A/N: First and foremost, a great big SORRY! Sorry it's taken so long to update . . . really and truly I am . . . my computer went on a bit of a rebellion and frizzed out on me, and then . . . well, I made yet another visit to the moors of Writer's Block. And sorry for the lacking quality of this chapter. I really threw it together, for the sake of updating . . . just, well, enjoy, and review, like always. Sorry!
****
After nearly ten minutes of searching the library, Hermione turned past the shelves of books in the far east corner, stumbling upon a rather dusty table and it's lone occupant in the process. Setting her bag down across from the inhabitant of the single corner of the library that was nearly never used, she carefully pulled a dust-ridden chair out, and gingerly sat down.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, pulling a book from her bag, "Out of curiosity, why are you hiding in the furthest corner from the front, bordering on non-existent, where it's next to impossible to find you?"
"Over half the school wouldn't mind seeing me both severely and mortally wounded about now." Harry answered, peeking over the top of his slightly worn out copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. "I'll not be taking any chances, thank you."
"You'll be turning into Moody, you will, next thing you know." Hermione replied, rummaging through her bag. "Paranoia is not the answer." Suddenly the young girl sat up straight. "Oh! I left my quill in the common room. You don't happen do have a spare, do you?"
"Here. And who says I'm becoming paranoid? I'm just watching out for myself like - er - Sirius-" Harry's eyes quickly darted around, checking that the two were, in fact, alone. "-said."
"I think this is taking things a bit excessively." Looking up from a fresh roll of parchment, Hermione glanced across the table to where the young boy sat, hiding behind a book so only the tips of his raven hair were visible. "I asked Ron to come down and meet us in a bit. If he wanted that was. He - he said he was going to stay in the common room and wait for Ginny, but otherwise-"
"Hermione." Harry set the book down, and frowned at her. "I don't want to talk to him. He doesn't want to talk to me. Why can't you just give it a rest?"
"You two are acting like great prats, that's why, and I'll not put up with it. The only way to end this daft fight is to talk to him. If only you two weren't so stubborn and thick-headed, this could have ended weeks ago."
Harry sighed, picked his book back up, and muttered out a, "Well, it won't happen, so stop nagging us." Hermione let her eyes linger for a moment on the book he had disappeared behind. Blinking, she turned to her homework, mumbled out an apology, and set to writing furiously, hurt written all over her face.
After a few stressed moments of silence, Harry peered out over his book at her. "Oh, Hermione, don't be like that, I didn't mean it. I'm just tense is all. The first task is only a few weeks away, and I really don't think . . . that is, I'm not sure I can . . . I'm sorry.". Smiling a strained sort of smile, he couldn't help but realize how pathetic his apology sounded.
Smiling right back to him in the same way, Hermione quickly waved his apology aside, and answered, "Of course you're tense, anyone would be in your shoes. Plenty's being expected of you, and you have to live up to it all. I shouldn't be pestering you like that, not now." Pausing she added, "Let's just do the History of Magic essay, shall we?"
Nodding, Harry closed his book, and pulled out a roll of parchment and a quill from his bag. "Of course Hermione."
****
So, Draco thought, I'm in the Hospital Wing, under a curse, and it's caster is a mere five feet away. And I'm talking to myself. It's official. I've gone mental, I have.
Of course, the moment anyone found out, he'd be off the Malfoy family tree faster than any over-ripe apple. Stopping to wonder if insanity was something one could keep quiet, Draco felt his mind begin to wander over the past few days.
He, a Malfoy, had been cursed, and put under an Entrancement Enchantment, by the Muggle-loving Weasley fool. Of all the horrid things to happen in a week . . .
Draco, for years to come, would blame all that happened next on his sheer stupidity at the moment.
"My mind can't function well under curses, you know." He would insist to any and all that would listen.
No one believed him, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was were Draco was, sitting on his hospital bed across from her and that hair - that strikes-you-dead-over red hair. His guard down (breaking rule number 17 of the Malfoy Code), mind drifting, so deep into his thoughts that it took a few seconds to register anything different about the white starched curtain closing of the just as starched bed. And the girl in it.
That hair.
He noticed eventually. The hand snaking out from behind the curtain. The pale white, splotched with freckles hand, creeping over to the night table beside the bed, and hesitantly moving around, feeling for something.
Draco felt his breath stop (Breath, stop? he thought, wondering how long one could live without air), his heart jump once more, and all those horrid symptoms of his insanity take place, all at once.
He watched the hand, transfixed, eyes glued. For a fleeting moment he contemplated what holding that hand would be like, but immediately the rational part of his mind jabbed that thought away.
Then, as if in slow motion, he watched as the water jug sitting on the night table, teeter and tip, crashing to the floor with a loud smash, followed by a wave of water and glass.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were Longbottom behind there." Draco looked up and around for the voice that had spoken, taking his time to realize the voice belonged to him. His chest convulsed.
After a pause of a few moments, a voice squeaked out from behind the curtain. "You're really not one with charm, Malfoy." Draco jumped, not expecting an answer. At least not an answer from her.
What's it matter? He quickly chastised himself, She's the cretin that put you in this mess. But it didn't matter what he told himself, the shiver still ran down his spine.
"I'll have you know, Weasley, that I can easily say I have more charm than you have wit. But, then again, that's not saying much, now is it?" Draco spat out.
Without warning the curtain surrounding the bed flew open, and there she stood, red curls and all. Draco instantly sat straight up, eyes glued to her, mind blank. There were no words to describe the feelings and thoughts he was having, nor were there words to describe the red-haired girl standing before him, eyes alight with fury.
"And I'll have you know, Malfoy," Ginny whispered out in a tone that left no room to wonder, "That I am just as witty as you are scummy. And that is saying plenty." Spinning on her heel, she dragged the curtains back around the bed with such a force Draco thought one could never use on a curtain.
After a few moments to reflect in shock, Draco broke through the echoing silence with a carefully worded, "What are you in here for? Someone cast a curse on you?" Stressing the last sentence, he began to formulate a plan to trip that Weasley up. Unfortunately, no one had ever bothered to explain the art of subtlety to him.
"I'm being quarantined, mind you it's not yours to be messing in. You mind yours, and I'll mind mine, thank you."
"Just making sure your contagious self didn't harm me anymore than the mere look of you does." Draco paused then added, "If you're being quarantined, shouldn't you be breathing air closed off from the rest of the schools?"
Ginny hesitated, then muttered out, "Technicality." After a few silent seconds she continued, "Now, Malfoy, I'd appreciate it if your slimy Slytherin self kept just that. To yourself. And left me alone." A sharp, but quite, crash from behind the hangings emphasized the words just spoken, leaving Draco without a reply.
He laid down, and closed his eyes. Instantly, flashes of red passed by, but for once, he didn't bother to fight it. Perhaps it was useless to fight any longer.
Sighing, he stared at the starch white curtain.
****
Fighting the stitch in his side Snape ran on, refusing to stop to catch his breath until he stood before the door to the Hospital Wing. He raised a hand and he gave a short sharp knock.
****
"Erm, Ron?" Colin Creevey stood in front of where Ron sat, nervously fidgeting from one foot to the other. Ron sighed.
"For the last time Colin, no, I don not know, nor care, where Harry is."
"Er, no, it's not that." The short brown haired boy found himself nervously wringing his hands, slightly rocking on his feet.
"Oh?" Ron look up from where he sat, skimming through a Quidditch book.
"I was, er, wondering if you, erm, if you'd seen Ginny around lately?"
Ron raised an eyebrow. "No, I haven't. Have you?"
Colin looked up from where he had been staring at his feet and gave him a confused look. "No, that's why I, er . . . never mind." With that having been stammered out, Colin turned and fled up the stairs, crashing into his dormitory, and onto his bed. He squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed his forehead.
Where was she? Missing for hours on end, not telling a soul where she would be . . . none of that was like Ginny. And Colin felt he could easily point out what was like Ginny and what was not. He hadn't spent the better part of three years watching her for nothing.
Colin rolled over and sighed. But she'd never want anything more than friendship, he could tell. Her platonic pats and hugs, her pity-filled looks . . . they all shouted loud and clear what Ginny herself could not.
She was simply not interested.
So why was he? What was it about Ginny Weasley that had him so trapped, so stuck? At first glance, there wasn't a thing unusual about her, other than those flaming red curls. So, then, what was it that had Colin lying his empty dormitory hours before he normally went to bed?
Was it the quirky personality she had? Her simple traits that made her up, the traits that screamed Ginny? Colin smiled, slightly, thinking back to the year before where Ginny had spent nearly a month refining her so-called "talents". Could it be that there was something attractive to Colin in the way she could drink two goblets of pumpkin juice in under ten seconds, or the way she could stand on her head and sing "God Save the Queen" backwards? Or was it the tiny gap in between her front two bottom teeth that made Ginny Weasley so appealing?
Whatever it was, Colin decided, it didn't matter. All that mattered was, if any more nights passed like the last few, he was sure he would burst.
Simple then, Creevey, he thought, Get the girl.
Colin smiled and rolled over once more. Yes, get the girl - as if it were that simple.
But then, why shouldn't it be? He was tired of the way he life was headed, tired of always being the guy on the sidelines. For once, why couldn't Colin be the one to get the girl? Get the girl . . . that's just what he would do, no matter what it took.
Get the girl.
****
Silver, Ginny thought.
****
Red, Draco thought.
****
Get the girl, Colin thought.
****
I wonder if I jab this quill into my skin, if I'll get excused from Potions lessons for a bit? Harry thought.
****
Where's Ginny gone to? Ron thought.
****
There's got to be a way to patch this fight up, Hermione thought.
****
The castle settled down to it's usual pre-bed anxiousness.
****
My favourite part:
J.P. Yabao - One. Word. Thanks.
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KAOS - I really tried hard while writing for Snape, and I tell you, it wasn't easy. So it's great to her someone likes it. Thank you!
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seekerpeeker - I'll try to keep Snape away, but he seems intent on keeping Draco from "making a mistake" *sigh* what on earth can one do with him? Anyway, thanks for the review!
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