Chapter 4:Expectations
"Uh, hi Ginny."
She looks up from her book and forces herself to smile. "Hullo, Harry."
He opens his mouth as if to say more, but no sound comes out.
"Is there something you needed?" she asks, working to keep her voice level.
"Uh– um– Wannagohogsmeadewime?"
"Pardon?"
He takes in a deep breath. "Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?"
"I'm sorry, Harry," she says, even though she isn't. "I've already agreed to go with someone else." His face darkens.
"Oh."
"Maybe next time." Yeah, right.
"Yeah." He turns to walk away, then stops. "Hey, Ginny?"
"Hmm?"
"Who are you going with?"
"It's a surprise." Understatement of the century.
"Oh, ok then," he says quietly. She wants to laugh as she realizes that he is very close to tears. "See you tomorrow."
She nods and then returns to her book.
Dear Diary,
Ok, so I have a date with Draco Malfoy. Last person you would expect, right? Well, I'm also the last person you would expect to try to destroy Harry Potter. Things change, I guess. Also, I get the feeling that Draco and I have a lot in common, not that I would ever tell him that. Everyone sees me as innocent. They like to forget the unpleasant things that happened in my first year here. I've always wondered if there's something evil in me. Tom told me that there was. That I was special, and no one could see it but him. Maybe he was right. And maybe there is something in Draco. Something good. Maybe not. Whatever the case, this will certainly help things along a bit. Harry will flip when he sees me with him. And if I can get Malfoy to stop being such a supreme ass along the way, then so be it. My day is approaching. By this time next week, Harry will be a broken man. And I will be complete. If this is what Tom meant, it' s not so bad.
*
I don't know what she wants from me. Why does she look at me the way she does? The worry and suspicion in her eyes is infuriating. Why does she think she can get answers from me? He rakes a hand through his silver hair. Why did I ask her? He thought of the way she had looked, stretched out on the table. Her robes opening to reveal the clingy white shirt and black skirt that showed her pale legs, her wet hair fanned out behind her. And when she had turned her wide, kohl rimmed eyes onto him, he had felt like she was looking right through him. He wondered whether she had always been this way and he had failed to notice. Normally, he wouldn't waste his thoughts on a Weasley, but she was different. Sure, she had the famous Weasley temper. But there was something about her . . . Bloody hell! Why can't I stop this? In a week, she'll have what she wants, and we will probably never speak again. Then this will all be over. Damn it, if only I could tell her. If only I could tell anyone. But I can't. I am a Malfoy. I'm expected to be strong.