AN: Hello, everyone! I'm terribly sorry I took so long on this installment; I've been really preoccupied with school starting up once again in addition to working on college applications and sustaining my job. I don't know what to tell you about this chapter, except that it's a bit more serious then most; there's quite a bit of character development. I hope you enjoy!

THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 12

Ah, dinnertime. That glorious hour during the day when one is able to indulge in some of the most glorious things known to man, wizard and muggle alike. It's no secret that I love food. Mum always tells me that she knew I loved to eat the day I tried to swallow Bill's wand. I don't argue with her really, for I feel no shame in admitting it. Fred and George on the other hand, find it quite hilarious to point out that I should be obese, what with the amount of food I eat. Now that statement I tend to argue with, for I get plenty of exercise from playing Quidditch and the like. Still, I have to admit that they raise a fair point. I wasn't in any hurry to find out what I would look like if I didn't keep up with my fitness.

Combine aforementioned adoration of food with my positively ravenous, food-deprived being, and you'd be close to imagining how I was feeling at the moment.

I was a bit hungry.

When I finally managed to hobble up the stairs—my leg was still feeling a bit odd, and the numbness that had been present since I had woken up still hadn't finished its vicious pilgrimage to turn my muscles into an achy knot of torture—and smelled the aftermath of the combined efforts of Rosmerta and myself, I was able to temporarily escape from the embarrassing outcome of that most recent display of idiocy in front of Draco, and for that I was happy. Very happy.

I was so caught up in my excitement that I didn't realize I was plodding through the hallways at a ridiculously fast pace, and I failed to care when I barely managed to hear Draco mutter something about Weasleys acting like they'd never eaten a dinner before.

I stepped into the pub light, and couldn't help the somewhat embarrassing smile of relief from spreading across my face as the magnificent smell led me towards three very large pots of delectable looking food. Madame Rosmerta looked up as we entered, a large serving spoon in one hand and an oven mitt in the other.

"Ginny, I'm pleased to inform you that we've appeared to be successful. Help yourselves, then." She set down the serving spoon and moved aside to reveal a small stack of plates and a water pitcher complete with glasses.

I greedily snatched up a plate and attempted to send her a grateful smile, but her attention was directed towards something behind me. I turned, following her narrowed eyes in confusion, to see Draco picking up a plate uninterestedly, completely unaware of her prying eyes.

I blinked in what I could tell—to my distaste—was an owlish manner, as up until that moment, I had nearly forgotten Draco was even behind me. Figuring it would be best to turn around before he noticed my no doubt creepy stare, I did so, deciding that he would be significantly less disturbed if only half of the women in the room were staring at him—not counting that odd looking bloke across the room. I spooned a large heap of potatoes onto my plate, smiling to myself at the thought of that creepy old fogy getting fresh with Malfoy. Ah, the look of revulsion on his face would be sinfully satisfying.

An equally large helping of pot roast followed the potatoes, and I was delighted to find that Rosmerta had managed to come up with a simple gravy in my absence. Under her watchful eye I couldn't shake the guilt that began to wash over me at the prospect of not taking any carrots, and I begrudgingly speared a few onto my plate. The pile of food now looked high enough to fill my stomach, which I was fairly certain had begun eating itself it hurt so badly, and I glanced around the room for a spot to dine. Although, dine was probably much too sophisticated of a word for what I planned to do with my food. Inhale sounded more accurate.

There were four tables set up in the room, all of them small, accommodating only two people at most. An elderly couple sat at one, quietly eating amongst themselves. Another was occupied by the chap who had given Draco the once over (multiple times, I might add), and a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard. The latter didn't look up as I stepped into the room, and the prior kept sending Draco, whom to my knowledge was still at the counter behind me, furtive glances. I began to fear for his safety when the man smiled eerily in his direction, and I cleared my throat loudly, catching his attention. I raised an eyebrow when he met my gaze, and he turned his blushing face back to his dinner plate. I didn't need any competition, old fogy or no.

Rosmerta sat at the table distant from the fireplace, gazing pensively out the window at the swirling white blaze. The final table was stationed adjacent to the fire in the center of the room like the first two, though each table was placed on one side of the blaze so as to allow some privacy and easy access to its warmth. I took a seat in one of the two empty chairs. It felt quite lovely to sit down, and my leg welcomed the relief.

I sighed gratefully as I glanced down at my full plate, and picked up my silverware eagerly. A familiar tingle shot up my spine then, and I caught a glimpse of gray and white as the presence I knew all too well walked passed.

"Starting without me? Hardly good table manners," he chastised as he turned to take the seat opposite me. I watched—okay, okay…who am I kidding? stared—as he placed his plate on the table and easily fell into the wooden chair. His hair was still mussed from sleep, and it dropped even further into his eyes as he scooted his seat forward. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows and his pale skin was slightly flushed from the proximity to the fire. I took another grateful sigh, though this one was for an entirely different reason than the first. The infamously perverted portion of my brain wondered loudly if I was hungry for something other than what was on my plate, because it didn't think my food would quite satisfy.

For once, I didn't try to silence the bothersome pest, for it did indeed have a point, and to my knowledge there was really no benefit to living in denial. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to allow the episode to pass. I hadn't really noticed I had started calling them such, and at first I wasn't sure I was too fond of the label—it made me sound like I was a bleeding psychopath—though I quickly realized that the name actually made sense. Besides, I was fairly certain I had gone crazy long ago, so what did I have to lose?

Luckily for me, the inhalation allowed for a flavorful whiff of food to soothe my senses, effectively distracting me from my earlier…er…hunger.

When I reopened my eyes, Draco was placing his napkin on his lap. I glanced at my own napkin, which was lumped pathetically against the edge of my plate, suddenly feeling inferior. I decided to follow suite, and mimicked his action.

"I hope you like steak and potatoes. It might be a little plain for you. Don't you normally live off of escargot or something?" I asked blandly as he took his first bite. He smiled, oddly enough taking a moment before he responded, and I realized it was because he refused to talk with his mouth full. At first I was a bit surprised by his etiquette, but that was quickly replaced with admiration. I smiled softly as I recalled a particular moment at the Burrow involving a spaghetti slurping contest, and realized he probably had better manners than I did.

"Honestly Ginny, who doesn't? These are staple foods. And actually, I'm quite fond of escargot." He raised both eyebrows once, smiling slightly as he took another bite.

"Why am I not surprised?" I asked rhetorically, stuffing a forkful of potato into my mouth with newfound precaution.

"I actually don't have an answer to that. I would think it painfully obvious that I have good taste." He bowed his head nonchalantly to take a bite of food, but I didn't miss the small, lopsided grin the action was meant to conceal, nor the fluttering in my chest that ensued when it was noticed. Damned prick was going to give me a heart attack.

"Good? Correct me if I'm wrong, but many people find escargot detestable. How, exactly, would one consider liking them to be of good taste?"

"It's a very refined delicacy. It requires something of an acquired taste, and I've been eating it since I was three." He shrugged. I narrowed me eyes at the strange bit of information. Who in the name of all that is holy would feed their three-year-old child snails? I felt a bubble of laughter burst in my chest, and I couldn't contain myself when the feeling began to spread at the image the thought had spawned.

Draco narrowed his own eyes, his face suddenly serious.

"What is so funny?" I took a breath between fits.

"Nothing, nothing, it's just—Well what I mean is, who in their right—why?"

"Why what?" I raised an eyebrow at him, slouching back slightly in my seat out of exasperation.

"Okay, let me put it this way: When I was three, my mom fed me applesauce and crackers. Maybe plain pasta noodles. For some reason, I don't think many children would take kindly to their mother saying, 'Come now, Draco, eat your snails!' It's just not in the average toddlers' diet, you see. Unnatural, is all." I grinned at him bemusedly then, as if to reiterate the fact that he was abnormal.

His brow was furrowed as if confused by the point I was trying to make, and he blinked several times before responding¸ which was evidently only a slight scowl.

"Never mind…" I waved a hand at him, and resumed battling with my steak, which was giving me a sufficient amount of trouble now that I was trying to eat it politely. I took a moment to glare at Draco's plate, which held delicately sliced, even pieces of meat. My stomach was beginning to feel more at ease now that it wasn't beyond empty, and I subconsciously reached for a glass to wash down my latest swallow. I was a bit perplexed when my hand found nothing but air until I realized I had never grabbed a glass of water in the first place. So it goes. A quick evaluation supplied that Draco too was without beverage. I rose immediately, without thinking.

He didn't look up when I moved to leave, and I tried to tell myself that meant nothing, and that I was sure he really was curious as to why I was abandoning him without explanation. Tried, of course, being the key word. It basically accomplished nothing. I'll admit it: the boy makes me feel like a failure.

Midway to the counter (and the water pitcher), I felt another tingle shoot up my back. I bit my lip and wrapped an arm around myself as I walked, reminded eerily of the feeling in McGonagall's office when he had first entered. I clung to the handle of the pitcher desperately, attempting to ignore my shaking hand and the urge to whip around and see if he was looking at me. I filled two of the tumblers and turned around, wondering just when my stupid little adoration had turned me into a spineless idiot.

He was looking at me.

My reaction was instantaneous and unavoidable: my knees buckled.

Both glasses almost slipped from my hands, and a little water sloshed over the rim and down the side of one. I scowled inwardly at the weak joints, especially the healthy one, seeing as it had no excuses for failing me when it was needed, which it very much was, given the state of it's companion. Gratefully I didn't make a complete buffoon of myself by allowing myself or the glasses to fall to the floor. No, instead I played it suave by acting like I simply had to shift the glasses up in my hands because they were slippery. It was convincing. Sort of.

I returned his stare the rest of the short—thank the gods!—way back to the table. I set his glass down with a soft thunk, and took my seat.

He was still looking at me.

"What?" I asked. I was half expecting him to say something to the effect of, 'Are you mad? Malfoy's don't drink something as commonplace as water.'

"You didn't need to do that." He cast a glance to the tumbler I had set in front of him. I sighed. Normally such a comment would have upset me—for once again I had no clue what he meant by it—but I simply wasn't in the mood to try to analyze anything more complicated for the remainder of the day other than the glorious feel of food in my belly and how my own bed sheets would feel against my skin once back in my dorm. So I took the easy way out.

"I know," I simply shrugged, and took a long drink, barely able to see the top of his unmoving form over the rim of my glass.

"Well, tha-"

"Ginny, Draco," a voice cut in. I could have screamed. Unless I was very much mistaken, I had almost earned a thank-you from Draco sodding Malfoy. That's not very common, you know. Hell, most people didn't even think he knew word, Draco himself included. You understand, then, why I was a little edgy. I turned crazed eyes on the speaker, who turned out to be Rosmerta. I shouldn't have been surprised by this; I mean really, who else would it have been? Like I said before, I had long since gone crazy.

"Yes?" Draco was watching her with a concentrated gaze. I was glad he spoke, for I was worried if I attempted to do so I might start yelling incoherently about blond boys and thank-you's.

The look on her face caught me off-guard, and my sanity returned quickly as I noticed the foreign expression.

"Professor McGonagall wrote me just a moment ago via owl." She shifted her gaze between the two of us and clasped her hands in front of her chest.

"Why? I mean, why did she contact you?" I blurted out, honestly confused. Hadn't McGonagall already contacted Rosmerta about our detention? Why would she need to do so again? The woman wasn't that uptight; it seemed liked overkill.

Rosmerta raised her eyebrows and drew in a breath.

"There seems to be a bit of a situation." I didn't like the sound of that.

"What kind of situation, Madam?" Draco drawled impatiently. I looked from Draco to Rosmerta and nodded my assent at his question. I probably looked ridiculous doing this, but I was too confused to care.

"Kids, there's five feet of snow on the ground. The pathway you shoveled earlier…well, it…it really doesn't even exist anymore. There's simply no way you can walk through the snow, and it's getting dark outside as well…" she turned momentarily to look out the window. I clenched my tumbler tighter. My leg began to ache worse at the prospect of battling the icy snow all the way back to Hogwarts.

"The wind chill is well below zero, and it's not letting up." She paused to look at each of us meaningfully. I felt my throat go dry, and took a large gulp of water. "You won't be able to return to school tonight."

My throat clenched irregularly and I choked on my water—to execute a thing of such irrefutable gracelessness takes skill, let me say. I coughed uncontrollably, and I wasn't even able to bow my head in embarrassment from Draco, for that made things much worse. I was forced to cough into my napkin while simultaneously destroy any hopes of having even slightly reputable table manners. So it goes.

This time Draco did not save me by speaking for the both of us. After I was able to take some oxygen into my being, I looked over at him hesitantly, preparing for a look of supreme horror. At first glance he appeared almost normal. It took me a few minutes to realize what was off; he wasn't blinking. The bloke seemed a bit effected, to say the least, and not in a good way. My stomach dropped dejectedly as I realized this shouldn't come as a surprise. What had I been expecting?

"Can't we apparate back?" I asked in a scratchy voice. Rosmerta shook her head, smiling sympathetically.

"I'm afraid not," she answered vaguely. I raised an eyebrow.

"Hogsmeade is the closest apparation point to Hogwarts. We could apparate, but it'd only gain us a matter of yards," Draco suddenly interjected, breaking his statuesque form. He refused to meet my eyes when I turned to look at him, his pewter ones focused intently on the flames behind Rosmerta. The light and shadow cast from the blaze danced across his face, illuminating his features in a most entrancing manner.

"Can't they remove the barriers?" I asked, hoping he would be the one to answer me. I couldn't yet tell if he was upset or not, and it was bothering me. I liked to know how people were feeling. Perhaps that's part of the reason I found Draco Malfoy so intriguing. His layers of complexity never ceased to amaze, yet I could've sworn I was on the brink of discovering a pattern to the madness.

"Not for something as inconsequential as this, I'm afraid," Rosmerta responded. Draco arched an eyebrow at this and he let out a sardonic laugh.

"Oh, of course not. It's just a matter of whether or not two students are safely in the school. Nothing severe," he sneered sarcastically. I was momentarily shocked by his bitterness. Up until that point, he had yet to show me hardly any of his usual Malfoy façade. Why in the name of Merlin was he suddenly going haywire? We weren't in any real danger, after all. He had no right to take it out on Rosmerta.

"Draco, it's not like we're not safe here," I pointed out firmly. I glanced at Rosmerta, whose demeanor had stiffened slightly at his outburst. She met my gaze meaningfully.

"She's right, you know. You can spend the night in the spare room downstairs and the two of you will be on your way in the morning."

Her words seemed to have the opposite effect as she had intended. Draco sneered again, shaking his head.

"You mean she has to share a room with me?" One of his eyebrows was arched high, and his top lip was curled slightly. Had he not said the statement in such a manner, I would have been very offended. Instead, of course, I was speechless. That's only happened a handful of times, people, so I was a bit concerned I was losing my ability to use my motor skills. After a moment, I began wondering if I had imagined him saying that, when Rosmerta spoke.

"Well, yes, she does. I imagine she'd be more comfortable with you than me." Draco growled under his breath and dropped his napkin onto the table. He rose hurriedly and stalked off, leaving me with an odd sort of hole in my chest.

Of all the incomprehensible moments that had passed today, this one took the cake. I hadn't so much as a spec of any idea as to why he had reacted the way he had. Did he honestly think I protested against being in the same room as him? That clearly didn't make sense; I had just had dinner with the idiot. Perhaps he hadn't meant to say the words in such a manner, and had really meant that he didn't want to be stuck with me? That seemed more logical, but only just, for very nearly the same reason I had just mentioned. Besides, like I said before, nearly the entire day had gone on rather…well, not magnificently, but I at least, had felt like we had formed a certain kind of bond. I shook my head and swallowed the lump that was gathering in my throat. I couldn't bring myself to look at Rosmerta, and the prospect of sitting in front of the fire with only my thoughts as companions was unbearable. I didn't like the way they were going.

I rose, piling Draco's empty plate on top of my own, and gathered the scattered silverware and napkins. My hands were shaking and I felt like an idiot for it, but that didn't stop the tremors.

"Ginny, what are you doing?" Rosmerta's voice came quietly. I let out a mirthless laugh. What was I doing? I couldn't answer that question. I didn't know. I consider myself a strong person. I can roll with the punches. I can take a few in the face. But I didn't know how many times I could let it happen before I finally broke down. I barely remembered the scene outside when I had mentally deteriorated in front of him, and I was distinctly under the impression that only rest and nutrition was keeping me from doing the same again.

"Just clearing the table. I'm going to go wash these up if you don't mind. Is the kitchen just through the back?" I didn't look up when I spoke, and my voice sounded distant and funny to my ears.

"Yes, I do mind, and yes, it is." I nodded to myself, and hurried off with the pile of dishes at an unnatural pace, making sure not to look across the pub.

I pushed through a swinging wooden door and dropped the dishes onto a steel counter with a clank. I slammed a topper into the sink and turned the faucet to a scalding hot temperature. The steam curled up thickly and I splashed a large amount of dish soap into the raging water. I stuck my hand in and swished it around vigorously, grateful for the distraction the pain provided. I set the dishes on the bottom of the sink with a clatter, and barely heard the door swing open over the rushing foam. I took a deep breath, and listened to the sound of the hissing water; it had always soothed me in the past.

"What's going on, Ginny?" Rosmerta asked, taking a place at the sink next to me. I placed a freshly scrubbed plate in her sink and she turned on her faucet to start rinsing.

"What's the point?" I wondered aloud. I felt a need to speak, as if I'd eat myself from the inside out if I left anything inside.

"Don't be ridiculous. There's always a point. I'm willing to bet you know what it is, too."

"Not really. Not anymore. I don't understand why I try," I bit out, unable to hold back a bitter laugh. "Denial is a remarkable thing."

"I think you know the answer to that, too." My frustration mounted at her unbroken calm.

"Look I don't—ugh, that's not what I mean!" I cried. I knew why I tried, alright. I just didn't understand why I persisted when the situation was completely futile.

"What is the problem, then?"

"Why do I care if what you just saw happens over and over? How am I supposed to understand if he doesn't want me to? Why the hell does he act the way he does? It's a bloody catch-22: He won't tell me unless I'm close enough, but in order for me to get close he has to share what the hell he's thinking!" I attacked a fork viciously with a sponge and when I felt something suspiciously close to tears burn my eyes I glared hatefully at the foamy mass of metal.

"Ginny, what's the best way to get a straight answer from someone?" I saw her shake out the plate and put it on a towel out of the corner of my eye.

"Fuck if I know. Hasn't been going too well, in case you hadn't noticed." I didn't even care that I swore in front of her, and that fact alone made me dangerously aware of just how close to hysterical I was once again.

"Ask a straight question. Stop trying to figure out what he's thinking on your own and let him tell you." She responded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, either pointedly ignoring or simply apathetic towards my language.

"Oh right, right. Because I know it'd be number one on his to do list to just come up to me and tell all," I growled, hoping to achieve half of the deadly sarcasm he was capable of unleashing.

"No, but I can tell you right now that the boy doesn't need to be analyzed."

"I wasn't analyzing!" Much.

"Codswallop. He just needs you to give him a match to light his candle." I threw another set of silverware into her sink.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Has he shared anything personal with you before?" Rosmerta inquired nonchalantly. I shot her a discreet look and got the distinct impression that she knew the answer already.

I thought on it for a moment. Draco, telling me about honesty. Draco, telling me he didn't believe in karma. Draco, telling me about his fate. Draco, and his facial expression when he had thought I was afraid of him. Draco, and the look in his eyes when he talked about his father.

I stopped dishwashing.

"Hardly," I choked, eyes burning again, though this time for a different reason.

"Now what exactly did you do that made him share that with you?" Her words brought back my feeling of hopelessness once again. I didn't know, and that's what bothered me.

"Nothing! We were just talking and it sort of—I don't know, happened."

"Huh."

"Huh what?"

"You were 'just talking'…."

"Yes! Just talking!" I saw no reason why the concept was so hard for her to grasp.

"So what you're saying is that when you were 'just talking' about nothing in particular, these things just naturally came up in conversation?"

"Basically. I didn't really do anything to—"

And that was it. She had me. The realization rained down on me slowly at first, and then overtook me in a rush, washing away my bitterness and anger to leave me with simple concern for the boy in question.

Had I learned nothing from being around him all day? I felt foolish and idiotic and completely useless as I realized that I had completely disregarded everything I had promised myself. I knew he wouldn't be easy to understand. I knew I probably wouldn't be capable or allowed to understand him. But I'm a patient person, and I had wanted to know him anyway. I had promised myself I wouldn't judge him. I just needed reminding.

And a bit of reassurance. I had done something right without realizing it. I had won, and I hadn't even known. That felt good. Well, mostly, anyway. I'd be lying if I tried to tell you that a part of me didn't feel like a complete moron for not noticing this earlier.

I sighed heavily, letting a glass fall into the sink. Quite frankly, I didn't know what to do. Now that I had all this newly acquired information, what was I supposed to do with it? Just go out there and act natural? Wait for him to cool down? I snorted. No, no, avoiding it would get me nowhere. Plus, to be honest, I wanted to know what the bleeding hell was bothering the sod. So I needed to talk to him. Fine. I could live with that. Doing it was the problem, you see.

I turned to Rosmerta pleadingly, feeling somewhat dazed, as if I was lost in my own thoughts. Guide me, woman!

She did nothing of the sort, and instead simply continued rinsing the dishes with her ever-present tranquility, not paying me the slightest bit of attention. I was considering melting into a blubbery puddle on the floor and begging her for wisdom when she spoke.

"There's a pot of hot chocolate warming on the stove. Perhaps Draco would like some."

There was a moment in which I thought she had gone mental before my mind made the connection between her words and the relevance to my problem.

Finding no words sufficient to express my gratitude—I knew this because I opened and closed my mouth several times—I simply nodded. I felt sort of guilty with the feeble show of thanks, but Rosmerta didn't seem to care. She didn't even look up at me after she answered, and a small smile graced her features as I walked with renewed perseverance to the steaming pot warming on the stove.

END CHP 12

I apologize for the long wait again, and would like to thank everyone who had the patience to stick with me through to this chapter. I'm going to try my best to get the next one out much sooner. I think there's about 2-3 chapters left, with a possible epilogue. Reviews are greatly appreciated!