AN: Hello again! This chapter took a bit longer to write than I initially thought it would, but it also turned out longer than I anticipated as well, so I hope it's satisfactory….
One thing I'd like you guys to know, however, is that I didn't edit this chapter. At all. I've been working on it for probably about 4 straight hours, and I just don't have the energy or patience left to reread it for mistakes or lame parts. Sorry.
THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 10
Initially the only thing residing in my head was rage. I must elaborate though, as that makes it sound much too simplistic and this really wasn't your every day kind of fury. Oh no, this was a blinding, white-hot surge that made me momentarily consider killing the prat standing behind me, even if it meant going to Azkaban. Though it did only last a few moments, the wrath managed to rear its ugly head. Course, it wouldn't have been nearly as ferocious if hehadn't opened his clearly enormous mouth to antagonize me first.
"How's the water, Weasley?" he called dubiously. My eyes narrowed dangerously at the lightness he dared to use.
"Unless you want to find out in a rather disagreeable fashion, I suggest you shut your mouth you pompous—"
My colorful sentence broke off at the sound of crunching snow behind me. Brow furrowing in confusion, I turned around to find the source of the noise, and nearly cursed upon seeing him now well past knee-deep in the snow bank with me. Until recently I hadn't really considered myself a person who was often caught off-guard. It was moderately vexing that he had managed to do so probably close to a dozen times already, and I doubted it would stop there. My momentary fit of rage was replaced with some twisted type of calm wonder. There he goes again with the saving himself thing! Call me foolish, but it was during that moment in which I came to terms with the verity that not only would Draco Malfoy continue to surprise me, but there was a good chance I wouldn't understand the reasoning behind half of the things he did. I suppose it's a rather good thing that I'm persistent, for I still planned on trying to understand.
"You know, as humorous as seeing you nearly up to your arse in snow is, I expect we'll both get swallowed up in a matter of minutes if we don't start moving."
Now completely unsure of how I was supposed to be reacting to the entire situation, I really had no choice but to simply nod mutely, my eyes meeting his in an almost exhausted manner. I turned around rather awkwardly, pausing momentarily to stare down the path toward our destination is resignation. I don't like being pessimistic, but at that point only one word summed up my thoughts concerning the whole matter. Shit.
I timidly wiggled a leg to get a feel for how this was going to work. I began to slowly pull it upwards when a very uncomfortable situation arose. I realized quite suddenly that the snow was much too high to allow me to pick my feet up and step through the embankment, less I was very, very flexible. Even if I was that flexible, that clearly wouldn't be something I would want to exhibit in front of Malfoy, anyhow. Damn it all, I was going to have to wade through the snow like a bloody fish—a fish! I don't even like fish! Curse my short legs.
Hesitantly I began to drag my limbs through the mound, trying not to dwell on the icy twinge of the snow seeping through my layers of clothing. It felt like I had strapped lead to the bottom of my feet, and after only the first step I could feel my muscles groaning in protest. Still, I pushed onward until I felt something solid underneath my boot, presumably the ground.
"Err….Weasley?" his voice cut in. I ignored him. He was breaking my focus.
Now let me tell you, that strenuous first step was an absolute cake walk compared to what happened next. As I began to heave my…questionable ankle through the mound, I was met by a sharp, biting pain so excruciating I thought the joint had clearly snapped in two yet again. On top of the ankle issue, the feeling of the ice scraping against my no doubt tattered and bruised calf was no walk in the park to deal with either. Note to self: ankle cannot yet be stretched or pulled.
I ceased the movement immediately, but not quickly enough. I wasn't able to prevent the curse from escaping my lips.
"Bugger…" I whispered fiercely, and then very nearly cursed again upon realizing what would ensue.
"What's the matter?" I heard his voice call out sharply. I froze for a moment, though this time figuratively, praying he wouldn't start badgering me about my blasted ankle. I didn't have to put much effort into the cover up that followed, as I quickly fed him the other problem instead.
"I can't bloody move, that's what!" my voice climbed a bit higher than usual as I lied, but I doubted he would notice. I could have sworn I heard him sigh in relief, but I could have also sworn that at that point I was a bit hysterical. I was cold. I wanted a butterbeer. My stocking was all bunched up in the toe of my boot. I could feel melted snow running down my pants. Something on my lower leg was causing me immense pain. And on top of it all, I really, really wanted Draco to pick me up again. I guess that made me a shivering, thirsty, uncomfortable, soggy, sore, lusty, lump of a girl. Comforting thoughts, those, I must say.
"I'd say that's a problem, yes," he snickered. "Call me crazy, but usually walking is a pretty efficient method of moving oneself about." I sent him a glare over my shoulder that I hoped spoke for itself.
"However, since you appear to have legs of less than average length that may prove to be a bit difficult." The comment itself would have normally enticed a smart retort from me, but it almost seemed more like a statement of fact rather than an insult. I turned away from him, shaking my head in disgust as I wondered hopelessly if I was beginning to make excuses for him. As if the spoiled thing didn't have enough people kissing his arse already, honestly. Usually I'm not a very self-conscious person, but turning into just another one of those lovesick fools was simply not a priority of mine, and the notion that I was perhaps creating a false illusion in my head left me with a very unsettling feeling in my gut.
"May I suggest, Ginny, that you implement the use of your shovel?" I stilled. Right. I hadn't thought of that. Needless to say, other things seemed to be occupying my thoughts, effectively distracting me. Not only was he responsible for throwing me into the bleeding snow to begin with, but he was also the reason I couldn't think of a way to get out. Amazing how everything can be tied back to him, isn't it? I cleared my throat.
"Probably'd help if I knew where the bugger was," I answered somewhat truthfully, thankful for the millionth time that day that he couldn't read my thoughts. I could only imagine the smug look on his face had he known I hadn't even thought of the shovel.
"You might try looking to the right," he suggested casually. My eyes darted in said direction and sure enough, there was a shovel shaped imprint embedded in the thick snow not five feet away. Smooth, Gin, real smooth.
Finding no words appropriate to lessen my apparent idiocy, I decided it best not to comment. After mumbling a quick thanks I grabbed the shovel—a task that proved somewhat difficult as I was stuck in place and could barely manage to stretch the 5 feet to reach it—and began awkwardly shifting small shovelfuls out of my path.
I continued in that fashion for the next several minutes, grateful for the silence that allowed me to, at the very least, appear somewhat collected. For nearly the first time since I had eaten breakfast that morning, my thoughts drifted to something other than Draco Malfoy; a sad fact indeed, I know, but I still felt somewhat proud of myself nonetheless. As I eyed The Three Broomsticks warily, I realized rather morosely that I was hungry as well, and I mentally added it to my growing list of ailments and disagreeable conditions. The list itself hardly needed to exist, as the aches in nearly every part of my body, whether it be because of a lack of food or because of the wind-blown hair of the blond behind me, were reminders enough. My eyelids began to slip, but popped open immediately as a swatch of grey meandered into the outer reaches of my peripheral vision.
I looked on with an expression somewhere between revulsion and absolute envy as Malfoy walked—yes, walked—past me through the snow. My eyes stared dejectedly at his back, and at some point my mouth fell slightly open as I sighed pathetically. Yes, the most rational thing to do was to start heaving away, as the snow surely wasn't going to shovel itself—though the thought was quite pleasant—but at that moment I decided that anyone in my situation would also rationalize taking a minute or four to wallow miserably in self-pity, and if now wasn't the perfect time for such a moment I'd strip down to my skivvies and make a snow angel whilst belting out a chorus of 'God Save the Queen'.
After a few steps Draco must have realized that where a laboring, snow-shoveling Ginny should have stood, an utterly pitiable, completely motionless girl stood in her place, and he turned to look at me in confusion. The included the part of me that was allowing the shovel to hang pathetically from my hand. His stone gaze darted from my expression, to the shovel, to the snow separating us. I was slightly aware of the hint of a smile dancing across his features before an eyebrow arched suspiciously and he shook his head. I didn't really have time to wonder what that look meant, but that was okay for two reasons.
The first was that if I was brutally honest with myself, I quite frankly didn't care what that look meant, for at that point all I wanted was to get out of the sodding snow. Call me insensitive —perhaps even apathetic— but I wasn't too hung up about it. After all, I had spent the better part of the day thus far interpreting the git's every move; I deserved a break.
The second reason was fairly easy to understand. I didn't have to wonder what the look meant because after a few moments Draco Malfoy was suddenly lifting large shovelfuls out of my path. I'm not exactly sure as to whether it was the prospect of perhaps not being stuck in the snow bank for all eternity, or because Draco was—for reasons that weren't entirely clear, surprise, surprise!— assisting me for no apparent benefit of his own, but something managed to pull me out of my depressed stupor.
He worked quickly, and his movements were the most glorious sight I had ever seen. This was partially because they allowed me to start moving towards the pub, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that a large part of it was because of the sheer beauty of that moment. Falling snow whirled around him as the wind tousled his white-blond hair, the faintest of pink glows evident on his cheeks. In any case, the boy looked amazing, and that's pretty much all you need to know.
Anyway, an odd sort of warmth began to fill me as I watched him, and I suddenly wanted to thank him, or say something, or….well, do anything to show my gratitude. My naughty subconscious suggested giving him a nice "gracious" hug, but I squashed that idea with moderate difficulty. I wanted to say something, but I couldn't for the life of me come up with any way to thank Draco Malfoy without sounding like a complete buffoon. If you don't believe me, try it sometime and you'll realize just how intimidating the task is.
Draco closed the remaining distance between as he threw the last shovelful aside. I watched as his eyes almost reluctantly began the trek up to my own, and only when they touched mine in a near timid manner—and had it been any other person, I would have used that word, but since it was Draco we were talking about, I decided that 'hesitant' would be a much better way to describe it—did he straighten to his full height. I felt the warmth from earlier intensify, and offered him the only type of gratitude I could think of, the corners of my mouth turning upwards in a small smile.
If there was one thing I had noticed about Draco over the years, it was the degree of restraint he exercised when trying to act indifferent. Countless times before I had seen him glower at Harry, knuckles white with rage before stalking away, or watched as he plastered a sneer on his face to mask the fact that he found a joke funny. It was quite a change of pace then, when I saw him return the gesture, his eyes open and genuine. It only lasted a second before he seemed to snap back to reality, his brow furrowing as he shook his head. I didn't fail to notice however, that the smile never completely left his lips. His cool, grey eyes seemed to regain their usual daring after a moment, and they flicked with amusement as the smile spread into a smirk.
"So d'you still like snow, then?" He raised an eyebrow expertly. I tried not to notice, but I did anyway. Funny how that works, isn't it? My smile grew at his words as I detected the teasing undertone hidden amongst them.
"This isn't just a snowfall anymore, I'm afraid. We're standing in the middle of a right nasty blizzard," I responded, looking up into the swirling cyclone of snow that was the sky. "Well, at least I can get to the pub now." Draco bit back a sarcastic laugh.
"You don't honestly think I'm going to shovel the whole way for you, do you?" I felt my stomach turn in on itself. Honestly? No, I hadn't. That didn't mean that I wasn't hoping, though…
"Of course not. I'm perfectly capable of shoveling myself, anyhow," I replied haughtily, trying to cover up any evidence that would suggest I had thought otherwise.
He made another sound in his throat.
"And you expect me to wait here while you dig yourself out of this hell hole? Think again, Weasley, for you have greatly overestimated my morality," he smirked, unaware that he had just vocalized my fears. My mind went painfully blank. A silent moment passed.
"Have I?" I asked quietly, much to my own surprise as well as Draco's. He looked a little taken aback by my change of tone, and his smirk all but vanished. I was wise in not expecting an answer, for the only means of reply was a hollow look followed by the shift of his eyes to the ground. If I hadn't known any better, it would almost appear that he didn't know the answer himself.
I suddenly felt a little guilty over asking him such a question, and in hopes of sparing him any further discomfort, stepped around him to continue shoveling. Before I could even properly get the metal edge underneath the flakes, he spoke.
"Don't do that." He demanded in a calm voice. It was like he had used reverse psychology or some such nonsense on me, for I felt my temper flare despite his tone. What did the sod want from me? I threw up my arms in exasperation, hoping for Draco's own sake that he had best decide, less he acquire a rather nasty bruise on the back of his head.
"And why the bloody hell not?" I whirled, meeting his slate eyes in defiance. "Someone needs to shovel, and if you're not going to shovel, and I don't shovel, I really don't see any possible way to get out of this…this… "I trailed off awkwardly—not something that usually happens to me, which only made me angrier. Draco looked slightly amused. "Am I missing something?" I cried. I was beginning to feel hysterical again.
My only response was an eye roll followed by the readjustment of his cap, which I was starting to hate as it made him look far too attractive for his own good. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps no-one ever told the git that an eye roll and a smirk weren't acceptable means of conversation. God knows he didn't appear to understand that concept.
"Well excuse me for not seeing to obvious!" I exclaimed sarcastically. "I'm not nearly as quick-witted as most people, because apparently I'm failing to notice something!" I choked back tears, and I realized that the hysterical thing wasn't just a figment of my imagination. In horror I realized the dam had broken, but that didn't stop my ranting.
"Weasley-"
"Please Draco, enlighten me!"
"Weasley-"
"Really, I'm sorry you have to put up with me!"
I saw him sigh, and he thrust his shovel into my hands, expression strangely calm. "Hold this." I wasn't really aware of the fact that I had obeyed, as I was far too concerned with making my voice as loud as possible and fighting the tightening sensation in my chest.
"I mean really, the last thing you need is some stupid, blubbering girl gallivanting about you!"
"Climb on my back."
"The last thing I'd want is to turn into one of—"
I felt my mouth abruptly stop moving as his words sunk in, my breathing now coming in a series of shaky, uneven gasps.
"W-what?" I hiccupped, feeling the shovels falling loose from my hands at the thought.
"Just listen to me. You're absolutely delirious," he spoke slowly, his voice serious and somehow calming, as it had been that day in the Entrance Hall. "I'm going to carry you to the pub, but I need you to hold the shovels." He raised his eyebrows in question, and I managed a nod.
He turned around, hunching over a bit so as to allow me to reach him easier. Looking back on that moment, it's probably a good thing that I was a bit of a nutcase. I shudder to think of what kinds of thoughts would have entered my head had it been in normal, functioning order. I swallowed as my arms timidly wrapped around his neck, the shovels crossed over his chest in my hand. Draco reached behind me, his hands finding the backs of my knees.
"Wrap your legs around me." It didn't occur to me to disobey his instruction, and I chose not to reason out why that was. He shifted me up on his back, and slowly straightened up. "Bloody hell, you're shaking," he muttered in a low voice. I closed my eyes and snuggled up against the think fabric of his coat, trying desperately to ignore the aches and pains while steady my breathing.
"S-sorry…" I mumbled into his collar. I wondered fleetingly if having his hands wrapped my legs had anything to do with the trembling. Or perhaps it was the proximity to his neck, as I could almost feel soft wisps of platinum hair against my cheek.
He turned his head to the side at my words, barely able to catch my gaze out of the corner of his eye. My breath hitched irregularly again, and this time I knew it was his fault, as I couldn't help but notice that with his head turned his thin lips were only inches from my own. I avoided letting the skin of my forehead press against his cheek, for I knew that it would all go down hill if I made any sort of contact. I closed my eyes as a wave of lightheadedness washed over me.
"It's not like it's your fault. Your blood sugar is probably low. Not to mention we're both positively soaked," he added gruffly. "Now don't fall off, will you? I don't want to have to dig you out again." I tightened my grip in response, not finding sufficient air in my lungs to speak.
I had expected the process to be rather jarring and incredibly slow-moving, but it was neither. Draco's steps were even, and though they were a bit slower than usual, it didn't appear that my weight was too strenuous on his frame. I peered through half opened eyes down his torso, watching the powerful muscles of his legs tense with every movement. I let my eyes drift shut after awhile, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing and inhaling his magnificent cologne.
I lost track of just how far we had walked, or how much time had passed. All I knew was that it took much longer to walk the 100 yards to the pub than it should have, and I mentally cursed McGonagall. The woman had sent us on a bloody suicide mission!
I felt Draco still beneath me, but was unable to open my eyes due to sheer exhaustion. He shifted my weight slightly, and a loud thumping sound that remotely resembled a boot colliding with wood made me realize we had reached The Three Broomsticks. The heavy oak door creaked open after a minute, and strained, tired voice reached my ears.
"Oh, gods! You're here! Hurry in, please!" I vaguely attributed the voice to that of Rosmerta. I felt Draco move again, and was met with a flood of warm air and bright light. I squeezed my eyelids shut tighter.
"Ginny, you can let go of the shovels, now," a hoarse, sick sounding voice whispered near my ear, and I realized with a start that it was Draco's. I did so gratefully, and after stretching my fingers painfully, let the shovels clatter to the floor.
"Minerva warned me that you'd be coming through! I frankly can't believe she sent you out in this storm at all, 'course I'm sure she had no idea…" Rosmerta had spoken again, but I had trouble placing it as the voices were starting to go a bit hazy. "There's a spare room downstairs, please make yourselves comfortable. My lord you look absolutely horrid! Get yourselves warmed up and I can whip you up something to eat as soon as you like! Go on, now! Get some rest, will you?"
Draco's breathy reply of thanks was the last thing I remembered before falling into unconsciousness.
END CHP 10
Hoped you enjoyed it, even though it was a bit rough around the edges… review please.