AN: Well, here it is. The long struggled over installment. I'll tell you, I got stuck halfway through this and couldn't think of a way to restart it. You'll probably be able to spot the place that I got stuck in. It kind of sticks out (semi-pun, semi-pun). Oh, I do adore writing these author notes. I'll probably be able to whip out the next installment quickly enough, now that I have a fresh slate to begin on. I love all the reviews. I do note the people who have reviewed all my fics, and one of these days I'll write up a list. In the meantime, review again?
Disclaimer : Characters and setting belong to JK Rowling.
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Pansy lay on her bed stiffly, looking at the ceiling. She had pasted a picture of Draco there, but she wasn't really seeing it.
Why didn't he love her?
She could still remember him making love to her - she refused to think of it as just sex, because it wasn't, not when it was with Draco - and she shivered at the memory. Draco was a wonderful lover. More than that she loved the way his arms felt around her after they had finished, and they were lying together. You didn't stay with a person after you had just made love unless you loved them. Unless you respected them. Unless you moderately liked them!
Then she could remember the look on his face, the naked pain and horror, when Ginny had fled after finding them together. In all their time together, in all of their time together, he had never, never, so much as shown an emotion deeper than cold amusement. That hurt.
She loved Draco. She loved him so much she dreamt of him at night and fantasized about him by day. And now he was in love with the worst person for him, that Gryffindor slut Ginny. Ginny Weasley. That hurt even more.
But Pansy wasn't stupid. She knew Draco's parents would never approve of the match. Draco would never be allowed to stay with Ginny. By fair means or foul, Draco's parents - Draco's father, to be exact, would get rid of the Ginny problem. And then Pansy would step in. Pansy was perfect for Draco. She had made certain of that.
Pansy wasn't stupid. In her years together with Draco, she had struggled to be the perfect girlfriend. In her cause, she had struggled to emulate Draco's mother, Narcissa. Narcissa was perfect for Lucius. She had given him the respectability he had needed to remain part of the wizarding community while also being a Death Eater - not an easy thing to do. Definitely not an easy thing to do. Narcissa was also purposefully vague. So purposefully that Pansy wasn't sure if it was just an act anymore.
So all Pansy had to do now, was wait for the cards to fall, the wands to break.
And when they did, Pansy would be ready.
No, Pansy wasn't stupid.
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Draco stared straight out in front of him. He was alone, sitting in a dark stairwell. He liked the dark.
The dark was soothing. Unlike many wizard kids, Draco had never been afraid of the dark. He had always welcomed it. The dark was like a bolt of black silk draping softly and silently over him, blacking out everything else. You were never hurt when you were sleeping. You couldn't feel pain when you were sleeping. Dreams, for Draco, had always been swift and fleeting. He had never been able to remember a single dream he had had. He liked it that way. Draco supposed that he associated unpleasant things with light. He didn't really care to examine why he felt like he did. Over-analysis had never been a problem for Draco.
Draco thought of Ginny. He had done that almost constantly over the past few days. The teachers didn't seem to notice. The teachers seemed to be preoccupied, probably with some new Voldemort mishap, Draco thought. He would have sneered, but he was too tired. This whole Ginny issue had tired him out, to the point where he would have done anything for it to be over. For it to be over the way he wanted it to. For Ginny to come back to him.
He loved her, he really did. She was the only person in the world who could make him laugh and cry, smile and want to please.
She was the only person who made him feel like he did in the dark.
He didn't know why he loved her. Dispassionately thinking about it, he knew that she was quite possibly the worst person he could ever love. All other things aside, their families hated each other. Draco himself hated all the Weasleys with a passion. Well, except one. They stood for everything he despised. Poverty. Ill manners. Vulgarity. And he knew perfectly well that his father would love a chance to string Arthur Weasley up on a pole and cut off his genitals. Arthur Weasley would also, in return, love a chance to shut his father up in Azkaban.
But he loved her.
Despite the fact that he loved her, he was still the same Draco Malfoy he had been before he had fallen in love with her. She hadn't changed him, hadn't tried to change him. He still hated her brothers and Potter and Granger. He hated Mudbloods. And she, too, had not changed. It was as if their love was on a different plane from all these things, as if it remained untouched and uninfluenced by these matters. It was separate from the world they knew.
He loved her.
He didn't know when he had started. He had known her for five years, and in all that time she had been nothing more and nothing less than another Weasley.
She was beautiful. No, not beautiful, if he was honest with himself, which was hard to do when Ginny was the subject. She was pretty. She was lazy. She was . . .
What was the point? She was Ginny, and he loved Ginny.
Come what may, she was Ginny, and Lord Voldemort help him, he loved her.
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Hermione was fed up. She was sick of being Hermione. No, she was sick of being the Hermione whom everyone ignored except to ask for help for homework. "Just two more inches, Hermione!" "Please Hermione, we've only got ten minutes left before potions!" "Hermione, can you tell me how to -" "Hermione, why is this -' "Hermione -"
HERMIONE HERMIONE HERMIONE.
Hermione reflexively clamped her hands over her ears, despite the fact that the voices were all in her head. Sheepishly she lowered them and smiled weakly at Ron, who was looking at her curiously. Once she had signaled that she was all right, Ron lapsed back into Ronland, where the starring roles went to Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy. And in the background, Hermione Granger.
The stupid git doesn't even know I'm crushing on him.
The stupid git doesn't know anything unless it has to do with Ginny and Draco.
Hermione was beginning to hate the names Ginny and Draco. Oh, not on their own, of course. Just together. She'd never had any problems when Ginny was just Ginny and not part of a unit which consisted of her and Malfoy. And if Malfoy on his own was bad, Malfoy with Ginny was a dozen times worse. Maybe even two dozen. Maybe even three -
But that line of thought was getting her nowhere.
Harry was still looking feverishly active. His knee was bouncing up and down on the floor at a speed that dizzied Hermione. She didn't mistake the fact that his eyes kept straying to where Ginny was sitting with Connie and Fran, either. Obviously he was now crushing on Ginny. Great timing. Hermione felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to -
To what?
To hit something. To scream. To do something to make Ron notice her!
Hermione heaved a heavy sigh, gave Ron an unusually dirty look and turned to a heavy Transfiguration book. If she couldn't hit something, she would study.
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Fred fidgeted slightly. "I'm going to go over and talk to Ginny." He said abruptly.
His twin gave him a knowing look. "Ginny or Fran?"
Fred scowled. "Don't be an eejit. Ginny, of course."
Fred stomped off. He nervously smoothed down his hair, a fact which didn't escape George.
"Eejit." He said out loud, smirking. "Right."
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Ron wished Fred would stop making cow's eyes at Fran. Fran was obviously stringing him along. The smile on her face was knowing and the spark in her eyes was smug. It was as if she already knew that she had snared Fred in her promiscuous web of promises. She probably did know. Of course she knew. Ron snorted in disgust. He looked at his little sister, who was looking at them, a faint smile on her tired face - he'd never seen her look so tired before - and his heart melted. It was the first smile he'd seen on her face in a long time. Well, in a week, anyway. If Fred making a fool out of himself over her friend made her smile, then he was all for it. Hell, he was all for anything that made Fred make a fool out of himself. Fred was usually on the giving end of that line, not the receiving one.
He looked at Hermione, who was - surprise, surprise - neck deep in a huge book that looked as if it had been in a box for years. He could only see the top of her head, and for the second time, he admired the glossy sheen of her hair. Healthy hair, and a lot of it. Hermione looked up briefly and caught him looking at her. He flushed, embarrassed, even if she was just his friend. Hermione looked at him for a second. She seemed slightly disconcerted, but unwilling to pull her eyes away from his.
So they stared at each other.
It wasn't like all the other times they'd looked at each other, but Ron knew - well, he thought he knew anyway - that he'd never looked at her in quite this way before. As if there was something meaningful in the look. As if they were looking at each other as equals, and Ron realized something with a jolt.
Something he'd realized long ago, at the Yule Ball Victor Krum had taken Hermione to.
Something he couldn't remember how he had forgotten.
Hermione was a girl.
Now that was a jolt in the stomach.
For the first time in a long time, Ron couldn't think about Ginny. All he could think about was tearing his gaze away from this - this girl.
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Is this actually happening? Hermione kept on staring at him. Whatever was happening, she wasn't about to be the one to pull away.
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"He kisses like a - words defy me." Fran said as she slumped into a chair after a suspiciously long disappearance after their last class of the day. She looked, Connie thought, like a cat. A satisfied cat. Her face wore the patented Fran I-got-some look.
"In a good or a bad way?" Connie asked, after sneaking a glance at Ginny to make sure she wasn't listening. Ginny could be so prudish about her own brothers. Connie supposed that she didn't blame her. Much. It would be kind of like wondering what it would be like to kiss your uncle. Or your father.
Connie blanched and quickly turned her thoughts away. She focused on Fran, who was stretching luxuriously. Connie caught sight of Fred, who was just coming in the portrait. He looked glazed over, like a doughnut that's lost all it's filling; still looks good from the outside, but you still know that something's missing. In Fred's case, Connie thought with a smirk, the thing missing was probably about three gallons of saliva.
Fran laughed in the way only Fran could laugh. "In a gooooood way." She practically purred. Scratch that. She was purring. Connie laughed.
"When are you meeting him again?" Connie asked.
Fran smiled lazily. "Whenever I can."
Connie whistled. "He must have been pretty good."
Fran leant forward confidingly. "Honey, on a scale of one to eight, he's an eighty."
Connie laughed again. "Wonder if George kisses like him?" She exchanged knowing looks with Fran.
Suddenly Ginny spoke. Connie jumped guiltily, but realized Ginny wasn't talking about Fred and George. "I'm going to get back together with Draco." She said clearly.
Connie exchanged alarmed looks with Fran. "Ginny, are you sure?" She knew it wasn't any use asking, though. Ginny never said anything she wasn't sure about. Well, Connie was wise enough to know that interfering with your friend's love life - even if she was your best friend and about as experienced as an unopened can of soda - was the kiss of death to a friendship.
Fran said nothing. Typical.
"Yes." Ginny said, her eyes clear for the first time in - well, in the time since she'd broken up with Draco. Connie still didn't know all the details. She doubted she ever would. Ginny could be exasperatingly proud sometimes. And something that had hurt her that badly - it would probably stay between her and Draco. And the chick Draco had hooked up with, whoever she was.
Ginny stood. "I'm going to go tell him."
Connie hugged her. "All right."
Fran smiled, a genuine smile, not the I'm-gonna-bite-your-tongue-out-and-you're-gonna-like-it smile she gave to boys. "You know I'm behind you, honey."
Ginny smiled, and laughed, and she looked young again. She turned to walk away and then turned again. "And girls?"
"Yes?" they chorused. God, that was dorky.
"Stop talking about my brothers like they're sex toys."
Connie had the good grace to blush. Fran just laughed louder than ever.
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Ginny ran down the hallways. She slowed down when she saw Draco's back, silhouetted in the stone doorway. He was standing - probably brooding, she thought with an inner laugh born of giddiness - facing the sunlight, so his back was a canvas of darkness. She started running again, as quietly as possible, and then she flung herself at his back, almost bowling him over. She would have, if he hadn't been holding onto the wall. He swore, and she laughed.
"Ginny?" he asked, his shock and apprehension visible. Oh, how she loved him, Ginny thought, taking in his beloved face, worn, but still wearing the mask of arrogance that was a part of him. The soft white-blonde hair. The hard set of the chin.
"No, not Ginny." She said, hugging him tightly. She pulled back slightly and smiled at him. "Your witch."
And then she kissed him.
Things weren't perfect, but they were as perfect as they could be.