Anger
- a strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility.
- fill (someone) with anger; provoke anger in.
She'd never expected to see him again except for the occasional glimpse of platinum hair. Never expected to even get a full shot. Never expected to interact with him. Never expected she'd ever hear his brass, bored tones ringing in her ears again.
Certainly never expected him to seek her out.
But, despite all her expectations, Draco Malfoy stands at her front door, looking determinedly at some spot two inches above her head.
She'd never allowed herself to imagine this moment in her wildest dreams; it was too irrational, too outlandish, too hopeful, even for her.
And so, instead of her breath catching in her throat or her eyes suddenly misting over or her knees growing weak, Ginny just feels a sort of numbness settle in her bones and a dull ache begin in the back of her head.
"Ginny." Her name still sounds awkward in his voice, mainly, she thinks, because years of living on the edges of each other's lives, all of a sudden having a couple shockingly insightful conversations in a French café, and then a couple weeks of blissful tumbling around in bed and whispers in the dark didn't make one used to another's name.
It doesn't hurt to think about the factual, if brief, description of their "relationship" anymore. She'd started putting quotation marks around the world relationship in reference to him in her head because even if she's always been careful to always call it a relationship and not a Relationship, she knows even the lower case put Draco at unease.
She thinks about him a lot, still, even though, as he'd bluntly and gently (Draco was never good at feelings, either his or anyone else's) told her once: she didn't cross his mind, really.
It doesn't hurt to think about that anymore. No sharp pain in her abdomen. No feeling of her joints suddenly going hollow.
You'd think Ginny Weasley would be used to being forgotten by the time she was twenty, but Draco Malfoy, of all people, forgetting her had been a blow.
But now he stands here, four months later, outside her London flat, and she feels nothing because she's already felt everything.
She gives him a tight smile and walks past him to unlock her door. "Didn't know you were back in England."
He's shifted uncomfortably to face her and she can feel his grey eyes on her - she always could feel them because, desperate to see them looking back at her, she'd grown attuned to where they'd actually be focused. She knows if she turns to face him they'll fix themselves a couple inches away. "I know you're mad but-"
"I'm not mad, Draco," she says quietly as her door unlocks with a click and she takes a step inside. "I'm not. Really."