Same as before; things get a bit more interesting in this chapter.
----
Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley did not see each other for at least three weeks after their incident at the baths. Well, they did not speak anyway; Ginny often caught Draco casting curious glances in her direction, as if expecting her to suddenly attack herself with a butter knife. She rewarded these glances with funny faces, which effectively embarassed him and meant he stopped staring for the remainder of that evening.
One night at dinner, Ginny's best friends Cherie Sanford and Tonya Jackson also noticed the looks Malfoy was shooting in their direction -- more specifically, Ginny's. Cherie was a Slytherin, but mostly everyone had given up on disciplining her, most just muttering 'American' under their breath and letting her be. Boys noticed her, but all but the most self-assured were usually frightened off by her demeanor. Tonya was muggle-born and a year their junior, but taller than both of them.
"He keeps looking over here," Cherie said, catching Draco's eye and smirking at him. He was unnerved and returned to his one-sided conversation with the human pits that were Crabbe and Goyle.
"Yeah, how come?" Tonya inquired, pushing a strand of dyed, honey blonde hair away from her dark skinned features.
"How should I know?" Ginny shrugged her shoulders, delicately biting into a chocolate chip cookie.
"Well, I don't know," Cherie tilted her head to one side, studying Ginny, "Your brother fights wtih him all the time and I try to avoid him .. "
"Actually," Lee Jordan, a seventh year whom Cherie had a rather awful crush on but refused to pursue, saying that house differences would cause problems, spoke up, "He probably avoids you."
"That's very flattering, Jordan, thank you," Cherie snapped, tossing her dark hair.
"No, I meant--" he started to say something, but Cherie'd turned away. He sighed and looked at Ginny for assistance. Ginny settled on kicking Cherie on the table. Her friend's moods were too weird.
"Che*rie*," Tonya hissed, narrowing her eyes. She always got impatient with Cherie, since the girl was usually so outgoing when it came to any other boy -- the ones she didn't like much.
Exhaling melodramatically, Cherie turned and cocked one thin brow at Lee.
"You were saying?" She queried, keeping her tone mild.
"Everyone knows Malfoy has a thing about anyone who isn't pureblood, British, and a supporter." They all knew what he meant by 'supporter.' "You're only one of the three, and plus you threatened to tear off his balls and shove them through his eye sockets that one time."
"Oh yeah .. " Cherie smiled to herself, remembering.
"What?" Ginny yelped, nearly falling off her chair with laughter, "When did this happen and why did I not hear about it?"
"Okay, I was late for class .. "
Across the hall, Draco was again watching the crowd. His eyes narrowed as Lee Jordan came into the picture, wondering exactly what a seventh year wanted with a four year and two fifth years. He doubted Jordan was asking either Cherie or the tall black girl out, so that left Ginny. Well, she'd soon discover what a dog Jordan was; he'd brag about his bedroom exploits to anyone.
He wasn't sure why he was so bothered by Jordan liking this Weasley girl; perhaps he felt some sort of protectiveness towards her. She didn't act or seem delicate, but something in her life must be very, very wrong for her to have tried to kill herself. He wasn't usually given to those sort of feelings, but perhaps it was like filling the little sister void.
Yes, that must be it.
His thoughts, however, were interrupted by a hand lightly laid upon his shoulder. He twisted slightly, slowly, to see who it was.
Pansy Parkinson. The strawberry blonde tossed her hair and gave him a none-too-pretty smile.
"Yes?" He inquired, and unlike Cherie, he made no effort to keep his tone polite.
"You've been acting weird these past few weeks," she informed him, settling down into the empty chair by his side.
"I've got a lot on my mind." He refused to look directly at her, afraid that eye contact would keep her there even longer.
"You don't have time for me any more, it's like I hardly ever see you," she was starting to whine. He inwardly cringed. Conversations with Pansy always were like this. She'd start out fairly normal, and then get whinier, and noisier, and then if it was really bad she'd start crying.
"What a pity," he said, rising from his chair. Pansy stared at him.
"Dra*co*," she wailed, voice hitting a high note. His temper snapped.
"Pansy, SHUT UP!" he hollered, pushing in his chair noisily. Heads turned to stare at him, including Ginny Weasley's.
He stalked out of the hall, massaging his temples. Once he'd escaped the confines of the Hall, he sank to a lean against a wall. Usually he didn't flip out on Pansy like that; she was annoying, but he'd been so *edgy* lately. Ever since that goddamned Weasley girl.
Ginny Weasley quietly excused herself from her table and left the Great Hall. Her friends had no clue she was looking for Malfoy; why would they? She'd never had any desire to communicate with him before.
She spotted him leaning against a wall and went to stand before him, watching him silently. His eyes were closed, but he knew she was there. She had an odd scent to her--vanilla and cinnamon, possibly due to her overweight mother's cooking--that no other girl in Hogwarts would keep. They all prefered flowery or fruity smells.
"Are you all right?" She asked lightly, not sure why she cared.
"Yes. That dog who thinks she's my girlfriend is getting on my nerves, that's all," he snapped, opening his eyes and taking in her apparel. Today it was a pair of dark jean shorts, very short, a snug red blouse with a black tie, long wristbands he suspected to be the remains of argyle socks -- to cover the bandages, most likely -- and knee-high vinyl combat boots. She noticed him staring and crossed her arms over her chest hastily.
There was a long moment of silence.
"Did you put a spell on me?" He queried, soft tone not quite masking the cool menace in his voice and eyes.
"What?" She stared, "No! When would I have done that?" She seemed perplexed and angry that he would accuse her of such a thing, but more perplexed than anything else.
"You know when."
"No, I didn't. Do you honestly think I could've done anything like that?" Her voice was scornful and he saw the truth in that, sighing.
"Then what the hell is wrong with me?"
"I don't know. What are your symptoms?"
"I can't get you out of my head. It's so fucking irritating. I'll be messing around with some girl--and, wham, you face pops into my mind. I almost said your name a couple nights ago with Blaise!" He was losing his temper again, but with himself--he shouldn't be telling her this, but then, it shouldn't be happening, either.
"Are you saying you've developed some sort of .. " She seemed to be searching for an appropriate word, "Crush on *me* of all people?"
"Yes! No," he exhaled, curling up his fingers into fists and relaxing them again, "It's worse than that."
She just looked at him, arms still folded over her chest, ambrey eyes searching his for the truth as if she suspected him of lying, or making fun of her. His eyes, however, were drawn to her mouth--she had exceptionally perfect lips, he realized, a tiny smirk tugging at his features.
"What are you smiling at?" She asked warily, stepping to the side of him. This gave him perfect opportunity to spin around and push her lightly against the wall, hips pressing gently against hers. He wasn't more than two or three inches taller than her and it made things perfect. He was five-six and she maybe five-three or five-four.
"Malfoy," she breathed, only getting that out before he kissed her. It wasn't the delicate, almost chaste kiss she'd been given by Harry Potter the year prior, nor was it the inexperienced fumble of all her other boyfriends. He was demanding, skilled and dominating, and she could do nothing but return the gesture, fingertips going to touch the chiseled bone of his jaw. There was an almost gentle edge to his kiss, as if he was taking what he wanted but being sure to make it fun for both parties. Before things could get much further, though, they were interrupted by a bellowing voice.
"GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER, YOU PIG!"
Slowly, almost guiltily, Malfoy brought his face back from Ginny's as they turned to see who it was. His hands remained -- protectively? she wondered -- on her hips, but he was no longer crushing her against the wall.
Standing before the pair, ears a shade of crimson that could only be found in Ginny's hair, eyes wide and deep voice nearly growling, was Ronald Weasley.
----
Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley did not see each other for at least three weeks after their incident at the baths. Well, they did not speak anyway; Ginny often caught Draco casting curious glances in her direction, as if expecting her to suddenly attack herself with a butter knife. She rewarded these glances with funny faces, which effectively embarassed him and meant he stopped staring for the remainder of that evening.
One night at dinner, Ginny's best friends Cherie Sanford and Tonya Jackson also noticed the looks Malfoy was shooting in their direction -- more specifically, Ginny's. Cherie was a Slytherin, but mostly everyone had given up on disciplining her, most just muttering 'American' under their breath and letting her be. Boys noticed her, but all but the most self-assured were usually frightened off by her demeanor. Tonya was muggle-born and a year their junior, but taller than both of them.
"He keeps looking over here," Cherie said, catching Draco's eye and smirking at him. He was unnerved and returned to his one-sided conversation with the human pits that were Crabbe and Goyle.
"Yeah, how come?" Tonya inquired, pushing a strand of dyed, honey blonde hair away from her dark skinned features.
"How should I know?" Ginny shrugged her shoulders, delicately biting into a chocolate chip cookie.
"Well, I don't know," Cherie tilted her head to one side, studying Ginny, "Your brother fights wtih him all the time and I try to avoid him .. "
"Actually," Lee Jordan, a seventh year whom Cherie had a rather awful crush on but refused to pursue, saying that house differences would cause problems, spoke up, "He probably avoids you."
"That's very flattering, Jordan, thank you," Cherie snapped, tossing her dark hair.
"No, I meant--" he started to say something, but Cherie'd turned away. He sighed and looked at Ginny for assistance. Ginny settled on kicking Cherie on the table. Her friend's moods were too weird.
"Che*rie*," Tonya hissed, narrowing her eyes. She always got impatient with Cherie, since the girl was usually so outgoing when it came to any other boy -- the ones she didn't like much.
Exhaling melodramatically, Cherie turned and cocked one thin brow at Lee.
"You were saying?" She queried, keeping her tone mild.
"Everyone knows Malfoy has a thing about anyone who isn't pureblood, British, and a supporter." They all knew what he meant by 'supporter.' "You're only one of the three, and plus you threatened to tear off his balls and shove them through his eye sockets that one time."
"Oh yeah .. " Cherie smiled to herself, remembering.
"What?" Ginny yelped, nearly falling off her chair with laughter, "When did this happen and why did I not hear about it?"
"Okay, I was late for class .. "
Across the hall, Draco was again watching the crowd. His eyes narrowed as Lee Jordan came into the picture, wondering exactly what a seventh year wanted with a four year and two fifth years. He doubted Jordan was asking either Cherie or the tall black girl out, so that left Ginny. Well, she'd soon discover what a dog Jordan was; he'd brag about his bedroom exploits to anyone.
He wasn't sure why he was so bothered by Jordan liking this Weasley girl; perhaps he felt some sort of protectiveness towards her. She didn't act or seem delicate, but something in her life must be very, very wrong for her to have tried to kill herself. He wasn't usually given to those sort of feelings, but perhaps it was like filling the little sister void.
Yes, that must be it.
His thoughts, however, were interrupted by a hand lightly laid upon his shoulder. He twisted slightly, slowly, to see who it was.
Pansy Parkinson. The strawberry blonde tossed her hair and gave him a none-too-pretty smile.
"Yes?" He inquired, and unlike Cherie, he made no effort to keep his tone polite.
"You've been acting weird these past few weeks," she informed him, settling down into the empty chair by his side.
"I've got a lot on my mind." He refused to look directly at her, afraid that eye contact would keep her there even longer.
"You don't have time for me any more, it's like I hardly ever see you," she was starting to whine. He inwardly cringed. Conversations with Pansy always were like this. She'd start out fairly normal, and then get whinier, and noisier, and then if it was really bad she'd start crying.
"What a pity," he said, rising from his chair. Pansy stared at him.
"Dra*co*," she wailed, voice hitting a high note. His temper snapped.
"Pansy, SHUT UP!" he hollered, pushing in his chair noisily. Heads turned to stare at him, including Ginny Weasley's.
He stalked out of the hall, massaging his temples. Once he'd escaped the confines of the Hall, he sank to a lean against a wall. Usually he didn't flip out on Pansy like that; she was annoying, but he'd been so *edgy* lately. Ever since that goddamned Weasley girl.
Ginny Weasley quietly excused herself from her table and left the Great Hall. Her friends had no clue she was looking for Malfoy; why would they? She'd never had any desire to communicate with him before.
She spotted him leaning against a wall and went to stand before him, watching him silently. His eyes were closed, but he knew she was there. She had an odd scent to her--vanilla and cinnamon, possibly due to her overweight mother's cooking--that no other girl in Hogwarts would keep. They all prefered flowery or fruity smells.
"Are you all right?" She asked lightly, not sure why she cared.
"Yes. That dog who thinks she's my girlfriend is getting on my nerves, that's all," he snapped, opening his eyes and taking in her apparel. Today it was a pair of dark jean shorts, very short, a snug red blouse with a black tie, long wristbands he suspected to be the remains of argyle socks -- to cover the bandages, most likely -- and knee-high vinyl combat boots. She noticed him staring and crossed her arms over her chest hastily.
There was a long moment of silence.
"Did you put a spell on me?" He queried, soft tone not quite masking the cool menace in his voice and eyes.
"What?" She stared, "No! When would I have done that?" She seemed perplexed and angry that he would accuse her of such a thing, but more perplexed than anything else.
"You know when."
"No, I didn't. Do you honestly think I could've done anything like that?" Her voice was scornful and he saw the truth in that, sighing.
"Then what the hell is wrong with me?"
"I don't know. What are your symptoms?"
"I can't get you out of my head. It's so fucking irritating. I'll be messing around with some girl--and, wham, you face pops into my mind. I almost said your name a couple nights ago with Blaise!" He was losing his temper again, but with himself--he shouldn't be telling her this, but then, it shouldn't be happening, either.
"Are you saying you've developed some sort of .. " She seemed to be searching for an appropriate word, "Crush on *me* of all people?"
"Yes! No," he exhaled, curling up his fingers into fists and relaxing them again, "It's worse than that."
She just looked at him, arms still folded over her chest, ambrey eyes searching his for the truth as if she suspected him of lying, or making fun of her. His eyes, however, were drawn to her mouth--she had exceptionally perfect lips, he realized, a tiny smirk tugging at his features.
"What are you smiling at?" She asked warily, stepping to the side of him. This gave him perfect opportunity to spin around and push her lightly against the wall, hips pressing gently against hers. He wasn't more than two or three inches taller than her and it made things perfect. He was five-six and she maybe five-three or five-four.
"Malfoy," she breathed, only getting that out before he kissed her. It wasn't the delicate, almost chaste kiss she'd been given by Harry Potter the year prior, nor was it the inexperienced fumble of all her other boyfriends. He was demanding, skilled and dominating, and she could do nothing but return the gesture, fingertips going to touch the chiseled bone of his jaw. There was an almost gentle edge to his kiss, as if he was taking what he wanted but being sure to make it fun for both parties. Before things could get much further, though, they were interrupted by a bellowing voice.
"GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER, YOU PIG!"
Slowly, almost guiltily, Malfoy brought his face back from Ginny's as they turned to see who it was. His hands remained -- protectively? she wondered -- on her hips, but he was no longer crushing her against the wall.
Standing before the pair, ears a shade of crimson that could only be found in Ginny's hair, eyes wide and deep voice nearly growling, was Ronald Weasley.