I know I know I tried to be angst-y and keep Draco in character and I don't
think I did a very good job. Oops. Also I still need to be concentrating on
writing chapter six of Treasured Workplace. Anyway, read review!
I disclaim Harry potter due to the fact that the one who DOES own that franchise has the nerve to make a GORGEOUS, SMART, FUNNY, WONDERFUL, male fall through a veil.
(I'm still in denial Sirius is gone. wah muh baby.runs off and hugs Ron and Draco close)
She grumbled to herself, casting an evil glare to the fire. It was so hot, too hot actually. Sighing at her things scattered around her, she chose not to move.
She hated it when it was hot. Whenever things heated up, she'd face the worst possible fate imaginable: her ear would glow an awful gleaming, bright red. Her freckles would seep into the flushed appearance on her face, and the tiny line between hair and scalp would be no longer, just red on red.
She hated red. Always red, everything red, her mother even knitting her scarlet socks, her house colors were red, the bloody engine she rode to school on was gleaming the same ominous color- red.
They all said green suited her, that if she wore that deliciously crisp sea green dress she'd be beautiful, that if her eyeshadow tinged green she'd be gorgeous. She loved the cold, she loved the sharp contrast of the warmth to cold, and it was that of red on green, it was harsh.
She flicked her ear, feeling the warmth and rolling her eyes, red. A cold hand touched her cheek.
"Weasley?" The voice drawled, and instinctively she knew who it was.
"Look, Weasley, if you're sick, please, don't contaminate the library couch." He said, coming to sit beside her on the couch.
"I'm not sick, the fire's to hot, and don't call me Weasley," she snapped back.
"Fine, I'll call you," here he paused to think for about 2 minutes, "Red. To match the bloody color of your hair and to represent your blood, which is poisoned with that of muggle loving."
Red, that's what he called her? Unwillingly, tears bubbled out her eyes, no more red, no more heat.
"Oh, shit, Merlin, uh" Draco stumbled over his words as Ginny broke out into small sobs, "Just, just, uh, don't cry."
As it continued, he motioned for her to quiet down and she tried to do so, still crying softly. He took the tie off his neck. The first small thing her could find, and gave it to her to wipe her eyes.
"Look, okay, I didn't want to upset you it's just I'm MALFOY, that's just what I do. And I'm not a softy, I just hate it when girls cry, ok? See, there, little softy Malfoy can't see girls cry. What, I guess, can I do to make this better, I mean, Malfoy's have to make things right once they've meddled them." He rushed out, arrogant none the less.
She fingered the now damp fabric of the tie between her fingers subconsciously, not paying much attention.
"Make me cold." She said simply, hoping that he would turn off the fire.
Instead, he shrugged and did something that shocked her: he leaned in and made his lips touch hers. The pressure she felt from his cold lips and the shock she received drained the color from her cheeks and she indeed felt cold. But only for a moment, as he stood and backed away, leaving her lips burning insatiably as if a piece of ice had been placed on them for quite too long.
He disappeared behind a row of books, he left, as Ginny felt the cold piece of fabric between her fingers, the tie he had given her, the only act of compassion ever received by a Malfoy.
It was green and she was red, once again.
I disclaim Harry potter due to the fact that the one who DOES own that franchise has the nerve to make a GORGEOUS, SMART, FUNNY, WONDERFUL, male fall through a veil.
(I'm still in denial Sirius is gone. wah muh baby.runs off and hugs Ron and Draco close)
She grumbled to herself, casting an evil glare to the fire. It was so hot, too hot actually. Sighing at her things scattered around her, she chose not to move.
She hated it when it was hot. Whenever things heated up, she'd face the worst possible fate imaginable: her ear would glow an awful gleaming, bright red. Her freckles would seep into the flushed appearance on her face, and the tiny line between hair and scalp would be no longer, just red on red.
She hated red. Always red, everything red, her mother even knitting her scarlet socks, her house colors were red, the bloody engine she rode to school on was gleaming the same ominous color- red.
They all said green suited her, that if she wore that deliciously crisp sea green dress she'd be beautiful, that if her eyeshadow tinged green she'd be gorgeous. She loved the cold, she loved the sharp contrast of the warmth to cold, and it was that of red on green, it was harsh.
She flicked her ear, feeling the warmth and rolling her eyes, red. A cold hand touched her cheek.
"Weasley?" The voice drawled, and instinctively she knew who it was.
"Look, Weasley, if you're sick, please, don't contaminate the library couch." He said, coming to sit beside her on the couch.
"I'm not sick, the fire's to hot, and don't call me Weasley," she snapped back.
"Fine, I'll call you," here he paused to think for about 2 minutes, "Red. To match the bloody color of your hair and to represent your blood, which is poisoned with that of muggle loving."
Red, that's what he called her? Unwillingly, tears bubbled out her eyes, no more red, no more heat.
"Oh, shit, Merlin, uh" Draco stumbled over his words as Ginny broke out into small sobs, "Just, just, uh, don't cry."
As it continued, he motioned for her to quiet down and she tried to do so, still crying softly. He took the tie off his neck. The first small thing her could find, and gave it to her to wipe her eyes.
"Look, okay, I didn't want to upset you it's just I'm MALFOY, that's just what I do. And I'm not a softy, I just hate it when girls cry, ok? See, there, little softy Malfoy can't see girls cry. What, I guess, can I do to make this better, I mean, Malfoy's have to make things right once they've meddled them." He rushed out, arrogant none the less.
She fingered the now damp fabric of the tie between her fingers subconsciously, not paying much attention.
"Make me cold." She said simply, hoping that he would turn off the fire.
Instead, he shrugged and did something that shocked her: he leaned in and made his lips touch hers. The pressure she felt from his cold lips and the shock she received drained the color from her cheeks and she indeed felt cold. But only for a moment, as he stood and backed away, leaving her lips burning insatiably as if a piece of ice had been placed on them for quite too long.
He disappeared behind a row of books, he left, as Ginny felt the cold piece of fabric between her fingers, the tie he had given her, the only act of compassion ever received by a Malfoy.
It was green and she was red, once again.
