Enough
A/N: Eh. I don't feel poetic now, so you don't get another poem. But that's a good thing, I figure. And I'm finally writing, after my long break/bout of laziness. I just came from watching Scream, so I need a good bit 'o' fluffiness. So what if I wrote it? ::glares:: Dedicated: to Apocalypse, for writing For Every Possible Reason, which somehow, one weird way or another, prompted me to write this.
Disclaimer: It's not mine, damn it, not mine! ::breathes heavily:: Yeah, what I said, anyway.
****
It's not like I love her, or anything.
In her dreams, right? I don't even remotely like her. She's just another annoying thorn in my side. Like Potter and Weasley. And that Mud... Muggle Granger.
Well... not exactly like Potter and Weasley, to be exact. Not that it wouldn't make my day to see those two prats prancing around in some frilly yellow robes.
Not in that way, of course. Just the thought makes me want to...
Let's just keep it at violent discharging of Mother's Sunday dinner.
But, veering off the track there.
I really, really don't like her. So what if she always looks so damn good when she prances into a room, shining of happiness and all that goddamn rubbish. My stomach goes into twisted knots when other things happen too.
I really don't know why I did that.
That.
With these girls, you never know what they might take something as. You insult them, they think you want to kiss them. Tell them to go away, they prepare the bloody marriage invitations.
These Girls, Pansy, to-mei-toes, to-ma-toes. Minor difference.
It was another normal day in The Life Of Draco Malfoy. Scare the First Years, control Crabbe and Goyle, run from Pansy, snap at Potter.
Then I bumped into her in the hallway. I made some random comment. She got freakishly upset. She started shouting. Screaming, rather.
Her eyes were all fiery and blazing. She has really beautiful eyes. Not that I notice particularly, of course. They're just really bright, and they shine, and...
I've noticed before. She looks at me. She's looked at me. Does she really think I never noticed her staring? Only a blind man wouldn't notice. But you can be blind and still have eyes, you know. You can look, and not see.
But it doesn't matter. Nothing about Ginny Weasley should matter to me. I'm Draco Malfoy. I've learnt to make things not matter to me. There's not a bloody thing in this cursed world that matters.
But that day, I 'mattered' a whole lot. She was glaring at me so fiercely. I think it's something to do with the hair. Red hair, fire = Weasley temper = Ginny Weasley temper = glaring.
I got bloody mad. And made a whole lot more random comments.
So there we were. Shouting at each other. Standing there, in the middle of the hallway, shouting and insulting and verbally abusing-as some might say-each other.
She's better than I would've thought she'd be at banter. Must be the fights with all those brothers of hers.
But then she insulted Mother. No one insults Mother. Say whatever about Fa... Lucius. But no one, no. one. insults. Mother.
She looked ashamed, in a way. Like she regretted saying that. But it didn't make one damn bit of difference to me. The adrenaline was pumping through my veins. Anger makes you do stupid things.
And so I slapped her.
I know I shouldn't have. 'No gentleman every raises his hand to a Lady.' Blah, blah, blah. It's all there in the Malfoy Book of Etiquette. Rule no. 41, or something of the likes. Quite stupid, since there are worse things people can do.
We could have left it at that. I, could have bloody left it at that. She could have stormed off. I could have left her there-I do not storm.
But I didn't.
Maybe I didn't think that slapping her was enough punishment. Maybe I wanted to embarrass her. Or maybe I just plain as hell wanted to know how it'd feel like.
Anger overrides the brain. Makes you reckless, stupid.
I kissed her.
Damn it, I kissed her.
And damn it more, it was a good kiss.
Her lips were so soft, and she was so warm... And I shouldn't have enjoyed it.
But I did. And I really didn't want to have to deal with the after-effects of a really good kiss between two enemies.
So I did what any normal, not-so-normal, teenage, hormonal-driven guy would do.
I went off. Left. Fled from the scene of the crime. It makes no difference what it's called, I did it anyway.
She kept looking at me in the hallway, in the Great Hall, so long after that. Whenever we crossed paths. She'd look at me, and I always felt her eyes begging me to show some kind of acknowledgement that what happened really did happen.
But the feeling of not wanting to deal with after-effects was, is, still there.
And I gave her nothing.
It's hard to believe that it's been six months now. Six long months. So very long ago, but yet I can still remember it like it was yesterday. Remember how it felt, remember the tension... remember her.
Graduation was today.
Last chance, they call it. Last chance for what, I'd like to know. Last chance to snog? Admit deep love for one of the Professors?
Last chance.
Two words can have so many meanings. So many levels. Layers.
Like an onion. Not the best imagery, perhaps. But still.
Last Chance.
And perhaps, Last Chance, is the very reason I'm heading this way.
Her way.
I don't know what I'm doing, or saying, or going to do or say. I just know that I'd regret it forever if I didn't use this bloody Last Chance for something.
And so what, if that something is her.
And there she is. Not too hard to spot, that hair of hers is a dead give-away. I could spot her a mile off.
She closes her eyes as I near her. I take my place in front of her, and wait for her to open the eyes and see me there.
While I wait, I study her.
I've never really had a chance to do that since The Day. I suppose I was scared, in a way, that she might take it as a sign, or some bloody thing like that. And in the Great Hall, any over exposure of Ginny in the observing section was sure to prompt some over-protective-brotherly-accusing reaction. And I wanted that like a hole-in-the-head.
But now, I realize what I've missed out on.
She has the most bloody gorgeous hair. It gleams, amber and tarnished gold. Crimson, scarlet, ruby. All the colors of red and then some, garnet and burgundy, mixed together in the most beautiful way. Like the palette of an artist. And when the sun hits it, I could swear birds start singing.
A little over-exaggeration, perhaps, but there's really no way to describe it.
I know that if her eyes snap open, I'd see her gorgeous brown eyes. They sparkle with life, and quite often around me, anger. I feel quite proud, really, if I manage to make them glitter and glisten that way.
I would continue my appraisal of her, down her face, to her lips... but at that time, she opens her eyes, and I smile.
I really can't help it. It's a born reaction. I don't smile often, but...
It's her, you know?
It's her.
And that, that in itself, means so much.
I whisper her name, in a voice that I've never heard myself in...
"Ginny..."
She also whispers, much in the same tone...
"Draco..."
She didn't have to say much more. I knew I didn't. And I could see it in her eyes. That we were both standing there, together.
It was enough.
And I know what I have to do. I just know.
I kiss her.
Last Chance. I finally know what it really means.
****
A/N: Ahhh, there's the fluff! You know you like it! You get fluff, I got a sore bottom and tired eyes from sitting in front of the computer for so long. Eh, well. Slightly longer than the first part. That's either a bonus or a curse, depending on your POV, I suppose. Review, everyone loves being adored. Disclaimer 2: Onion thing, from Shrek. You know, with the layers.
