, and who knows who else. I won't embarrass myself, my family, and my House further by trying to, especially not to win the affections of a Malfoy.

But I just can't have it in my conscience, what I did to him. Okay, so, he deserved it, but what I did was horrible, and it's not like me at all.

I'm not the most level-headed of Weasleys –that would be, surprisingly, George- but I'm not a violent brute who goes around tackling people, like I did to Zabini, or erm, kneeing people, etc.

The problem is whenever I see Draco, he's either with Cho, or with his guy friends, namely Blaise -who keeps shooting me amused looks, as does Theodore Nott.

I've been wracking my brain over the weekend, thinking of how to approach the temperamental Slytherin.

"Give it up, mate," Shawn advised, shaking her head grimly.

I had asked her what I should do in regards to Draco, and her answer surprised me: a very flat, very firm nothing.

"Girl…he hates your guts!" Shawn exclaimed dramatically, throwing her hands up around her face like a rather vocal –and insolent- mime. "Just accept it, like I did… And be glad you got to kick him in the balls, at least," she added darkly, and I know she was thinking of a certain blond Irishman, whom she's made a point of ignoring during the past thirteen hours.

That's a new record; I'm proud of her.

However, and you'll concur with me here, it's not like Shawn knows what she's talking about when it comes to boys, so I intend to disregard her advice entirely.

This explains why I'm heading towards the pitch now. Like I said, I got up early, but it took me a while to get out of zombie mode, so it's a quarter past six now, and the sun is already peeking from behind fluffy purple and pink clouds in the distance.

There's that crepuscular quiet, that weird sort of stillness that precedes the dawn, and contrasts sharply with the dramatic canvas that is the sky. I can only hear the sound of my own footsteps as I walk towards the pitch.

It's beautiful, and if I weren't so damned nervous, I would be enjoying my walk.

It's cold, but not bitterly so, and the feel of leaves crunching under my feet is rather nice, not to mention the view of the pitch in the gleaming first light of dawn is spectacular.

But even as I notice these things I do it absently, as if I were standing behind a thick glass wall. The only thing I'm aware of is the bundle of nervous energy that seems to have settled in my stomach, to the point where-

Oh. My. God.

There he is.

Draco is floating high in the air, but not far up enough that I can't make out the fine bone-structure, the lovely details of his face. That, and the way his lead gray eyes are fixed intently on me as a cold wind picks up the strands of wavy hair at my back, whipping them about.

The sun is rising behind me. I cannot see it, but I can feel its rays caressing the back of my head. In that instant I realize what the probable cause of Draco's absorption is; my hair must be glowing like a ball of fire, caught as it is in the line of the sun ascending.

Looking up at him, my expression set with grim determination as my flaming hair blows around my face, I must be a sight. Some people believe redheads are the spawns of Satan. If this is true, never will my relation to HIM be as evident as it is now.

But, I note, Draco does not appear to be horrified. Far from it, he seems…entranced?

He hovers down to me gently, stopping a few feet above me with his hair blowing gently around his beautiful face, which is expressionless. He is perfectly still, sitting atop his fine broom with that aristocratic grace of his; not entirely straight, but not hunched either.

Casually elegant, I decide.

Draco is wearing a black turtleneck, and his silvery blond hair is hanging loosely, blowing softly in the breeze. I can see it is matted with cooling sweat, and his face is slightly flushed; apparently he's been doing some running. The look of exertion suits him, I think, blushing at the sudden thought of Draco 'exerting' himself in other ways. And I don't mean grating cheese, in case you were wondering.

We stare at each other in silence, even as I become aware of the sounds of catcalls coming from the direction of the benches, where the remainder of the Slytherin Quidditch team, particularly Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, are looking at us with obvious interest and amusement.

Uh-oh.

"IF I WANT TO GET USED BY GINNY WEASLEY, I'LL GET USED!" Blaise declares pompously -and at the top of his voice- while gesticulating energetically with his fists.

I blush as red as my hair, but remain unmoving, as does Draco, whose eyes haven't left my face.

"I MIGHT JUST GO UP TO GRYFFINDOR TO GET MYSELF FUCKED RIGHT NOW, AND IT'S NONE OF YOUR GODDAMNED BUSINESS!"

"Whoooo! Hell yes!" Nott shouts, grinning widely and swinging his narrow hips in a rather suggestive, rather sexy side-to-side motion. "You can play me anytime you want!" he adds, grinning at me.

Blaise laughs, throws his head back, and howls.

That Blaise Zabini…that Theodore Nott!

I watch, mortified, and look from them to Draco.

The Quidditch captain turns his head slowly towards his teammates, and raises an eyebrow.

It is impossible for them to have seen it -the benches are not that close by- but the fact remains that the Slytherins suddenly fall silent. They're still grinning, and to my immense relief, their teammates -including Aiken Dunn- all look tremendously confused.

A moment later they all begin to run around the outside ring of the field.

I notice the backs of their sweaters are already covered in sweat; they must have been taking a break before their final laps. As I give Aiken's incredibly toned backside a quick glimpse, I make a mental note to start jogging, pronto!

Draco turns his head back to me, and after looking at me for some time, watching me wordlessly, appears to decide to finally land next to me. His movements are so precise there's barely the sound of air whooshing by me as he touches down.

"What are you doing here?" he inquires sharply, holding his broom in his gloved left hand.

"I had to talk to you," I reply quickly, too quickly, and though my voice sounds firm, my resolution falters a little at the intense way in which Draco's looking at me.

What is he thinking right now? His face is completely devoid of expression, and his pewter colored eyes give away nothing.

"Draco," I breathe, once again using his given name without intending to, "I'm so sorry." I say it sincerely, taking care not to mention what it is I'm sorry for.

I don't want to embarrass him, or myself, any further. Besides, he was there, he knows.

I look at Draco's exquisite face searchingly, and take a step towards him, without having actually decided to. "Really, I never intended…" I trail off, for I'm not too anxious to remind him of Athena.

We all know how smashingly well things worked for her, don't we?

"And what I said to Ron the other day…I was just trying to prove a point. I didn't really mean any of that." I finish quietly, steeling myself and expecting the worst.

The blond Quidditch captain is looking at me calmly.

The silence drags on as he seems to be inspecting me.

A moment later his lead gray eyes shift to my hair, and then back to my face again.

I look away; my face hasn't stopped burning since I laid eyes on him, so I know I must be blushing an ugly red, but I try not to seem too affected.

"There wasn't enough time for everyone to introduce themselves in Italian at the last meeting," Draco says finally, as if we'd been talking about this all along, as if last Friday and Saturday hadn't even happened.

I lift my eyes to his again, and my eyebrows shoot upwards.

And then he reaches over and takes a strand of my hair between his long, thin fingers. The bright red contrasts sharply with the paleness of his skin and the dark material of his fingerless gloves.

I freeze as Draco lifts the bright red hair up to the sun and observes it with almost clinical curiosity; I don't need to look at it to know that it's blazing like fire in the light. He tugs on it a little, and twirls it around.

"We're going to continue with that, next Friday," he says absently, as he drops the strands of hair from between his fingers.

I stand there frozen, as he turns and starts to walk away, without looking at me again.

I look after him in amazement, letting my mouth hang open a bit before regaining my composure. I'm so shocked at what just happened that I don't even have the presence of mind to look at Draco's behind as he walks away.

Suddenly he stops, and turns around. "It takes a lot of guts to kick someone in the balls, Weasley," he says softly, looking past me. "Even if they deserve it."

His gray eyes meet mine again, and I hold his gaze with my heart hammering away against my ribs.

Wait a minute- is Draco saying what I think he's saying? That he deserved to get kneed?

We continue to look at each other in silence, and the sun, now high in the sky, makes Draco's hair shine white. He is beautiful, and looking into his eyes is a trip onto itself...

I watch mutely as a moment later he hops on his broom in one fluid, graceful motion and kicks off, with his silvery blond hair whipping in the air behind him.

X

If Draco Malfoy intends to drive me mad, I'd say he's doing a fantastic job of it. It won't be long, now, if things keep going this way.

My sanity, which was never that notable to begin with, is hanging by a thread these days, especially after what happened earlier this morning.

But the thing is, I refuse to be toyed with.

I'm no Athena Krauss, and certainly no Aiken Dunn; I'm no one's bitch. If anything, Draco's surprisingly tender gesture, (both playing with my hair, and letting me know that I was still very much welcome in his club), only strengthened my resolve to move on.

I hate how trembly I get around him, how vulnerable I feel when I look into his eyes, and how stupid I am.

And that's why I'm on my way to the owlery now.

I should explain that after I got back from the pitch I went to my room and buried my face into my pillow until Shawn drew my head back, and told me to stop clowning around. I had started to turn blue.

But I reached a decision.

I wrote two notes which I now intend to owl. One is addressed to Draco Malfoy, and the other to Vanessa Kahn.

This will change things irreversibly, and ensures that I will have practically no excuse to be in the presence of Draco Malfoy again.

I walk quickly now, in purposeful, long strides, anxious to cut the thread that links me to him, to the point where I'm actually excited about it; it has to be this way, otherwise I'll never gather the nerve.

"Hi Pigwidgeon!" I greet my brother's owl shrilly, caressing the soft ridge between its eyes as it hoots cheerfully. "I need you to deliver these at dinner, okay? I have nothing to give you right now –don't look at me like that- I'll give you some treats later, okay?"

I can swear the little owl is glaring at me as I walk away, but I wave at him anyway, turning towards the castle. I think I've spoiled him.

Anyway, if I hurry I might make it to class in time to avoid Flit's look of disappointment. The tiny Charm's Master adores me, and my shortcomings, however insignificant, seem to genuinely hurt him.

I manage to slip in through the door before the bell rings, and Flitwik beams up at me like I'm a two year old demonstrating proper use of a potty.

"Ginevra, welcome!" he says, clapping his hands together delightedly.

Then he notices Shawn, who's just walked in after me, and frowns slightly. "Please take a seat, Ms. Salmone."

Time passes by quickly, and soon I find myself at lunch.

I walk into the Great Hall making it a point to not look in the direction of the Slytherin table, and it's not as hard as it used to be; I'm propelled by the steam of my drastic action: what's done is done.

Dropping my bag at my feet, I slip into the space between Shawn and my brother.

"Hey Gin-gin," he greets me, using my childhood nickname.

"Hey Ronniekins!" I reply sweetly, grinning at his scowl.

We eat mostly in silence, listening to Hermione nag Harry about his overdue Potions parchment, and to Shawn and Dean Thomas discuss how people can get prettier or uglier, the more you look at them.

Really.

I won't bother to describe their silly conversation, but I will say I could have sworn Dean gave me a very pointed look when he expressed the opinion that "some girls just weren't as pretty as they appeared to be at first glance".

Did I mention that I've turned down Dean several times?

Anyway, at half past noon the lunch owls arrive and I look up expectantly.

I'm hoping to get something from Fred, and am not disappointed; Pig drops a thin envelope in my hands and hoots off haughtily, disdaining my proffered carrot.

"Pfft!" I scoff, glaring after the tiny owl.

"What's that?" Shawn inquires, glancing at the envelope curiously.

"Something from Fred," I whisper quietly, slipping her the piece of carrot in my hand. "Cover for me, will you?"

Shawn pops the carrot into her mouth and nods.

I sneak away quietly, taking advantage of the fact that my brother and Harry are discussing Quidditch, and Hermione's talking to Seamus Finnigan, who, seated at Shawn's right, is still suffering from my blond friend's skin-deep disdain.

I decide to head towards the library, where I can be in relative privacy.

Once there I hasten to open the envelope, unfolding a small note.

Written on the parchment is the one line I sent Fred.

"What's up?"

Underneath the pathetic scrawls I call my writing is Fred's bizarre cursive, which -I have to admit- is prettier than mine.

"The ceiling," is his answer.

I smile at the familiar words, spoken between us a thousand times but never written, until now. This is what I was expecting, but where's the rest?

You might be a bit confused, I realize. Allow me to explain.

This is Fred and mine's little ritual for opening up. It's an old joke, and a fairly stupid one, to be sure, but these are the 'magic words' that precede any sort of mutual confiding between us.

I don't know who first came up with it, but it's something we've been doing for years. In fact, those are the only words that got me to say the little I said about my experience with Tom Riddle, back when I was eleven.

If you think it's weird, I guess it is, but it's our thing, Fred and mine's, and no one else's.

I have a special way to relate to every single one of my brothers. With Bill it's just the way he talks to me as if I were his equal, something he's always done, even when I was three.

With Percy it involves chess, with Charlie feet tickling, and with George miming.

The only one I don't need a secret language or a special code with is Ron.

I guess it's because we've always been the same, him and me, and we were truly inseparable; the second pair of Weasley twins, everyone said.

That is, until he left for Hogwarts, and The-Boy-Who-Lived came into our lives…

Don't get me wrong. I love Harry dearly. He's like a cousin to me, really. But I think I've always resented him that tiny bit for taking Ron away from me, especially during those first years of their friendship, which is when I needed my brother the most.

But I digress. The point is, Fred answered me back, and in our code, but where's the spilling of his guts that's supposed to follow? Surely he must know I was asking about his relationship with Hermione, something I've not done before -not once, though I've wanted to.

I look at the small note in wonderment, and then it dawns on me. Drawing my wand, I tap at the space underneath Fred's writing and watch as a single question forms in the same flamboyant cursive that belongs to my brother.

"How is she?"

I nearly gasp.

The question is as much an admission of his love, of the hell he's been going through, as anything else, really; I confess I didn't expect he'd be this direct.

It's a legitimate question, too, and I wonder how I should answer. I mull it over, and after a moment rip a piece of parchment out of my bag, and proceed to write a very long response.

X

"Oooh, mashed potatoes!" Shawn exclaims delightedly, sitting down next to me at the Gryffindor table.

I give her a very sidelong glance.

Shawn loves potatoes in any shape or form. It's kind of her quirk. Or at least one of many.

She digs into her dinner merrily, and her joy more than doubles when a certain blond Irishman takes his place beside her. Potatoes and Seamus Finnigan: Shawn's idea of paradise.

"Hey, Seamus!" she says brightly, beaming at him. "Don't you just love potatoes?"

"NO," he snaps, reaching for a plate of wild rice and meatloaf.

Oh yeah, Shawn's resolve to ignore Seamus fell apart when he actually spoke to her this afternoon, after eighteen hours.

He always does this; if she doesn't fawn all over him, he comes to her. Then as soon as she slips back into stalker mode, he reverts back to his disdainful self.

They have this weird thing, and I just don't get it. If he hates her, why doesn't he sit somewhere else? True, he tried to, at one point, and I found myself rotating around the table in pursuit of Seamus, remaining by Shawn's side staunchly. But she wouldn't do that now, really; that was last year.

I just don't get them, and Shawn won't listen to reason when it comes to Seamus Finnigan.

I say nothing as she tries again, refusing to admit defeat. "Alrighty then, what do you like?"

I sigh and pick at my food, determined not to look up from my plate, even when the Great Hall is filled with the flapping of wings, and packages and envelopes start to drop from the sky.

Pig is up there, doubtless, and I'm not interested in seeing the reaction my missives will elicit in their recipients; Draco's indifference will upset me, and Kahn…who knows how she'll react?

I do not have to wait long to find out.

Vanessa Kahn, seventh year Ravenclaw, is at the moment walking up to me briskly, note in hand.

She's tall and slim, with long, strawberry blond hair, and a very pretty, heart shaped face. At the moment, I can't gauge her reaction from her facial expression, but the fact that she's barreling up to my table in the middle of lunch means that it's certainly significant.

"Weasley," she says curtly, holding my note up in her right hand. "What's this?"

I look up at her calmly, my face carefully expressionless, and take the time to set my knife and fork down before replying. "I think it's pretty self-explanatory, Kahn."

She narrows her eyes at me, and we look at each other in silence for a moment. She doesn't like me, and I don't like her. It's one of those things.

I'm aware that conversation has stopped in this part of the table, and I know that there are inquisitive eyes on us. Vanessa Kahn is a very popular seventh year, and the hostility is obvious between us right now. People are interested in seeing what will happen next.

Kahn turns towards the Slytherin table, and I don't have to follow her eyes to know who she's looking at; I wonder if he's looking back.

The seventh year Ravenclaw turns back to me, and I meet her eyes evenly.

"Fine," she says, turning on her heel and walking away.

I don't follow her with my eyes, and continue eating as if nothing had happened, but inwardly I'm trembling with relief.

I honestly have no idea what I would have done if Kahn had put up a fight. I know very well we can't afford to lose another newspaper staff member now, especially not her; she has the lightest work-load, which is why I chose her, but her work is important, for she's our sole columnist.

I gambled, and I won- this time.

But as I sit here, tossing wild rice around my plate, I wonder if I can honestly call severing all ties with Draco "winning".

X

The lingering doubts I entertained yesterday over dropping Draco dissolve when I walk out into the Quidditch pitch.

We weren't really supposed to have practice today, but the pitch isn't reserved, and Karen Lane, who's a reserve chaser for Gryffindor, asked if I could help her out with a maneuver she's having trouble with; we have a match against Hufflepuff on Saturday, and Karen will be playing for Demelza Robbins, who's out on leave due to her grandmother's death.

I'm looking around for the short sixth year Gryffindor as I walk towards the center of the field, broom in hand, and I can't help but notice how cute everyone's favorite couple looks.

There, on the benches, are a group of Ravenclaws seated around the figures of…dun dun dun! Draco Malfoy and Cho Chang.

Cho's sitting on a bench, in her little uniform, and Draco's sitting on the floor, in between her legs (which, I'm pleased to note, look just as fat as mine do in the navy blue stockings, except mine are a bit longer; point for me, which makes the score Weasley 1, Chang 999).

Draco's arms are sprawled over Cho's knees, and –get this- she and Robin Miller, another Ravenclaw seventh year, are braiding Draco's fair hair along the sides of his scalp.

Isn't that the most precious thing you've ever heard?

Anyway, Draco opens his eyes, which match the exact color of the ragged clouds overhead: stormy gray. He spots me as I'm about to hop on my broom, and I freeze with shock when he calls out to me.

"Hey! Weasley!"

Turning my head, I watch as he stands up, brushing the front of his tight, form-fitting black trousers. I try not to look below his belt as he comes over to me, taking his sweet time. I have dreams about those tight pants of his…

Draco walks with that casual grace I adore -and he's wearing the same tight trousers we just discussed- and the same combat boots from his shirtless flight, only this time he's wearing a gray fleece pullover. It's obvious he's been practicing, and I'm not surprised; Slytherin has a match against Ravenclaw on Sunday.

I try not to appear affected by how gorgeous he is, even with braids along the sides of his head, the rest of his white-blond hair hanging loosely. It looks so good, it's like he meant for it to be that way. He has a way of making anything work on him; if it were me, I'd look like I had just broken out of St. Mungo's psychiatric ward.

The Slytherin walks up to me and folds his arms over his chest.

"What's this owl I got about you not wanting to work with me anymore?" he inquires calmly, looking me straight in the eye.

The gray sweater makes the pale color of his eyes pop, making them more disarming. I stare at them, transfixed, then blush and look down.

"Is it because Blaise has been teasing you?" he asks quietly, searching for my eyes. "Or is it Nott?"

I shake my head no.

After a moment I manage to look up at him, fighting the wave of pleasure I feel at the fact that he's even talking to me, let alone asking me if I'm being teased.

"I told you… I just don't have time anymore," I state, hating myself for having such a childish voice when I'm trying to sound all busy and mature.

"Really?" Draco asks, arching a pale eyebrow. "So you're renouncing from all of your newspaper duties, or just the ones concerning my club?"

A high pitched giggle erupts from the direction of the Ravenclaws, where, I notice, Cho is sitting with her legs crossed -looking gorgeous- and chatting animatedly with her Housemates.

I flick my eyes back to Draco's again. "I'm not renouncing anything." Except you, I want to add. "I'm just delegating things that aren't my priority."

"Not your priority?" Draco inquires calmly, an amused smirk playing on his perfectly shaped lips. "E per questo che tu hai imparato italiano?" he whispers in a low voice, sending shivers down my spine.

I blush furiously and set my jaw.

"I can't understand you," I say tightly, though I know full well that he just asked me 'is that why you learned Italian?'

The nerve of him!

By Merlin, his voice is so beautiful, though, his pronunciation just…lovely.

Draco's little smirk broadens into a grin, and I scowl.

Clearly he doesn't believe me, and his smugness, and –quick glance over his shoulder- the sight of Cho holding his broom, are starting to really irk me.

"Vanessa Kahn," I begin firmly, raising an eyebrow, "is a very competent person. I'm sure she can handle your club publicity just fine. She'll do a fantastic job. Really, Malfoy, consider yourself lucky to even have her."

Draco takes a step closer to me, looking down at me intently, and once again intense shivers break out all over my body.

All trace of humor is gone from his face now, and he looks me straight in the eye. "But I don't want Vanessa Kahn," he bites out fiercely, in a low, deep voice that makes something primal coil in my belly, "I want you."

I look at Draco sharply.

Somehow, though, I've managed to keep my face perfectly expressionless, and I actually take a step forward, so that our faces are inches away from each other. Draco is looking down at me calmly, and doesn't flinch.

"Well you can't have me," I say softly, my eyes still locked with his.

He hasn't said anything, nor do I wait for him to; a moment later I've hopped on my broom lightly, taking to the sky.

My heart is beating wildly, and I can't say I know where I've been keeping the boldness to do what I just did. The cold wind of mid-October slaps at my face as I rise, and, despite the fact that I've held my own against the prince regent of Hogwarts, the bitter taste of regret lingers in my mouth.

X

I'm sitting at the table of the newspaper staff room now, waiting for Cho to start our meeting.

"Hey Gin!" Colin greets me, slipping into the seat next to me. "I need to speak to you after this."

"Sure, Col," I say distractedly, for I notice Cho is looking straight at me with an inquisitive expression on her face.

I suspect she's about to ask me why I've dropped everything to do with the Italian club, and without even consulting her, for that matter.

I meet her eyes and level her with a look that makes her mouth snap shut.

Cho blushes, and then scowls at me, as if realizing I just shut her up. Still, she says nothing to me, and instead announces our upcoming meeting with Dumbledore and Snape to the rest of the staff.

An excited chatter breaks out, which even the formidable Ravenclaw Quidditch captain has a hard time killing off.

"Are we ready for that?" Anthony Pierce, a sixth year and our token Slytherin – he joined the staff last week and is in charge of the sports section- inquires in a haughty tone that is laced with worry, I can't help but notice

"Ohmygosh! And will you guys talk about the launching party?" Trinity Olsen, a Hufflepuff, asks excitedly.

"Yes we're ready, and yes, we will," Cho snaps, frowning. "Now hold your questions until the end!"

She's said it with such confidence and finality I wouldn't believe she harbors her own doubts in regards to Pierce's question if she hadn't told me herself.

"Here's the game plan," she continues, holding up a tiny finger. "We'll print the final draft on Wednesday for release on Thursday, and then we'll start planning the following week's issue. This will be standard procedure for all following issues, got it?"

She goes on to talk about the importance of getting our butts into gear so we can finish with the first issue exactly a week from now.

"Our launching was scheduled for Friday night, but it's been bumped up for Thursday night because of Quidditch conflicts," Cho continues, and I drift off at the mention of Friday.

Italian Club day.

I see the image of Draco, kitchen knife in hand, with his head tilted to the side, his gray on me, looking down at me in that way I don't know how to define, but that sends secret thrills through my body.

There's no reason for me to go back there anymore…

I try to concentrate, and succeed- to a point.

The meeting ends and everyone bustles off, presumably to work on the things they've got pending.

I shoot Aiden Knight -a seventh year Ravenclaw who owes me an article on the increasing incidence of teenage depression- a pointed look.

He winks at me and makes a hand gesture I choose to interpret as "I'll get it back to you tomorrow."

I smile at him, shaking my head, and start to gather my things.

Colin turns to me just then, but before he can open his mouth to speak, Vanessa Kahn accosts me, looking pretty upset.

"Weasley, Draco Malfoy has stood me up three times!" she exclaims angrily, her brow gathering into a frown. "He doesn't answer my owls. He acts like I don't exist!"

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, my mouth hanging open.

I can't deny the sudden -and quite inexplicable- burst of pleasure I feel at receiving this piece of information.

"I'm not going to go around begging him to meet with me!" the Ravenclaw declares airily -and with unmistakable defiance- as she flips her strawberry blond hair over her shoulder. "I'm sending him one last owl, and if he doesn't answer-"

"Don't bother, Kahn. Forget about Malfoy," I cut in, looking up at her calmly. "He should be the one interested in meeting with us. We're doing him a favor, after all. If he doesn't meet with you, his ad doesn't get published. It's that simple."

Kahn opens her mouth and then closes it. Her pretty features contract in an expression of genuine vexation. "You're right, of course," she says, sounding miffed. "But, you know, I'll try him one last time…"

I hear Colin make a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort next to me, and hide a grin.

"Whatever. Now if you'll excuse us," I say pointedly.

The seventh year Ravenclaw raises her eyebrows, looking from me to Colin before scowling and walking away.

I sigh, and next to me, Colin does the same, though I suspect for different reasons.

"She is so hot…" he says, staring after Kahn's round rear end.

I roll my eyes around, and he grins. "You're cute too, Weasley."

"Right. So tell me, what is this about, Col?" I ask, once everyone has cleared out of the room.

Colin takes a deep breath, and some of his stringy blond hair falls over his forehead. "Ginny, I need help," he says seriously, brushing away at the wayward strands. "I have to present the final cut of the pictures we'll be using for the first issue on Sunday morning."

I nod, encouraging him to continue.

"That Pierce kid is a total tool, did you know?"

I give him a 'hey, he's a Slytherin…' shrug.

"I don't want to meet with him to discuss the images I'll give his section," Colin states firmly. "But I need help. Since you're his editor, and you know what his stuff is about, I want you to meet with me and help me out a bit."

'That Pierce Kid', the total tool, as Colin so lovingly refers to him, is doing an important spread on Hogwarts Quidditch. Our school has gained international prominence in the world of pro-Quidditch through the years, seeing as it serves as a recruiting pool for teams all over the world.

The spread is important, and is coming out quiet nicely, I must say. The images need to be up to par. Fortunately, if there's something Colin Creevey has a lot of, it's pictures. Thousands of them.

"Well, sure, I can do that," I say, shrugging again. "When do you want to meet?"

"Saturday night?" he asks hopefully.

"Okay, Creevey. You've got yourself a date," I murmur, giving him a grin.

"Hey!" Colin says, with mock seriousness. "That's sexual harassment!"

"With a boss like Weasley, I can't say I'm surprised," a deep, velvety smooth voice drawls from behind us; an intense thrill goes down my spine.

Colin and I turn to discover the ever-gorgeous Draco Malfoy standing there with a hand on his hip, as if he were posing for a picture.

He's wearing his school uniform, and his hair is done in the exact same style as mine is: the top half is pulled into a ponytail, and the rest is hanging loosely. Somehow he manages to look decidedly masculine, while I look like a little girl.

My heart skips a beat, but I turn back in my seat, ignoring him, and am glad to see Colin do the same.

"Weasley, must you be so uncouth?" Draco begins haughtily, and I can feel him lean forward against the back of my chair.

Before he can finish the thought, Cho Chang sticks her head in from the hallway.

"Hey Draco!" she calls out. "Were you looking for me?"

My hand clenches into a fist instinctively, but relaxes a moment later, surprised as I am at the blond Slytherin's answer.

"Uh…sure, okay," Draco's voice says from behind me, and I feel my hair stir as he walks past me and towards the door.

I fight the urge to turn my face to look at him, and try to remain still in my chair. The need to see him wins, and when I flick my eyes to him, I find he's already looking at me.

A moment later he's gone, with Cho dangling from his arm, and I hunch my shoulders.

"Hey, Gin," Colin says carefully. "Everything okay there?"

"Yes," I say mechanically, standing and grabbing my things. "I'm off to the library. Later!"

I run out of the room and head to the library in quick strides, my heart still pounding wildly. As I'm walking, the little dots in my brain connect.

I nearly trip on my own feet, for I've just realized that, in all probability, Draco went to the staff room looking for me.

X



Bear with me, I've been going through some fic issues, but I know the direction in which we'll be going in future chaps. Stick with me, we're going places. ;)

Anyway, my favorite part of this one was when Draco asked her if she was being teased by his friends. I love Protective!Draco. :D

Please review!