Disclaimer: this story does not belong to Alfred, Myself, Jazmine, P.S.E.T., or the Objective fifth person (to those of you that do not know me, those are all my Other Personalities). It does, however belong to someone, and that is none other than the famous J.K. Rowling, whose last name is pronounced rolling, got it? Neways, ONWARD WE MARCH!

A/N: Okies peeps, here's the next chappie. It is itself, what else can I say? Now that I probably have your attention, it is time for me to show you my look on writing. See, as stated in MISERY, by Stephen King, it states the difference between having an idea and getting an idea. You see, having an idea is when your mind manufactures the thought, where you make yourself think on a specific subject. When your mind has to make up a plot, for instance, when you're writing what your brain has thought up for you, it usually comes out tediously, forcedly. But when you get an idea, it usually comes fully formed. Not letter by letter, never, but the rough sketch is there. I go with the philosophy that there is no such thing as an original story, just different views and main characters. So in truth, all authors plagiarize. The story is there, a blue print, the most detailed one, just waiting for you, the tool, to write it down. Kind of freaky. Oh well, now that I've wasted your time, here is the next chappie. It was a mix of getting an idea and having an idea, so bear with me. (Who here still thinks I'm still normal? You know, just for my info…)

"I'm so tired of being here, suppressed by all of my childish fears, and if you have to leave, I wish that you would just leave, because your presence still lingers here, and it won't leave me alone" – my immortal by Evanescence

"I can stop the pain if I will it all away" – whisper by Evanescence

She had spoken the words. He had finally dragged them out of her. It kind of accredited all the instructors and teachers that had told him to persevere. She had spoken the words, so why did he still feel like…. Well there was only one word to describe it—blah. He had walked away, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but he had been unable to stop himself. For sixteen years, his father had drilled into him the thoughts that love was bad, hatred was good, but she had said it, and so had he.

After, he had returned to the Slytherin common room, sunk low into a chair in front of the fireplace, and stared into the flames. They danced their eternal dance; unbeknownst to them that eternity was controlled by whoever decided to douse them. They danced, flickering to and fro, blissfully ignorant, ignorantly blissful, of all the troubles to human kind. But the flames cast shadows upon the world outside, shadows that brewed suspicion and jealousy. So as they so carelessly frolicked in the world of their design, worlds outside were destroyed, all from a single flame.

He was the flame.

He was the serpent.

He was the bringer of evil.

***

There was nothing to do, but time passed. All the actors in this perfect play lived, existences separated by impenetrable walls. Each was invisible to the others. Occasionally, when paths crossed without premeditation, a word may have been spoken, but only the most miniscule.

Ginny watched Draco, and Draco watched Ginny watch him, but neither saw the other. A chasm had grown between Ginny and Harry, a wide space of emptiness where tiny islands had once floated. Days passed without their knowledge and the seasons changed in a minute.

Each had existed within their selves, spending hours as Draco had that first day, staring into the intoxicating, addicting flames. Ginny was the first to awake from this hypnotic waking, and with insight.

***

Harry came next, but he still did not see why Draco won, he could not grasp the concept of losing. The next morning, at breakfast, he was so rapt in his thoughts, he didn't notice Hermione speaking to him.

"Well, Harry, what do you think?" his girlfriend looked at him over the top of the papers she was checking for Ron and him.

"What do I think about what, 'Mione?" this almost caused her head to explode. Harry looked at her with the knowing glance of one who could predict every thought of a loved one. A smile played on his lips, which infuriated her even more.

"About Draco and Ginny! Have you not been listening to me the last—" she checked her watch, "twenty five minutes! And stop smiling like that!" Try as she might, she couldn't help but return his warm smile.

Harry leaned towards her and covered her mouth with his, breaking off the rant. The kiss was ended (with mutual sounds of reluctance from both parties) by Seamus screaming for them to 'get a room.' Hermione looked into Harry's eyes. There was hardness in them that had not been there before. He was no longer that boy she had first met on the train, the boy that needed her to fix his glasses for him.

And his eyes, just for a moment, weren't his. They were Malfoy's.

***

Draco took the longest, perhaps because he had the most to think about. For him, a mental wall built with his own trowel had fallen; a war had taken place between conflicting emotions. The strongest won, but was that truly a victory? And though there was a definite change, why was there still traces of that Other, the part of him that lost? He only knew one thing for sure; he had to see Ginny Weasley.

***

"Why, that is all I ask, why!" Lucas shouted at his lover Yvette.

"I had to. I'm sorry, but I had to. I could not stay with you and your brashness any longer. Ian offered me something you could never have given me." With her words, the tall dark and handsome man came out of the shadows, immediately embracing the woman.

What fucking trash. Ginny had been reading over Lavender Brown's shoulder. The girl still hadn't sensed her presence. It didn't work that way. But perhaps she would never know, not having anyone to love herself. (A/N: sorry to those of you who went into this chappie wanting fluff, I just read Opaque's biography poem and I'm sad now L)

With a heavy heart, she exited the common room to go to the Great Hall for breakfast. The only problems were that she wasn't hungry and he was there. But she ate. Potions was her first class of the day, double potions with Slytherin. Now, this was not usually a happy class, but she was especially dreading anything with Draco. She loved him, and from his behavior, he did not return the feelings.

She passed many rooms on the way to the dungeons. She had no real motivation, so she stopped to look in each, craning her neck to see in to the corners. To justify this to herself, she called it "research" for later. Later. The ultimate scapegoat. Everything was put off until later, but later never really came.

Neville passed her on her long, procrastinating journey. A few words of greeting and inquiry of the weather took place, but nothing very interesting or deep or anything like that. Her silence finally got the message across to him and he left her alone.

The torches flickered, and to her weary eyes, each and every one seemed to resemble the shadows on his face, giving the impression that he was watching her as she passed. Her mind slipped away from her, into the waking dream world we all visit every once in a while and before she knew it she had arrived.

The wooden door looked as if it would best belong in a Medieval Times show. Just as she was reaching out to pull the out-of-date ring knob thingy, the door swung out, almost knocking her over. Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, looking just as she had left him. Well… almost. There had definitely been a change in him, a slight shift in the presence in his eyes. But he was essentially the same.

"Welcome, young weasel." He swept his hand inward toward the classroom, which was suspiciously empty. "Take a seat, I haven't charmed them to eat you or anything." His voice was dripping with the usual sarcasm, which she both loved and hated.

"Well, you must have had this planned, so what have you got to say?" her voice was a bit edgier than usual, but she was thoroughly pissed.

"What, now you hate me? A week and a half a go you loved me." The smirk was there again. That damned smirk. 

"A week and a half ago you hadn't just walked away from me and all out ignored me!" the color was now rising in her cheeks from anger.

"I never said that that was right. I just—" his voice both dropped in volume and sarcasm. "I don't know. I really have no explanation or reason to give you. I was a fucking idiot and its all my fault. Everything is. But the truth is that I do love you. And the truth also is that I can't love you." Draco looked up from his hand. His gaze weighed heavily on Ginny.

Despite his openness towards her, she was still angry and had no intentions of letting him forget it. "So the point of this was…? Just to say that in some alternative universe I could have had what I wanted, but in this one I can't? Or is it that all heroic thing where you are going to tell me that 'I don't care what anyone thinks, just as long as we're together…"

She went on and on and on. For the most part Draco wasn't even listening. Just enjoying her being right in front of him. He was just thinking about how nice it would be to reach out and wrap his arms around her once more. Finally, after what felt like eternity, he did.

"I don't exactly know what universe you want this to be, but let's just say that for now I'm going to do the heroic thing. I don't care what anyone thinks just as long as I can hold you right now. Now and forever, if you don't mind." (A/N: MAJOR FLUFF ALERT. Sorry, I'm in a weird mood.) He kissed her then, a demanding, passionate, hungry kiss that was unlike any others they had shared.

Ginny lost herself in the kiss, taking in every bit of Draco she could. Her hands were running through his hair and up and down his back. His arms were doing things that made her jell-o. He was pressing her against the wall now, arms pinning her to the cold stone. His body began to move rhythmically, sending sensual jolts of pleasure through her. Now she was moving too, reaching for the clasp of his pants.

He grabbed her wrists before she made it. "Am I forgiven?"

He spoke the words after breaking the kiss. All she wanted was more. More of him, more of that feeling, more of them. "Forgiven."

"Fine, good. Come here now. I don't want to do this here." He motioned around the empty classroom. He took her hand and led her to his room.

Being a prefect had its benefits.

End A/N: okay. Here's the next chapter. It's not that good, but still. It's something, though, right? I just realized that I never thanked my reviewers. To the whole twenty of you, I thank you all. I honestly would have never kept going with this after the sixth chapter if it wasn't for you. I had abandoned it, but then like three months later, I got these two reviews and all of the sudden, I got an idea (notice the difference?). but an author is their own worst critic, and I blame this for everything. I had originally written this chapter, all done and ready to post. I read it and thought it sucked. Then I wrote it again, differently. It sucked. And this is the final thing. I still think it sucks, but hey! I'm tired of writing the same thing over. Anyway… thanks to all of those that are actually reading this and reviewing.

I'm writing a quick, one-shot fic, so check it out. It'll be up soon. Despite the fact I never post them, one-shots are my strong points.