It was cold.
His eyes gazed out at the snow falling onto the ground. The cool temperatures barely hit his bare arms, but he could definitely feel it. This wasn't anything foreign to him. He had gotten quite used to the ice. After all, it wasn't just a state that water could be for him. No, to him, ice was all too familiar. It was the only word, the only thing, that could describe him perfectly. Both mind and body.
He didn't need a mirror to know his appearance. He never needed to look to confirm the white strands of hair that now reached to his shoulders. Every time he looked into his father's silver, souless eyes, he saw his own staring right back. And every single day that he faced that Potter boy, he found that they both were the same height- six feet and two inches. And because his father controlled everything in his life, he had become visibly bigger with muscles from working out. He never had the guts to look in the mirror. Never wanted to see what others did.
But perhaps it wasn't his looks that the world didn't like. Perhaps it was just his personality. It certainly wouldn't surprise him, because once you got past his sarcasim and hurtful words, there wasn't much to like. He did what he was taught, believed what he was told, and accepted everything he was given. He was weak and controlled. A puppet. He hated his life, his father, and himself for the things he did, the things he was forced to do. And even though he was uphappy, he could never do anything about it. If he somehow got the courage to refuse the life that was his, he would surely die.
No, there wasn't much to like.
And it hurt to admit that he wanted to be liked. It hurt to know that he would never know happiness, never expeirence warmth. Most of all, it killed to have this weakness, to realize that he was human. How the hell could he even think like this?!
Yes, it was cold.
But for Draco Malfoy, it was always cold.
It was cold.
She shivered slightly as she took another step deeper into the Forbidden Forest. She had been crazy to think this was a good idea. Crazier to come out without her cloak. Crazy was something she knew all too well. Crazy was something everyone thought her to be. Crazy was being her and doing what she did. Crazy was her. Her reputation and actions.
She knew what her peers said about her. She heard what everyone thought. She didn't need to be a genius to know that she deserved more then half the comments about her personality. She was shy. She was a little odd. But she knew she wasn't ugly. She knew that despite belonging to her family, her flaming red hair was beautiful. She knew that her freckles were plentiful, but also adorable. And she knew that she had a desired body- her curves there, but barely showing through her robes. She didn't need a mirror to fix her hair. Didn't need to be concerned with how she looked.
Her personality, however, was something she did need to look at. She came from a big family, a happy family, a poor family. Everything had been perfect for her growing up. Always had someone to talk to, always had someone to listen to her. She couldn't find a single reason to be unhappy, and yet she was. She sometimes wondered if anyone noticed, and quickly put the idea aside. Why would they? No one liked her. Sure, her brothers' friends and brothers (for that matter) liked her, but they weren't someone to, well.. hang out with. They were there to protect her.
No, no one noticed her.
And she wanted to be noticed. She wanted someone to be able to look at her and know that she needed someone to be there. She wanted someone to want to talk to her for a reason other then obligation or gossip. What she wanted, she had decided, was for to be someone other then the littlest member of the family. She wanted to be seen as a person, as a human. How the hell could she ever get up the courage to be something like that?!
Yes, it was cold.
But for Virginia Weasley, it was always cold.
It barely registered in his mind when he saw her walking in the snow. He had thought it was just an apparation out of hopes that someone was like him and liked walking in the cold. But then he saw she wasn't wearing a cloak either. And she really was there. And they were both in the Forbidden Forest. The last bit was something he had noticed but didn't care about at all.
His first idea was to go to her.
His second was to ingore her.
His third was that it was cold.
When he looked at her again, he saw that she had sat down. She was in her Hogwarts uniform skirt, but all she had on was a black t-shirt. She wore, what looked to be, hiking boots and black socks. She had been hanging out with the muggle-borns far too long. Although, he had to admit, she did look cute.
He looked down at his outfit. His normal khaki pants and black t-shirt. His seventh year had marked the beginning of a new fashio taste. He used to wear all black, which was quite a contrast with his white hair, but he found that he rather liked the tan. He quickly decided that she would get herself sick if she continued to sit in the frozen water, and he just had to say something about it.
"A bit chilly, isn't it?", he said as he stopped behind her. "Maybe you wouldn't notice. I believe Weasels have enough fur to keep them warm all the time."
A dirty look. A glare, even. That was the only response, only acknowledgment that he was there. He wasn't sure why this made him angry, but he wanted to hear her voice. Hear how upset she was. Hear how upset he could make her.
"Apparently they don't have very good hearing, either. Or maybe they're just weak. 'Cause this one doesn't seem to be defending itself."
"Shut it, Malfoy. I heard, and I'm not weak. I just wish you would go away.", her voice answered.
He stared at her, surprised. She hadn't ever defended herself. To him. To anyone. Even her brothers.
Did she have friends? He hadn't ever noticed. She hung out with Weasley and his friends, but did she have her own friends?
"What are you doing out here anyways? Are you lost? This is the Forbidden Forest."
"I'm aware.", she answered.
"It's also snowing."
"Is that what this stuff is called?"
"And you aren't wearing your cloak."
"Thanks for the information, now could you please continue with your walk?"
"So you're just crazy?"
He had stepped too far. He could see in her face how badly had stung her. He could tell that she didn't need to hear his particular choice of words at the moment.
"Yes, that's me. Poor Little Ginny Weasley. She was possessed by Voldemort. She was almost killed. She's gone mad, 'cause no one cared enough to notice that something was wrong with her."
Voldemort? The sixth year hadn't any courage to say 'hello' to someone in class, but could speak the Dark Lord's true name?
Get past his name, Malfoy..., he thought. She just admitted that she doesn't have friends.
"What about Pottyhead? Didn't he notice that you were in trouble?" Another glare. "Guess not." He searched for something new to say. "So where are you in Potions?"
"Malfoy!"
"What?", he asked.
"Is there a reason why you won't go? Or do you find that your presence is enough to make someone mad now-a-days?", her bitter words flowed from her mouth and hit his ears.
"I just want to know why you're not in the castle, being a good little Gryffindor, instead of out here. Without a cloak. In the snow. Freezing."
"I'm not cold.", she replied quickly. Perfectly. Like she had been rehearsing, practicing until her voice hurt. But why would she? She had a happy life. She had, well, warmth. "And I could ask you the same thing. Why are you out here when you could be inside in your perfect room wearing your perfect robes living your perfect life."
""Hey! You don't know anything about me. My life is not all parties and games. You may think you know, you may think you understand, but you don't know anything."'
"Dont I?", she asked. "We're the same, you and I." She paused to look up at him. Draco couldn't hide his interest in her words. Couldn't pretend that he didn't want to know. He took a seat next to her."You feel empty inside. Cold. You think that no one likes you, that you're not wanted. Everyone assumes that you're happy. Assumes that you like things the way they way are. They don't know what it's like for you. Even if someone did want to take the time to get to know the real you, you wonder what there is to know." She turned away again, not able to finish looking into his face. "You try to forget by putting yourself through physical pain. Knowing your reputation, you cut. Me? I like to sit outside in the cold. Get numb. It's the only way I know that I was here. The only way I can forget that I am here."
She drew shapes in the snow. Hearts. Circles. A snake. A 'D' and then a 'G'. Draco watched her pale fingers push the flakes around. She didn't seem to think that what she was doing was odd at all. Not even for a second. His left hand flew to her right and picked it out of the snow. He brought it closer to his body, closer to his other hand. She was cold. But being cold was the only way to get numb, and that was what she wanted. He held her hand in between his own, his own heat entering her. He had been slightly surprised that he had heat to give, but he was glad that he did. She would end up with frost bite, if she wasn't careful.
"What are you doing?", she asked, her voice staying perfectly at the same tone each word.
"You're cold. You'll get frost bite."
"No, I won't. I've done this before."
"Have you?"
"Twice a year, every year. Once on Christmas... and once usually a week after, just before classes start again."
He looked at her with a start. Christmas? She was a Weasley, didn't she have a big family to spend the day with?
"Christmas?", was all he could manage.
"Yes... Christmas is a reminder of who everyone thinks I am. Who I don't want to be."
"And who do you want to be?"
"What does it matter? I'm too scared to go for what I want."
Draco let one of his hands free, reached across to caress her cheek. It was cold to the touch. Ice. Like him.
"Ginny.. You're freezing."
As soon as the words left his mouth, she looked to him. Ginny? Had he used her name?
"I'm a little cold.", she admited.
Draco took this as a sigh of defeat. Or perhaps he just wanted it to be that, so he believed it. He slid closer to her, wrapped his arms around her. He held her close and held her tight. To his very surprise, she returned the embrace. Was this a hug? Was this warmth? He certainly didn't feel like ice. Why would they do this? Didn't they hate each other?
No. Hate was what he was taught.
Love was what he didn't know.
And what was going on was something he didn't understand.
"Draco...?", she mummbled into his chest.
"Yes?"
"What are we doing?"
"It's too cold to not hold each other. Clearly you know that." He could feel her smile, even through his t-shirt. "I don't know what to tell you. Because the truth is, I don't know what we're doing."
Ginny didn't say anything. Didn't have to, because her face said it all. She neither understood or accepted what was happening. Like him. Whatever was decided just then, whatever appreciation to the two now shared for each other, was mutual. They both were aware of the impossibility of being friends, and they bother that it, well, sucked. Because of their lives, because of who they are, they would be forced to ignore the only person who ever truly understood.
Yes, it was cold.
But for these two, it would always be cold.