Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Chapter 7: An Outing
It had been two weeks. Two weeks since he had left the Hospital Wing, two weeks since Draco's foot had healed, two week since he had discovered a little leather-bound journal that was to be the bane of his existence!
Well, maybe that was going a little far. Potter was the bane of his existence… though not so much any more as he had been during Draco's first few years.
It wasn't that he hated the book itself – quite the contrary, in fact. If he had been the type to keep a journal he might have picked it out for himself. It was nice; bound in black dragon hide and embroidered in Slytherin green. Not at all the type of thing he'd expect Ginny Weasley to own. In fact, if all the pages (all but one) hadn't been completely blank he would have assumed it was a relic passed down from one of her brothers though really it was in too good of a condition for that. Besides, it had fallen off of her lap in the hospital wing, so it had to be hers.
Now, the question was why had she decided to sketch him in it? And why on earth did he care enough to wonder about this in the first place?
Draco didn't really mind that she had decided to draw him – why should he? – but whenever he looked at the journal he thought of her, and a day didn't pass when he didn't do both. He had, on more than one occasion, carried it with him as he would any of his school books, and though he had probably done it with intentions of giving it back to its owner… well, he just never really got around to it.
It never seriously occurred to him to simply seek out Ginny and return it. For one thing he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys didn't have to return anything to anyone. For another thing, if he returning it after keeping it so long could result in either a rather awkward situation or severe bodily harm on his part. The little Weasley was a danger to everyone around her. Or just everyone who set off her temper – whichever; they were probably near enough the same thing anyway.
Either way, he needed a distraction. And that was why, on a chilly Saturday morning (after etiquette classes with McGonagall, of course) Draco was paying a visit to Hogsmeade, or more specifically the little hole in the wall known as Savrin's Stitches. It was, as the name implied, a clothing store – more to the point it was a custom-made clothing store.
And, no, he was not going shopping for fun.
Savrin could make just about anything, and he could make it for dirt-cheap too, though this wasn't of much consequence to Draco himself. Another time it might have been. The man was talented and seemed to truly enjoy his work; he was also completely open to requests. And Draco was in need of Fifteenth Century formal wear.
The ball was a long way off, true, but he didn't enjoy being fitted for new clothes, and the sooner he got this over with the better. With that uplifting thought in mind he stepped into the shop.
Apparently, Ginny Weasley had beaten him to it. There was a very small part of him that had expected her to, as he had come to expect to pass her in the halls, to forget a book in his last class and find her sitting in his seat when he went to retrieve it, or to find her doing the same. They ran into each other more often than he thought normal, and as a result Draco had realized one day that he was not totally adverse to her company. That was a bad thing as far as he was concerned. He didn't want to expect to see her, or anyone, wherever he went.
However much he expected to see her, he certainly hadn't expected to – completely against his will, I might add – gape uncontrollably at the sight.
Increasingly since he had first consciously noted it, Draco found himself thinking her beautiful. He didn't particularly like this either, since he had never thought quite the same of anyone. But as she stood in front of him, modeling her ball-gown, he couldn't help it.
The dress was a velvety forest green, with a full skirt and gauzy sleeves. Golden scrollwork trailed around her shoulders, around her arms, across the bodice, and down the plunging, square-cut neck where a modest bit of cleavage peeked over the top. It was a lovely frock, but that was nothing to the way Ginny looked inside it. She was near to glowing, from her smiling face to the bare feet that poked out the edge of the gown. She hadn't yet noticed his presence.
"Well, how does it look?"
Or had she? It took him a moment to realize that Granger was in the room as well.
"Oh, Ginny, it's just beautiful," then when he came closer she added slyly, "wouldn't you agree, Malfoy?"
What was really irritating about that statement was that he did.
Ginny looked up at him, surprised. "Oh – come to get your clothing for the ball?"
Ever since she had slipped and called him by his given name in the Hospital Wing, she had avoided calling him anything at all. When she did it tended to be 'Malfoy,' though. It was more amusing than annoying, but given time the little habit could really start to grate on his nerves.
Inwardly Draco frowned. Why did he assume Ginny would be around long enough for that to happen anyway?
"Against my better judgment, yes."
His harsh comment didn't phase Ginny. They never seemed to, anymore.
"Did you know that the wizarding world hadn't adapted its own style of dress in the fifteen-hundreds? We were using muggle styles for years before robes showed up and even now most of us wear –"
"I think you've been spending too much time around Granger, over here," Draco interrupted. "You're beginning to sound like her."
"Charming as ever, I see," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. Ginny's cheeks, however, were swept with a hue of red. It was remarkably easy to make her blush.
"Well, actually, Mr. Savrin was just telling me –"
"About the history of wizards' clothing," an aged voice cut in. Savrin himself had entered the room, slipping out from behind a curtain that undoubtedly hid the entrance to a back room. He was a slight man, of average height and lean build. The fringe of hair that circled his bald pate was a pure white and he had a pleasant ready smile that further creased the weathered skin of his face. He rather reminded Draco of Dumbledore, but younger. And not quite as batty. "That is what you were about to say, was it not, Miss Weasley?"
"Yes – I'm surprised you know so much about it," Ginny admitted, and the old man smiled at her.
"It doesn't hurt to know more about one's craft," he said kindly. Then he looked to the gown. "Is this the one?"
"Yes, I think so."
"It's just lovely, my dear. Perfect, if I do say so myself – shall I ring it up for you?"
Ginny nodded in the affirmative and with a grand sweeping gesture, Savrin drew aside the curtain to the back room, which was, oddly enough, where he kept his front counter. Perhaps he was more similar to Dumbledore than Draco had previously given him credit for.
"Right this way, then," Savrin led Ginny away, and then added over his shoulder, "And I'll be with you in a moment, Mr. Malfoy."
It was only as the curtain fell closed that Draco realized he had been left alone to wait with Granger. Wonderful. They stood in a dull silence for a moment, and he had just decided not to say anything at all to her when apparently she decided to do the opposite.
She turned to him purposefully, paused a moment as if thinking over her words, and then, in that know-it-all tone of hers – as if she were talking about the bloody weather! – she asked:
"So – fancy Ginny, do you?"
Though he managed to keep his face impassive, Draco was spluttering on the inside.
"And I thought you were supposed to be a clever one," he managed stonily.
"You thought I was clever? How flattering." Even though Draco knew she was being insincere, her voice was devoid of sarcasm. "But I think you ought to save your compliments for someone else."
It was absolutely incredible how much 'someone else' sounded like 'Ginny' when she said it just then.
"Being around Potter and his sidekick so often must have addled your mind if you think that I'd fancy anyone," he said, wondering that he kept the acid from his voice. Well, most of it, at any rate. "Much less a Weasley."
"Really? Then I suppose it's safe to tell Harry he won't have much competition."
For some reason the mild remark set him off. How totally inexplicable.
"What!? Don't tell me –" Draco stopped in mid-sentence, noting the way she regarded him with faint amusement. "Potter has nothing to do with this, does he?"
"Not a thing."
"I'm not jealous."
"No one said you were."
It occurred to him that this girl firmly believed he was interested in the youngest Weasley offspring – which he certainly was not! – and yet she hadn't gone trotting off to fetch the rest of the Dream Team, or made any sort of attempt to protect poor, innocent Ginny from whatever she believed his intentions to be. It also occurred to him that this was uncharacteristic behavior. And so, in a desperate bid to sway the course of the conversation he voiced those thoughts in the form of a question.
To his great surprise, Hermione actually seemed to think about it.
"I've grown up, I suppose, but besides that, Ginny can take care of herself," she said, and if she was about to say anything more Savrin's reappearance stayed her tongue. Not enough, of course, to keep her from whispering "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone" as she passed him to inquire of Ginny's whereabouts.
"Miss Weasley will be out in a moment – she can't very well wear that gown all around Hogsmeade," Savrin told her, then he turned to Draco, and gestured to wards a stool surrounded by a variety of full length mirrors. "Right up here, Mr. Malfoy. Any particular preferences?"
"No frills or anything else of the sort," Draco answered automatically, used to the process.
"Colors?"
"Black. Or green – dark green."
"Alright then." The man pulled out his wand and in an instant Draco's black sweater and dark jeans were gone, replaced by something out of a muggle fantasy – namely a white shirt (billowing sleeves included) partially covered by a leather vest in a green so dark it was near enough to black. The inanely baggy pants fit into the turned-down tops of the boots that traveled up to mid-shin. Savrin knew his tastes fairly well, it seemed. He deemed it suitable, in an effort to get off the stool and out of the shop as soon as possible, though that still wouldn't be the end of it.
What he saw in the mirror was only a temporary apparition. In a week or so he would have to return here to pick up the real thing.
Draco turned to inform Savrin of his decision in time to catch the eye of Ginny Weasley, who turned away and rushed out the door after Hermione before he could see her blush. Had she been staring at him? A traitorous part of him hoped absurdly that she had. He didn't particularly like that.
That's it, he decided, next chance I get, I'm going to throw that damned book out the window. And a few days later he did just that. Unfortunately for him, the action was not without repercussions.
"Are you sure you don't want that sleeping draught? I could still go ask Madam Pomf –"
Ron cut her off with no small amount of irritation. She couldn't well blame him. It was, after all, the hundredth time she'd asked.
"I'm fine, Ginny."
Ginny bit her lip, not entirely convinced and most certainly not relieved of her guilt. Oh, she hadn't done anything herself to put her brother in the Hospital Wing, but… well, it had been her book…
She shifted in her seat by his bedside, uncomfortably aware that this was the same position she'd been in with Dra – Malfoy only a few short weeks ago and that Ron would positively have kittens if he knew about it. Even though it hadn't really been anything more than… she struggled with the word… friendly. Not that she would mind being friends with him – truth be told, Ginny had grown fond of his company. But that word didn't really fit. She wondered why.
"I don't know why you insist on believing it was your fault, but it really wasn't, Gin," Ron told her, sitting up against the pillows and rubbing his head absently. "Now stop coddling me! I get enough from Mum these days…"
A grin lit Ginny's face. With only her and Ron left in the house, her mother was beginning to suffer some sort of empty-nest syndrome. Before she could offer a sympathetic reply, however, Hermione burst into the room, and since Ron was lost to the outside world as soon as she approached the bed, Ginny tactfully decided to leave the two alone. They had made up, and it wasn't pleasant to be around them when they were in the same room together.
Shutting the door behind her, she slipped into the corridor and narrowly missed colliding with Draco Malfoy. They both stopped short, and Ginny sagged against the door as she caught her breath. It was the second time she had been startled that day.
"What are you doing here?" she blurted out, before she could think to be more polite. Not that it mattered with him anyway.
"What? Not happy to see me?" he asked. He was probably the only one she knew who could make his pout look sarcastic. "Well, I was going to see Madam Pomfrey about the headaches I've been having, not that it's any of your business."
"Oh. I wouldn't go in there now, if I were you."
"Why not?"
"Well, unless you want to watch a couple of your least favorite people snog themselves silly…"
Draco's brows shot up and the look of disgust that crawled over his features was insurmountable. Honestly, it's not that revolting, Ginny thought, judging his reaction.
"Potter and Weasley are –" Her amused snort cut him off.
"Oh, Gods, that's what you thought?" she wheezed between bouts of laughter. "It's only Ron and Hermione."
"That's not much better…" he muttered, then brightened. "Weasley's in the Hospital Wing?"
"Yes, he is…"
"What for?"
"Well… if you must know, we were heading off to the pitch to watch Harry practice when…" Ginny bit her lip. "He was hit… in the head… with my book…"
Draco grinned. "You beamed him?"
"No! It just fell out of nowhere – as if someone had thrown it out the window or something!" She was too busy frowning at her shoes to notice her companion had gone a few shades paler. "It wasn't my fault… but I wonder who could have had my book?"
"Someone took it from you?" he ventured.
"No, no, I lost it somewhere – but I'm glad to have it back now, it was a gift from Charlie."
"Yes. Good for you."
"Still…" she dragged the word out thoughtfully, and would have asked for his opinion, but at that moment a crash sounded at the end of the hall.
Goyle – or maybe it was Crabbe, Ginny had never been able to tell them apart – Goyle had burst out of the muggle studies classroom, and now sat dazed on the ground. Something that looked suspiciously like a rat cross-bred with a well-done piece of toast appeared to be latched onto his nose and the pudgy digits of his right hand were hidden inside the metal jaws of – was that a toaster?
Simultaneously, Ginny and Draco winced.
Crabbe – or at least she thought it was Crabbe – followed him out of the classroom, the tall form of Blaise Zabini trailing behind and Ginny could swear he was chuckling. Suddenly he turned in their direction, looked on for a moment, then turned back to the walking disaster that was Goyle.
It was then Ginny noticed that Draco looked distinctly uncomfortable. It vanished as soon as he turned to her, but she was sure it had been there.
"I suppose it would be inhumane not to help them," he said, after a still moment, and was gone before she could reply.
"Since when are you humane?" she murmured to the empty corridor. No one answered; it left an odd, sick feeling in her stomach. As if she had swallowed a stone.
A/N: I don't like the ending sentence here (in fact, I don't really like this entire chapter)… but I couldn't think of anything better… *sighs* yes, it's been a little too long since my last update (has it? It seems like it to me anyway)… my deepest apologies. I blame summer school. Erm…. I guess this is sort of a filler chapter… but the next one will be out real soon. Seriously. Well, on to the reviews (again, not replying to some one-liners, though I am still profoundly grateful to have received them):
Harpsychord: ehehe… here's an update for you! Erm… but I have to ask… what's a 'lurve'?
Rach W.: Suspense? Hehe… how did that get in there? Oh well, glad you like!
Bulma Greenleaf: Well, I know this wasn't real soon, but I am continuing! Nothing short of raging stampedes can stop me!... *Glances suspiciously around for any signs raging stampedes* Ok… anyway, I've gotten some reviews from Waterfairy-rose, so I guess she must be reading it… hehe… someone recommended my work… that makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside…
Randi Crawford: Ack! You have no idea how freaked out I was as soon as I read the first line of your review – You scared me half to death!! Erm… well, maybe that's going a little too far… but anyway, there I was thinking 'Omigosh, this is gonna be a flame, my story sucks, what was I thinking posting this!!' and then it turned out to be something nice… well, I'm assuming you meant 'wow' in a good way… I have to thank you for not crushing my fragile self-esteem! And for taking the time to read my humble attempt at writing something worth while.
Scarlett: Whew – it relieves me to hear that you think I'm keeping them in character. In case you haven't noticed I'm insanely worried about it ^^;
The Girl Who Loves To Read: Ah! You got the sock thing! My sort-of-but-not-really beta didn't get it for the longest time… it worried me, but at least now I know someone gets it!
Mandy: You don't have to worry about repeating yourself… I don't mind ^-^… unless you have another reason for it…