Elementals.
Disclaimer: J. K. owns the books, S.M. owns the fic, sue the dirty crooks, remember I don't nick.
Rating: PG13 for extreme language, desire and a late night out.
Summary: an interesting detention, gossip, a suicidal prefect, and Harry to the rescue.
Chapter Four: The opposite.
"The opposite of love is not hate, its indifference."
Friday night. Ginny had sent the day in a fever of worry, distracted and preoccupied. She had to get her act just right tonight, or things could go so wrong.
Reluctantly, at ten o'clock, she put the finishing touches to her appearance, and left the dorm for Enshaw's classroom. Her hair swung in a long plait down her back, and she had put some subtle touches of make up around her eyes.
When she reached the classroom, Malfoy was sitting on a desk, his head bowed on his hand. He looked tired, or depressed. Really depressed.
His back snapped straight as she entered, and his face resumed its impassive mask.
"Ah, Weasley. Right. Enshaws floor needs scrubbing, I think. You'll find all you need in that cupboard. And, Weasley? No magic."
"Malfoy, you git. You wouldn't know how hard that is, would you? I expect your marvellous mama has house elves to do all hers, doesn't she."
Malfoy just stared in high-bred surprise, and Ginny could have bitten her tongue out. What happened to sweet 'n innocent, she asked herself angrily.
He didn't say anything, although the pulse was beating erraticly again, and she got down to work with as humble a look as she could muster.
For half an hour, Ginny scrubbed in silence, Malfoy watching. Her hair had swung free of the plait, and fell around her shoulders.
Malfoy stared. Her robe had slipped off one shoulder, and the contrast between icy skin and fiery hair was beautiful.
Ginny swore under her breath. The straightening charm was wearing off. She grabbed her wand, and twisting her hair on top of her head, stabbed the wand through.. Ye gods, he never knew the little Weasley could look disheveled, or that she had wavy hair...
"Weasley, your hair is wavy." The words were out before he could stop them, and he was bending over her. He scooped up a stray strand in his hand.
"You missed some", he said, marvelling at the silkyness. She flinched back from his touch sharply, and he came back to himself. Oh my god, the little bitch was seducing him, he thought irrationally.
Ginny felt a shudder of pleasure run violently through her, at his surprisingly gentle touch. Malfoy? Gentle? She flinched away quickly, confused, and clinging to her role to subdue the strange feelings.
"You missed part of the floor. Over there. That's called a stain, Weasley, although you might not know the difference between clean and dirty, being such a slut." Malfoy pointed to a huge area of damp, spotless floor she had just cleaned.
Anger set in, and Ginny, tight lipped, threw herself at the tiles. How dare he touch her? What did he take her for? She hated him!
He takes me for just what I acted like, she thought, remembering the incident earlier on, and irrational tears stung her eyes. Her hand wavered on the tiles.
Weasley was scrubbing like someone demented. Probably wishing it was me instead of the floor Malfoy thought, with satisfaction. Then, suddenly, he felt hurt. Christ almighty, what's the matter with me? he thought. Ginny paused.
"Get on with it, Weasley. Hurry up." No response. "Weasley?"
She keeled over in a dead faint. Malfoy groaned. Just what he needed.
* * *
Ginny shook out her robes, and turned to help Storm with the clasps on her robe. It was a grey green bluish colour, like the sea on a clouded, windy day. Storm's black, static hair hung straight to below her waist, and her large eyes, through the slits of the mask she wore, glittered slate grey.
"What's the matter, Flame? You've been abstracted, to say the least of it."
"Yeah," chimed in Frost. "I'm surprised you didn't just forget to come. You look dead tired, too. "
"Nothing", Ginny said, thinking of all the anger, confusion and shame. When she woke up, she thought Malfoy looked worried. He was bending over her, and for a minute, she'd hoped he was going to kiss her. Her head ached- she groaned, and Malfoy drew back. His face smoothed out so quickly, she thought she'd imagined the whole. He sent her straight back to her dorm, of course.
"I suppose the work load, and the nights out, are starting to get to me." I need a boy. How long is it since my last boyfriend? Ages, she thought.
The other girls glanced at her face, but decided to leave it. Ten minutes later, they entered the dining room.
* * *
Draco flung out of his room, and went striding down the passages, pulling on his cloak as he went. People he passed took one look at his thunderous face, and crossed to the other side of the corridor.
He left the school through a side door, and set out quickly, watching with satisfaction the prints his feet left in the virgin snow.
That bloody little girl. The image of her, lying on a dank stone floor, white and pathetic, rose before his eyes. So sweet, so vulnerable, icy cold and unreachable.
He scowled. This wasn't meant to happen. What right had a Weasley to look nice? They were all pathetic, anyway...he hated Weasleys. She was so simple, so straight forward...he didn't understand her. Nothing but contradictions.
Next to Ginny icy, unreachable and vulnerable, rose Ginny fiery, hurt and fighting like a cat, her face flushed fiery red in indignation. Draco quickened his stride, trying to escape from the images, and walked bang into the tumble down old wall.
"Argh! Bloody cow! Little thrice damned seducing, innocent, pestiferous, bloody conniving slut!" he shouted at the wall. Luckily, he was now out of sight of the castle. His words echoed emptily around him, and he scrambled up the wall, and sat down.
Well, he was a Malfoy. So he was going to sit down and work this out logically, to his best advantage. He hated the Weasley girl, who it was below him to hate. He saw her, glaring at him. No, he didn't. Yes, he did. Be frank with himself. Realistic. He hated her, with a possessive, passionate, icy rage. If father ever realised he was bothered about the Weasley girl, or anyone else for that matter, his life wouldn't be worth living.
She had dared to defy him...defied by a young girl... her eyes full of hate glared in his brain. Draco flung himself off the wall, in a frenzy to escape from them, to reach them, and fell for ten feet. He hit the snow with a dull thud.
There, in the snow, lay a boy. His face was pure white, the sweep of his leaden silver lashes shadowing the hollow cheeks, his silver gilt hair spread out like a halo round his head. This in startling contrast to the deep black robes cast around and under him, against the bright whiteness. A study of light and dark. A fallen angel.
The fall cleared his head. He came round after a few seconds, sat up gingerly, and shook himself. All right. He'd just nearly killed himself, because of a little kid. He thought for a minute, and decided that the best thing for him now was the ultimate remedy...a night at the Changing Element. He'd find a girl there to make him forget those eyes.
Draco glanced at his watch, and realised he was nearly too late. They closed the doors in ten minutes. He set off at a run, tripping on tree roots, picking himself up, and dashing on.
* * *
Harry Potter wandered, abstracted, but, for once, at peace, through the copse outside Hogwarts. He loved to walk here, no one else knew of the place. Here, without other people, he could be me, the private person, owned by himself. Not me, the leader, owned by the millions looking to him for salvation.
Suddenly, a tormented howl rang out through the woods.
"Argh! Bloody cow! Little thrice damned seducing, innocent, pestiferous, bloody conniving slut!" So much for no one else knowing the place.
Harry, responding immediately and without thinking to the pain and need in the voice, started to run. He followed the voice back to the boundary wall, and came to an abrupt stop at the edge of a clearing.
There, in the snow, lay a boy. His face was pure white, the sweep of his leaden silver lashes shadowing the hollow cheeks, his silver gilt hair spread out like a halo round his head. This in startling contrast to the deep black robes cast around and under him, against the bright whiteness. A study of light and dark. A fallen angel.
Harry's breath caught in his throat, and he fell to his knees behind a tree. So pure as it was. A fallen angel. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he wanted to hold it in his arms, to posses it, cradle it, soothe the pain he had heard in that voice. Keep that purety clean, and yet know that it had been tarnished by him and no other. His heart was beating wildly, his blood thrumming, and he wanted the voice to cry out like that, for him.
The body sat up, gingerly, and shook itself. Harry woke with a start, as if from a dream, and abruptly he recognised the boy. Draco Malfoy. Fallen indeed: he was Evil incarnate.
Draco glanced at a watch on a chain round his neck, and set off at a run. Harry stayed sat where he was for a moment, awash with shame.
How could he have thought, no, not thought, felt like that, about a servant of darkness? What had happened to him? He owed more than this to those who had laid down their lives for him, to those who put their hope in him.
Suddenly, as the shame receded slightly, grief took its place. The purety, the light...they had been there. Where, then, had they gone? Would he never find them?
Harry got up, heavy hearted, and decided he'd better follow Malfoy, to see what dark plans of his needed foiling this time. He trudged off in the blond boys wake, trying to block out the confusing thoughts threatening to distract him.
AN: Sorry about that. It wasn't meant to come out like this, and none of you can be as surprised as I was when things turned like that. I think the fic took on a life of its own. I just sat down to type, and when I stopped and looked up, here was this whole new plot line, not what I originally intended at all. Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: J. K. owns the books, S.M. owns the fic, sue the dirty crooks, remember I don't nick.
Rating: PG13 for extreme language, desire and a late night out.
Summary: an interesting detention, gossip, a suicidal prefect, and Harry to the rescue.
Chapter Four: The opposite.
"The opposite of love is not hate, its indifference."
Friday night. Ginny had sent the day in a fever of worry, distracted and preoccupied. She had to get her act just right tonight, or things could go so wrong.
Reluctantly, at ten o'clock, she put the finishing touches to her appearance, and left the dorm for Enshaw's classroom. Her hair swung in a long plait down her back, and she had put some subtle touches of make up around her eyes.
When she reached the classroom, Malfoy was sitting on a desk, his head bowed on his hand. He looked tired, or depressed. Really depressed.
His back snapped straight as she entered, and his face resumed its impassive mask.
"Ah, Weasley. Right. Enshaws floor needs scrubbing, I think. You'll find all you need in that cupboard. And, Weasley? No magic."
"Malfoy, you git. You wouldn't know how hard that is, would you? I expect your marvellous mama has house elves to do all hers, doesn't she."
Malfoy just stared in high-bred surprise, and Ginny could have bitten her tongue out. What happened to sweet 'n innocent, she asked herself angrily.
He didn't say anything, although the pulse was beating erraticly again, and she got down to work with as humble a look as she could muster.
For half an hour, Ginny scrubbed in silence, Malfoy watching. Her hair had swung free of the plait, and fell around her shoulders.
Malfoy stared. Her robe had slipped off one shoulder, and the contrast between icy skin and fiery hair was beautiful.
Ginny swore under her breath. The straightening charm was wearing off. She grabbed her wand, and twisting her hair on top of her head, stabbed the wand through.. Ye gods, he never knew the little Weasley could look disheveled, or that she had wavy hair...
"Weasley, your hair is wavy." The words were out before he could stop them, and he was bending over her. He scooped up a stray strand in his hand.
"You missed some", he said, marvelling at the silkyness. She flinched back from his touch sharply, and he came back to himself. Oh my god, the little bitch was seducing him, he thought irrationally.
Ginny felt a shudder of pleasure run violently through her, at his surprisingly gentle touch. Malfoy? Gentle? She flinched away quickly, confused, and clinging to her role to subdue the strange feelings.
"You missed part of the floor. Over there. That's called a stain, Weasley, although you might not know the difference between clean and dirty, being such a slut." Malfoy pointed to a huge area of damp, spotless floor she had just cleaned.
Anger set in, and Ginny, tight lipped, threw herself at the tiles. How dare he touch her? What did he take her for? She hated him!
He takes me for just what I acted like, she thought, remembering the incident earlier on, and irrational tears stung her eyes. Her hand wavered on the tiles.
Weasley was scrubbing like someone demented. Probably wishing it was me instead of the floor Malfoy thought, with satisfaction. Then, suddenly, he felt hurt. Christ almighty, what's the matter with me? he thought. Ginny paused.
"Get on with it, Weasley. Hurry up." No response. "Weasley?"
She keeled over in a dead faint. Malfoy groaned. Just what he needed.
* * *
Ginny shook out her robes, and turned to help Storm with the clasps on her robe. It was a grey green bluish colour, like the sea on a clouded, windy day. Storm's black, static hair hung straight to below her waist, and her large eyes, through the slits of the mask she wore, glittered slate grey.
"What's the matter, Flame? You've been abstracted, to say the least of it."
"Yeah," chimed in Frost. "I'm surprised you didn't just forget to come. You look dead tired, too. "
"Nothing", Ginny said, thinking of all the anger, confusion and shame. When she woke up, she thought Malfoy looked worried. He was bending over her, and for a minute, she'd hoped he was going to kiss her. Her head ached- she groaned, and Malfoy drew back. His face smoothed out so quickly, she thought she'd imagined the whole. He sent her straight back to her dorm, of course.
"I suppose the work load, and the nights out, are starting to get to me." I need a boy. How long is it since my last boyfriend? Ages, she thought.
The other girls glanced at her face, but decided to leave it. Ten minutes later, they entered the dining room.
* * *
Draco flung out of his room, and went striding down the passages, pulling on his cloak as he went. People he passed took one look at his thunderous face, and crossed to the other side of the corridor.
He left the school through a side door, and set out quickly, watching with satisfaction the prints his feet left in the virgin snow.
That bloody little girl. The image of her, lying on a dank stone floor, white and pathetic, rose before his eyes. So sweet, so vulnerable, icy cold and unreachable.
He scowled. This wasn't meant to happen. What right had a Weasley to look nice? They were all pathetic, anyway...he hated Weasleys. She was so simple, so straight forward...he didn't understand her. Nothing but contradictions.
Next to Ginny icy, unreachable and vulnerable, rose Ginny fiery, hurt and fighting like a cat, her face flushed fiery red in indignation. Draco quickened his stride, trying to escape from the images, and walked bang into the tumble down old wall.
"Argh! Bloody cow! Little thrice damned seducing, innocent, pestiferous, bloody conniving slut!" he shouted at the wall. Luckily, he was now out of sight of the castle. His words echoed emptily around him, and he scrambled up the wall, and sat down.
Well, he was a Malfoy. So he was going to sit down and work this out logically, to his best advantage. He hated the Weasley girl, who it was below him to hate. He saw her, glaring at him. No, he didn't. Yes, he did. Be frank with himself. Realistic. He hated her, with a possessive, passionate, icy rage. If father ever realised he was bothered about the Weasley girl, or anyone else for that matter, his life wouldn't be worth living.
She had dared to defy him...defied by a young girl... her eyes full of hate glared in his brain. Draco flung himself off the wall, in a frenzy to escape from them, to reach them, and fell for ten feet. He hit the snow with a dull thud.
There, in the snow, lay a boy. His face was pure white, the sweep of his leaden silver lashes shadowing the hollow cheeks, his silver gilt hair spread out like a halo round his head. This in startling contrast to the deep black robes cast around and under him, against the bright whiteness. A study of light and dark. A fallen angel.
The fall cleared his head. He came round after a few seconds, sat up gingerly, and shook himself. All right. He'd just nearly killed himself, because of a little kid. He thought for a minute, and decided that the best thing for him now was the ultimate remedy...a night at the Changing Element. He'd find a girl there to make him forget those eyes.
Draco glanced at his watch, and realised he was nearly too late. They closed the doors in ten minutes. He set off at a run, tripping on tree roots, picking himself up, and dashing on.
* * *
Harry Potter wandered, abstracted, but, for once, at peace, through the copse outside Hogwarts. He loved to walk here, no one else knew of the place. Here, without other people, he could be me, the private person, owned by himself. Not me, the leader, owned by the millions looking to him for salvation.
Suddenly, a tormented howl rang out through the woods.
"Argh! Bloody cow! Little thrice damned seducing, innocent, pestiferous, bloody conniving slut!" So much for no one else knowing the place.
Harry, responding immediately and without thinking to the pain and need in the voice, started to run. He followed the voice back to the boundary wall, and came to an abrupt stop at the edge of a clearing.
There, in the snow, lay a boy. His face was pure white, the sweep of his leaden silver lashes shadowing the hollow cheeks, his silver gilt hair spread out like a halo round his head. This in startling contrast to the deep black robes cast around and under him, against the bright whiteness. A study of light and dark. A fallen angel.
Harry's breath caught in his throat, and he fell to his knees behind a tree. So pure as it was. A fallen angel. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he wanted to hold it in his arms, to posses it, cradle it, soothe the pain he had heard in that voice. Keep that purety clean, and yet know that it had been tarnished by him and no other. His heart was beating wildly, his blood thrumming, and he wanted the voice to cry out like that, for him.
The body sat up, gingerly, and shook itself. Harry woke with a start, as if from a dream, and abruptly he recognised the boy. Draco Malfoy. Fallen indeed: he was Evil incarnate.
Draco glanced at a watch on a chain round his neck, and set off at a run. Harry stayed sat where he was for a moment, awash with shame.
How could he have thought, no, not thought, felt like that, about a servant of darkness? What had happened to him? He owed more than this to those who had laid down their lives for him, to those who put their hope in him.
Suddenly, as the shame receded slightly, grief took its place. The purety, the light...they had been there. Where, then, had they gone? Would he never find them?
Harry got up, heavy hearted, and decided he'd better follow Malfoy, to see what dark plans of his needed foiling this time. He trudged off in the blond boys wake, trying to block out the confusing thoughts threatening to distract him.
AN: Sorry about that. It wasn't meant to come out like this, and none of you can be as surprised as I was when things turned like that. I think the fic took on a life of its own. I just sat down to type, and when I stopped and looked up, here was this whole new plot line, not what I originally intended at all. Hope you like it.