Windows
By nicagirl and jmagic
A/N: this is my (our) first fic, and I'm sorry to disappoint you if I suck at this, but well—I had this windows thing in my head all summer, and I've been trying to get it down on paper . . . and well, here's the result, a fic called Windows. Sorry if Gin here sounds too depressing—I'll try to get her a best friend as soon as possible—perhaps someone who's initials are DM? Possibly . . . Okay, here it is, please don't kill me! And oh yes, read (duh) and review (please!) to tell me what you think and if I should continue. And what year should Draco and Ginny be in? I like Ginny being in October of her sixth year and Draco obviously same time in his seventh year . . . but that means less than a year together! *tear*
Disclaimer: yes, yes, I know. I am not J.K. Rowling; I am flat broke . . . I owe my little brother fifty cents . . . argh! Well, can we move on now? I really don't like this part . . .
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Windows
Chapter One:
Ginny awoke with a start from her dream, which had been very pleasant she remembered . . . there was someone in her subconscious that had made her laugh and feel all tingly inside, but who was it? Oh well, she thought I'll remember sooner or later. Must've been Harry, though.
She smiled to herself and opened her curtains, she looked around the dormitory. No one seemed at all even thinking about waking up. Surprise, surprise. She rolled her eyes. But once she looked at her clock, she realized why. It was four in the morning, and that time usually didn't exist for any of her room-mates, but to her this wasn't unusual.
Ginny had been waking up pretty early the last few weeks, and it was always because of some dream she couldn't remember. She always felt like laughing when she caught herself trying to remember it. It was so foolish at first, but now it was getting really strange and every morning she was waiting to recall her ever-so-pleasing dream. But now, it was just really annoying her.
She stretched and yawned, looking towards the oval-shaped window. Always rounded, but still not a circle. Like something about it always changes, but yet never ends. Ginny sighed and finally, ignoring the shape, looked outside the blurred window, masked by rain, changing its image every time a streak of water ran down the smooth surface, as if the window itself had been weeping, crying itself sick; only there for others to see past and to the world that lay behind it, or through it on the other side.
That was how the world, Ginny felt, saw her—merely an invisible waste of space, her only use to weep. People were always overlooking her, looking but not seeing, hearing, but not listening, and worst of all, concerned, but not caring. It was true, she did sometimes let a tear fall down her cheek when she felt ignored, but she felt everyone deserved to see that they had pushed her too far away.
She was, after all, just another extra person to add to the crowd one walks by to get to class or to the Great Hall, another stranger, another someone that has nothing to do with anyone else's life, another insignificant girl sitting in the crowd of somebody's eating at the Great Hall who one shouldn't have to give a care in the world about, just another burden for the world to have to take care of, and give another life of meaninglessness, just another window in a huge castle with more beautiful and interesting surroundings; only one, she felt, was left on a lonely wall, shattered and broken, pieces laying about unnoticed and not cared for and forgotten and lost, wearing a mask of happiness and smiles, of fake joy and expressionless eyes; a secret held within their depths. She was still waiting for the moment of when golden rays would fill her to the core, and transform her into what she wanted to be: cared for. She knew she had that from her parents and her brothers when they were around, but she just didn't have someone she could really spill out to.
Okay, reality check . . . Maybe it is just a bit too early. What about windows, anyways? Hmm, maybe I'll get back to my dream-boy, Harry. Or, was it Harry? Oh, well, I'll find out soon enough!
Ginny wearily tucked herself back in bed, and closed the curtains. She closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep, but once again, as it has been for the last few weeks, she couldn't get back to sleep again.
So what did she do to wake herself up? Take a shower . . . duh. The warm caress brought her back to life, and she quickly got into some jeans and a v-necked blouse, and pulled a cloak over them.
She looked back into the common room, and sighed as she noticed that dawn was just approaching. The sun poked over the purple skies, sending it a fascinating combination of pinks, violets, reds, yellows, golds, blues and orange.
I just love how the sky looks when it's awaking. I wish it could stay like that all the time. Ginny thought. She sighed and picked up her bag. Maybe she should just go for a walk . . . as she had taken to doing the last couple of days. Then she would go to breakfast, refreshed by the crisp, cold air outside and the mist against the tarnished sky, not looking half as tired as she was feeling.
As Ginny slipped through the portrait hole, the Fat Lady only just snorted, and she was on her way down the grand marble staircase and out the huge oak doors that would lead her out into the Hogwarts grounds.
She laid her bag under a beech tree out by the lake and climbed up the tree. She usually would've waited a few hours and just roamed at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, but this morning, she couldn't help but feel she was meant to watch the dawning sun and its many beauties.
It looks like heaven. If it is, I'm pretty sure that Sirius is up there. Ginny was sniffing, and tears were threatening to spill. Don't I owe it to him, though?
She looked up into the sky and spoke, as if in prayer, "Sirius? Are you up there? I am so sorry for you and Harry. Snape doesn't seem so happy either about you—you dying and all. If Harry was right about you when you were younger . . . oh I wish you could've stayed gold—just like dawn . . . " It wasn't until then that she let her tears fall and streak down her cheeks. It wasn't until she saw her sobs dripping down into the lake's water that she realized someone watching her from below on the ground.
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He looked at the tears trickling in steady ripples across the glossy surface, and then up, looking for its source. It had been long since it stopped raining, only the dew and puddles dotting the grounds. Certainly it hadn't started raining again? Then he heard soft whispers—a prayer, maybe—as quiet and swift as the morning breeze ruffling through the trees and disturbing the leaves on the ground shed by the season of autumn's fall into the year.
He saw first, a stream of red flowing well down the branch over the lake. And then he found her, the girl who was crying. He went to the trunk of the beech tree and looked at her belongings—a shabby cloak and a tattered satchel. The sewn initials on the satchel were what identified the crying girl.
V.W. That would stand for—wait a moment! That was red hair, old possessions—and W as the first letter of her last name. That could only mean one thing. She was a Weasley! A crying Weasley! I wonder . . . what Potterhead, the weasel and the beaver he calls friends could have to do with this?—most likely a lot.
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Draco Malfoy was staring at her, Ginny, in the most superior, malevolent smirk she had ever seen—almost smiling, though of course he was there only to wreak havoc and ensue chaos—and that was at the very least.
Ginny wiped the tears from her eyes and ripped her stare from under his piercing silver gaze—my, isn't this bark interesting? All brown-colored and hard—here Ginny found herself picking at the bark of the beech tree, considering how tough it really was—"Ouch!" Ginny whispered.
"Well what do we have here? A wee little Weasley." Draco said, shaking his head. "No. I do believe Potter won't care enough to find you here. And that crying, why, that was a good effect, Weasel, but I doubt our ickle Scarface likes weepers. Did you not know of him and Chang? Wait, I suppose you just pretended you didn't know—as not to let your heart break. You probably prayed every night they wouldn't end up dating for so long. Oh, and the leaving your belongings on the ground—very cheap way to get someone's attention. My you are a talented one—don't know why you were placed in Gryffindor and not Slytherin."
Oh, that Malfoy sure has a big mouth. Too bad it's not balanced with his intellectual skills. Maybe then he could finally get some new material. Hey, I should tell him that! Thought Ginny.
"I'll have you know, my dearest Draco," Ginny jumped off the branch and landed on the ground with the swift movement and grace of a feline, and made her way to the trunk of the tree—her cloak and bag the only buffer between the two. "That my infatuation with your beloved Harry Potter has long faded. I suggest you get some new material," she held his gaze—his smirk fading into a look of shock—as she bent over to pick up her bag and cloak. "It's getting old. In case you haven't noticed, I've been there, done that, and—" she swung the bag on her left shoulder, her cloak over her right, and with her left hand she pulled up her jumper as to show him her white t-shirt all the while saying, "bought the t-shirt. So there, Malfoy—I think I've made it clear what I expect from you. Excuse me."
Ginny Weasley left a dumfounded Draco Malfoy under the beech tree replaying the scene over and over in his head and just as she was about to make a grand exit, she tripped over the roots of an oak tree, sending her flailing to the ground, trying to get her balance. Her school bag landed in a puddle of mud, and her cloak landed up in the tree somewhere. Ginny soon found herself covered in a few spare leaves as the cloak shook the branches of the oak tree. Acorns as well decided it was a good time to fall onto a certain red-headed girls head too.
From afar, Draco witnessed the sight, wincing and flinching every now and then as acorns fell from the tree and bombarded Ginny's head—"Ouch, ow—ow—oh—aw . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . OUCH!"
He sauntered over to her defensive position, on the soil and shook the branches—more acorns came her way—and caught her cloak in his other hand. He leaned against the tree as he dropped the her cloak—Ron wore this cloak in third year—over her form and went to retrieve her satchel from the mud and pulled out his wand to perform a spell as to remove the mud from her bag—"Scourgify!"
He smirked as he dropped the school bag on her head as she struggled to untangle herself from the long cloak.
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Damn Ron! Why'd he have to be so tall? cursed Ginny as she tried to figure a way out form underneath the leaves and long hand-me-down cloak. Then she felt a heavy load being dropped onto her head and suddenly stood up in alarm.
"I see you've found a way out. So tell me. Are trees your new obsession?" Ginny looked up to see Malfoy leaning against the oak tree, his copyrighted smirk plastered across his face.
She narrowed her eyes and stared at him evilly. "Tell me Malfoy; is suffocating girls your new obsession? Trying to get rid of us all? Just make it men in this world? Because you obviously care so little about us—you know, you being gay and all." She turned around and once again gathered her belongings in her arms and began to make her way towards anywhere but near Malfoy.
"Am I gay?" he replied, a dangerous whisper.
Ginny slowly turned around to meet Malfoy's piercing grey orbs—the silver flecks were glinting in the rising sun and his silvery-blonde hair kept falling into his face as the morning breezes embraced them in a soft caress.
Why does he have to be so good-looking? And why did he say something so stupid. 'Am I gay?' he just ruined the moment! He just ruined it all! I just had the last word and he had to utter 'am I gay?' Damn him to hell and back! No, I was taught not to think that . . . whatever, it's not like mum can read minds from a far.
"Shouldn't you know?" Ginny said, slowly, unsure of what to say to that question, and cursing herself for being so caught up in his apparent beauty.
"Of course I know I'm not. But the only way to prove it to you is to show you I'm not."
"That meaning—?"
"That the only way to prove it to you is on a bet—"
"Wait, why are you taking this so seriously? You know I was only joking, right?" Ginny said, a confused expression mixed with disbelief painted her face.
"Well you say it like it's a fact—and it's not—"
"Exactly! Ah so—you've got to get a girlfriend in no less than a fortnight." Said Ginny, a mischievous glint in her eyes as it dawned upon her face what she could get Draco to do if he didn't get a girlfriend in two weeks.
"But I already have Parkinson—"Malfoy was now reluctant to be held up in this.
"Parkinson? Oh, you mean that pug-faced incompetent, insufferable, arrogant, narcissistic prat?" she said, a look of pure disgust washed over her.
"Yes that pug-faced, incompetent, fat, stupid, ugly ogre—"
"You call your girlfriend." Ginny finished for him, her cloak and bag forgotten on the ground. She crossed her arms over her chest and took one step towards Mr. Malfoy, fully aware of the fact that what she was about to do was quite a set-off and gave her statement a different meaning. "You know Ferret-boy, you could get a girlfriend in no less than a week, but you still have to show me your not gay, not your girlfriend."
"Are you suggestion we—we—"
"I'm not suggesting anything; I am merely pointing out that whoever goes out with you to prove your point must be watched by me. You are after all showing me." Said Ginny, pointing her finger accusingly at him.
"Bu—bu—but a fortnight isn't enough! That's only two weeks! No, I'm sorry, but why am I going to bet with a Weasley?" said Malfoy.
"Because you're the idiot who brought it up in the first place," said Ginny, Malfoy's trademark smirk on place.
"That bet? I was supposed to show you I wasn't a homosexual—which I can assure you I am not—that's all—but by getting a girlfriend—and—and showing you how to—how to . . . uh, er, what exactly?"
"Tripping over yourself Malfoy? Afraid you'll lose the bet? My, my, I thought I'd never see the day. Isn't it a wonder—until it comes to prove your humanity, you back out?" Ginny was fully aware of the fact how vulnerable and exposed Malfoy was in this position.
Malfoy smirked, which surprised Ginny, considering how much he was struggling a few seconds ago. "Not at all Weaslette. If I were a homey, would I be able to do this?"
Malfoy stepped closer and filled the space between them. His lips brushed hers as he enclosed her waist in his arms. Ginny, although surprised, immediately felt warmth fly through her body and butterflies swirled around in her stomach as the boy approached her, and quickly followed suit; her eyes fluttered shut and she wrapped her arms around his neck and she kissed him back.
I am kissing Ginny Weasley . . .
I am kissing Draco Malfoy . . .
I am kissing Ginny Weasley!!!
I am kissing Draco Malfoy!!!
Draco pulled away and guided Ginny's arms away from his neck as he turned, but not before he whispered into her ear, "Later Miss Weasley—good show."
Ginny could not believe what she had just done so she only just stared at Malfoy's retreating back, eyes wide and in a state of pure shock. But he kissed me first! Well, at least there were no tongues involved . . . EW . . . I guess he was right . . . he's not a homey . . . he's my first—well, if that's what I want to call him . . . Argh! Draco Malfoy got my first kiss! Argh!
Ginny forced herself to shake her fist at the Draco Malfoy. She had just had her first kiss, and he didn't even mean it! He is Malfoy! A Malfoy, and now there are birds swooning in my stomach, all because he kissed me! A Malfoy kissed me. He would rather have to kiss me than to compete with me! I guess Ron was right. He is incompetent. Oh, but he still kissed me! I hope this doesn't mean that I like him . . . why? Why did he have to do this to me? And why did I kiss him back? And why didn't I slap him across the face when I had the chance?
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Am I going insane? Why did I just do that? How could I let that stupid little comment get to me like that? Why? Why? Why? Why oh, why is Parkinson picking her nose?
Draco was at breakfast, watching as Pansy Parkinson picked her nose across the table from him. It was pretty early, but breakfast is early—but according to Draco Malfoy, it was late. He had been having sleepless nights lately, and had been walking around the castle grounds before any of his dormitory mates . . . way before them.
All the Slytherins suddenly began to whoop with laughter all around him. Blaise Zabini had obviously told a joke at Crabbe and Goyle's arrival.
"Huh? What?" said Draco, distracted by the snickering faces before him. Even Pansy seemed to be distracted from her nose to notice them, and not the "Why are they this color? Aren't they supposed to be green?" affair she had been wondering about aloud.
Blaise rolled his eyes. "C'mon, mate! Didn't you hear me? Or are you wondering the same as Pansy here?" and then he mimicked in a high falsetto voice, "Aren't they supposed to be green, Draco dear? Show me your bogeys, honey!'"
All Slytherins who heard that began to burst out in defeat—laughter, more like cackling and snickering filled the western side of the Great Hall.
Pansy whined, "Hey, in some cultures what I do is considered normal . . ."
Again, everyone chortled.
"Pansy m'dear that is not the point. The point is that here, it's not normal. Actually, then again, neither is your face. I mean how did that happen? Well I guess now we could all agree to ask your parents what the position is for making ugly babies!" said Draco.
Pansy scowled at him and turned to Blaise.
"Zabini, now you got my boyfriend mad at me!"
"Parkinson, listen to this—and get it through your head, I am not your boyfriend; never have been and I assure you I never will. Now excuse me, I've got to be going, or I'll be late for Transfiguration." Draco replied as he got up and left heading towards Professor McGonagall's classroom.
But he swore he heard her mumble, "I don't have a cow, so don't give me bull!"
And Blaise replying, "That's so true! You don't have a cow! You have a piggy-pug-like face! Who ever thought that would resemble a cow?"
"Didn't I say that I didn't have a cow?"
"Yes, but that wasn't bull shit, Parkinson, that was the truth." They were all surprised Draco had manage to catch their little bit of bickering as he was at the doors and on his way out to McGonagall's.
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Today couldn't have been worst for Ginny. First she was seen crying by none other than Malfoy. Then he nearly kills her with her overgrown brother's old cloak—and not to mention the acorns and leaves and her bag!—and then he brings up how they are going to bet on whether or not he is gay or not, when all he did in the end was simply kiss her to prove it!
Hermione was currently explaining what her homework for Muggle Studies was . . . (a/n: oh the horror! O_o)
They were at breakfast, as you may have guessed, and an untouched plate of eggs, toast and bacon stood before Ginny.
Her thoughts of Malfoy and the kiss were suddenly swept away as a disgusted look made its way onto her face; Ron was now stuffing food into his mouth and was now gaping at Hermione through a mouthful of fried tomatoes and eggs.
"Ron, close your mouth! That's so disgusting!" demanded Ginny.
Ron did as he was told, his ears turning pink as he gulped down his food and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robes. "But 'Mione, if Barbie is so popular, then why do you have to buy her friends? That's too expensive!"
Hermione rolled her eyes and changed the subject, "So Ginny . . . Ginny? Hey, Gin! VIRGINIA WEASLEY ANSWER ME!" said Hermione waving her arms in front of Ginny's glazed eyes.
Gin blinked and looked around trying to find out who was calling her name.
"I'm over here! Now, could you please tell me . . . what's on your mind?" said Hermione, hoping to begin some small-talk.
"What's it to you? It's not like you ever cared before . . ." said Ginny, standing up.
"Well good morning to you too." muttered Harry sarcastically.
"I heard that you know!" said Ginny over her shoulder. She wanted to be early for Herbology.
Professor Sprout always worked with her for the odd number of students in the class. Ginny liked it that way; she'd prefer not to associate herself with her classmates—they only usually made fun of her, and every time she would get overly emotional they would tease her more about how she was such a cry baby.
But Virginia Weasley wasn't a cry baby, in fact she wasn't a baby at all, though perhaps if you took that word, crossed out the "y" and replaced it with an "e" you'd get Ginny.
Ginny was five feet, five inches tall, with deep auburn hair, and hazel eyes. She was sensuous of course, with the right curves in all the right places—lucky to be petite. She had pale skin and freckles along the bridge of her nose. She had high cheekbones, and a hunger for playing the piano. Yes; the piano.
Her piano lessons began when Mr. Weasley acquired a piano from the ministry. He was of course in charge of the Department of Muggle Artifacts. She had been playing already for six years and could play loads of songs from memory. She could also hear a song and instantly be able to play it, after a few tries along the keys.
Dumbledore, aware of her musical talents, had probably influenced her nonsocial life, by supplying her with a room in the dungeons of the castle where she found a grand piano—a gorgeous piano, at that—and thousands of songs to play. She only was told that another student used this room as well, but used the guitar music, meaning that the student played guitar. (a/n: duh.)
Ginny had always dreamed of coming to the room and find the student practicing—perhaps she could have a real friend after all. But she never once came close to finding her playing the guitar.
Ginny also loved to sing. She was in the church choir while she lived at the Burrow, but she hadn't sung for a long while, except maybe to herself every now and then when she was bored. She would sometimes even waltz—she only learned how when Charlie was learning how to impress the girls, and she was his dance partner—and dance to blues, jazz, swing, and if she was lucky enough to find a recording, she would dance to salsa.
But enough said there . . .
As she hurried out to Greenhouse Number 4 where the Gryffindor sixth years would be having Herbology with the Ravenclaws, a nagging voice in the back of her head—You can't like Malfoy, you still pretend to like Harry Potter—decided to wash all of her thoughts back to her in a cold downfall.
Literally.
Ginny ran into (a/n: gee, guess who?) none other than Harry Potter. (a/n: hehe, fooled u, didn't I?)
The contents of her bag spilled everywhere and she kneeled down on the ground and hastily returned them. Harry appeared to have had his glasses knocked off of his face and was currently feeling around for them on the ground.
"Hey! Where'd my glasses go?" he murmured.
"You know, if you were more careful you wouldn't have to lose them." Said Ginny.
"Ginny? Is that you? WHOA! Um . . . Sorry . . . yeah, it is you." said Harry, as he first looked confused, then surprised, and now a bit . . . embarrassed.
"What do you mean 'WHOA'?" asked Ginny, feeling around herself to try and figure out what was wrong with her; she first wiped her face, then she looked at her clothes, and then finally, she touched her hair.
"Sorry, it's just that—well your hair looks three times as—as—er, well it just covers a lot of area when I don't have my glasses on . . . I don't usually see triple." He said somewhat apologetic.
Now Ginny blushed, "Oh," was all she was able to say. "Um, here are your glasses . . ." she then pushed his glasses into his hands and stood up. Before Harry could put on his glasses and properly register everything in three with his poor eyesight, Ginny and her two triplet sisters were running into three greenhouses, where amazingly, everything had two other copies.
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A/N: Should I continue? I really don't like my story, especially the whole "am I gay?" thing. But since some people think that Draco Malfoy is gay, I wanted to point out right now that he is straight . . . and don't worry—there will be a plot soon enough to the story, so just wait for the next chapter . . . I'm afraid this chapter was getting too long for it to be just the beginning. And the whole music thing, I know I know—salsa? Am I crazy? No, I just happen to be a big fan! *smilez* Well, n e ways, please review and tell me what you think . . . I know it sucks, so PLEASE DON'T RUB IT IN too much. Well, that's all I have to say except that I will most likely be replying to each and every review I get at the end of every chapter, that is, if there are any.
Cheers!
nIcAgIrL and jMaGiQ
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