Author: Diamond Tears
Feedback: Please!!!
Rating: PG right now
Pairing: Draco/Ginny *sigh*
Disclaimer: As much as I wished for my Hogwarts Letter, it never came...
J. K. Rowling owns all, 'cept my plot...
yes, she even owns Draco... :(
(shamless self-promotion ) Hey, are you a Draco/Ginny fan and/or writer or even an artist?? Join my Yahoo! group... http://groups.yahoo.com/group/draco_ginny/(shamless self-promtion )
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She was trembling. Her entire body was shaking so hard she didn't know if she could ever make it stop. She sat on the floor in the owlery (A/N: thank you guys!!) for what felt like hours after he left. She had sat on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, her head on her hands. She didn't cry. He wouldn't make her cry. Of course she had cried in her first year, he'd say a few heartless things to her and she'd be in tears.
But no, she told herself, you won't get that saticfaction this time.
Finally she had lifted her head, more than a little relieved that he was gone. She had sent out on her hands and knees to retrieve her sketches from the ground. She had sent them off to the Burrow before heading to her dorm. She was the only student there, everyone one else was in the Great Hall for dinner.
She found that she wasn't hungry.
More than anything else she felt bad. How could she say that to him? How could she assume that about him, or his father? What did she know about him that gave her the right to hurt him? But she was telling herself that she did what she had to. She did it to make him stop. She did it because she was afraid.
"That's no excuse." She whispered to herself.
She hadn't seen his face. She didn't have to. She wouldn't have looked at him for all the money in the world. She had heard the tremble in his voice. That spoke the volumes his words didn't. She was so sorry. But a piece of her was demanding to know what she had to feel sorry about, when he had done things even worse to her. She couldn't answer that.
Instead she drew. She drew him again. The curve of his chin. The outline of his cheekbone. She drew his eyes brows, arching high above his long blond eyelashes. She drew the purse of his lips as he studied her. She drew the owls, sitting on their perches, high above his head. The slight sweep of his hair above his forehead. The single lock laying on his forehead, begging to be smoothed back. Then the straight outline of his neck, the line of his robes.
The smell of fresh clean parchment soothed her. The scratch of her pencil filling her ears. She felt her hand grow steady as she worked, her fear and pain leaving her as she confronted it. She studied her work, then closed her eyes for a moment to study the memory. She set the tip of pencil down, her fingers grapsing the cool skeets of paper tightly.
She spent time on his eyes. Shading, lining. She tried to capture the emotions she had seen there. The depth. She had seen into his soul. As if Draco would be caught dead with a soul. She drew his hand, clenched around her drawings. The fine lines on his knuckles, the curve of his fingers, the shape of his nails. The specks of dirt beneath them.
She surprised herself with the detail. With how well she knew his body. With how damn sexy she thought he was, even when he was tormenting her. Ginny laughed at herself. True, Draco wasn't hard on the eyes, but really, the boy had almost hit her.
"But," A thin voice argued, "he didn't."
He didn't. He hadn't. That's what he kept telling himself. To keep himself sane. He hadn't hit her, he hadn't been like his father. He'd broken the chain. The cycle. But he'd hurt her all the same. Her eyes had been shut tightly, her hands trembling. She had surrendered. She had held out the pieces of parchment to him. He had beaten her down. His father would have been proud, and he should have relished the moment.
"Then why," He asked himself, "are you so upset about it?"
He couldn't explain it. The knot in his stomach, the block in his mind. He couldn't taste anything, his throat was dry, no matter how much he drank. He was wishing the house elves had spiked the pumpkin juice. He would take anything to make him feel better, anything to edge off the guilt, the anger, the pain.
Things that a Malfoy didn't care about. Ever.
Draco pushed his plate back and stared at it for a moment before heading back to the Slytherin common room. He walked up the large stone steps and muttered the password under his breath. He entered his dorm and sat on his bed, his head in his hands. He ignored to soft hoots of an owl in the window, his eyes closed. The he shrieked as a large set of talons pinched his shoulder. His large gray sat on his shoulder, one leg out, bearing a letter. Draco took it, before shooing the owl off.
He knew it was from his father before he even flipped it over, surprised to find it wasn't stamped with the Mafloy seal. He opened it, pulling out a single piece of parchment that was graced with his mother's elegant hand. He scanned it quickly, a slight groan escaping his lips. His mother hardly ever wrote him, it was always his father who sent the owls.
//Dearest Draco,
Your father did not want me to disturb you in your studies, but I felt you should know what your father meant when he said business. I fear that peace for us will soon be but a memory. I'm enclosing a couple of letters and such that I found on your father's desk. I trust he'll never find out where I sent it.
Love always,
Mother//
He reached back into the envelope and pulled out pages of parchment. He paled at first, reading his fathers words. Still holding his letter he raced down the stairs and through the portrait hole. He raced through the hallways until he reached the Great Hall, slipping in he moved back to his place at the table in time to see Dumbledore rise from his spot at the head of the High Table.
"I'm afraid," He began in a grainy voice, "That I have some terrible news."
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A/N: Am I evil?? was that even a good cliffie??
Hey, what does this button do?? Click it and find out... :)
Feedback: Please!!!
Rating: PG right now
Pairing: Draco/Ginny *sigh*
Disclaimer: As much as I wished for my Hogwarts Letter, it never came...
J. K. Rowling owns all, 'cept my plot...
yes, she even owns Draco... :(
(shamless self-promotion ) Hey, are you a Draco/Ginny fan and/or writer or even an artist?? Join my Yahoo! group... http://groups.yahoo.com/group/draco_ginny/(shamless self-promtion )
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She was trembling. Her entire body was shaking so hard she didn't know if she could ever make it stop. She sat on the floor in the owlery (A/N: thank you guys!!) for what felt like hours after he left. She had sat on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, her head on her hands. She didn't cry. He wouldn't make her cry. Of course she had cried in her first year, he'd say a few heartless things to her and she'd be in tears.
But no, she told herself, you won't get that saticfaction this time.
Finally she had lifted her head, more than a little relieved that he was gone. She had sent out on her hands and knees to retrieve her sketches from the ground. She had sent them off to the Burrow before heading to her dorm. She was the only student there, everyone one else was in the Great Hall for dinner.
She found that she wasn't hungry.
More than anything else she felt bad. How could she say that to him? How could she assume that about him, or his father? What did she know about him that gave her the right to hurt him? But she was telling herself that she did what she had to. She did it to make him stop. She did it because she was afraid.
"That's no excuse." She whispered to herself.
She hadn't seen his face. She didn't have to. She wouldn't have looked at him for all the money in the world. She had heard the tremble in his voice. That spoke the volumes his words didn't. She was so sorry. But a piece of her was demanding to know what she had to feel sorry about, when he had done things even worse to her. She couldn't answer that.
Instead she drew. She drew him again. The curve of his chin. The outline of his cheekbone. She drew his eyes brows, arching high above his long blond eyelashes. She drew the purse of his lips as he studied her. She drew the owls, sitting on their perches, high above his head. The slight sweep of his hair above his forehead. The single lock laying on his forehead, begging to be smoothed back. Then the straight outline of his neck, the line of his robes.
The smell of fresh clean parchment soothed her. The scratch of her pencil filling her ears. She felt her hand grow steady as she worked, her fear and pain leaving her as she confronted it. She studied her work, then closed her eyes for a moment to study the memory. She set the tip of pencil down, her fingers grapsing the cool skeets of paper tightly.
She spent time on his eyes. Shading, lining. She tried to capture the emotions she had seen there. The depth. She had seen into his soul. As if Draco would be caught dead with a soul. She drew his hand, clenched around her drawings. The fine lines on his knuckles, the curve of his fingers, the shape of his nails. The specks of dirt beneath them.
She surprised herself with the detail. With how well she knew his body. With how damn sexy she thought he was, even when he was tormenting her. Ginny laughed at herself. True, Draco wasn't hard on the eyes, but really, the boy had almost hit her.
"But," A thin voice argued, "he didn't."
He didn't. He hadn't. That's what he kept telling himself. To keep himself sane. He hadn't hit her, he hadn't been like his father. He'd broken the chain. The cycle. But he'd hurt her all the same. Her eyes had been shut tightly, her hands trembling. She had surrendered. She had held out the pieces of parchment to him. He had beaten her down. His father would have been proud, and he should have relished the moment.
"Then why," He asked himself, "are you so upset about it?"
He couldn't explain it. The knot in his stomach, the block in his mind. He couldn't taste anything, his throat was dry, no matter how much he drank. He was wishing the house elves had spiked the pumpkin juice. He would take anything to make him feel better, anything to edge off the guilt, the anger, the pain.
Things that a Malfoy didn't care about. Ever.
Draco pushed his plate back and stared at it for a moment before heading back to the Slytherin common room. He walked up the large stone steps and muttered the password under his breath. He entered his dorm and sat on his bed, his head in his hands. He ignored to soft hoots of an owl in the window, his eyes closed. The he shrieked as a large set of talons pinched his shoulder. His large gray sat on his shoulder, one leg out, bearing a letter. Draco took it, before shooing the owl off.
He knew it was from his father before he even flipped it over, surprised to find it wasn't stamped with the Mafloy seal. He opened it, pulling out a single piece of parchment that was graced with his mother's elegant hand. He scanned it quickly, a slight groan escaping his lips. His mother hardly ever wrote him, it was always his father who sent the owls.
//Dearest Draco,
Your father did not want me to disturb you in your studies, but I felt you should know what your father meant when he said business. I fear that peace for us will soon be but a memory. I'm enclosing a couple of letters and such that I found on your father's desk. I trust he'll never find out where I sent it.
Love always,
Mother//
He reached back into the envelope and pulled out pages of parchment. He paled at first, reading his fathers words. Still holding his letter he raced down the stairs and through the portrait hole. He raced through the hallways until he reached the Great Hall, slipping in he moved back to his place at the table in time to see Dumbledore rise from his spot at the head of the High Table.
"I'm afraid," He began in a grainy voice, "That I have some terrible news."
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A/N: Am I evil?? was that even a good cliffie??
Hey, what does this button do?? Click it and find out... :)