Chapter Twelve

Ginny had assumed that as the weeks wore on, that whoever was taunting her would tire of their efforts. But, to no avail, she was greeted every morning with an owl carrying a letter each of which were similar to the first. Still Ginny was in the dark as to who was sending them. Luckily, the rumors had begun to die out, or at least did not come in such a frenzy. People were sick of hearing who Ginny Weasley was caught snogging with lately. So although the rumors were there, they did little to bother her.

But the stares were the worst; suddenly Ginny was the object of the male population's lusting. She was thoroughly disgusted after the Slytherin fifth-year's actions, and wanted to play no such role. She was sick of walking down the hall having them leer at her, as if she was some piece of meat. Ginny had never been one to seriously want such attention paid to her.

She had taken to skipping lunches, not wanting to hear the latest piece of gossip that someone had come up with. Most days, she spent dinner time in one of three places: in her room with the curtains drawn about her bed, alone in a corner of the library, or together with Draco in the Room of Requirement. The time she spent with Draco was the most enjoyable of all. She found she could talk to him about anything; he didn't mind hearing about her past, even if it had to do with Harry, and he didn't seem exasperated if the talks wound up with her in tears. Talking to him was like therapy. Ginny was able to get out years of bottled up frustrations.

Of course it wasn't all one sided. The majority of the time Ginny talked while Draco listened, but quite often they would end up relating on many topics. Then there were the days when Draco would come in extremely angry after having another surprise visit from his father.

Ginny didn't want to admit it to him, but she was always intrigued about finding out more about the Malfoy family. It was hard for her to bite her tongue during his ranting, but she knew that he needed an outlet, not advice. And so she respected this.

Then there was the one day, where she asked him about the changes in his life.

"Draco?" she had murmured tentatively.

"Yeah?"

"Does this... do you...?" Ginny had furrowed her brow in an attempt to find the right words. "You accept me and my family now. Does this carry over to others too? What about Muggle-borns?"

He had looked down at her then, features scrunched and strained as he sought for an answer. "Yes, and no," he said finally. "I suppose I don't carry the same dislike for Muggle-borns as I once did, but I can't help but see them as being beneath me. When you are brought up with an ideal being drilled into your head, it's hard to push it away."

"So what about Hermione?" Ginny had asked.

He had sighed. "Even if she was a pureblood, I don't think I could stand her. The bossiness, the know-it-all attitude she has, it just rubs me the wrong way," his eyes had sought out hers then. "It's not only that she is a Muggle-born. Believe me, Ginny, we just wouldn't get along."

It wasn't exactly heartwarming for her to find out he still despised her best friend, but Ginny could understand. Draco was trying, he really was, and that was all that mattered to her.

The breaking point for Ginny came just before Christmas vacation. Like always, Ginny received a note just like every other morning. But today it was different.

So, Miss. Weasley, how do you say we put an end to this? Frankly I am growing weary of my victories. I'm sure we could work out some sort of deal.

Tsk, tsk, not that sort of deal; get your mind out of the gutter. We shall meet tonight at 8 'o' clock at the entrance to the Quidditch pitch. I'm sure an arrangement can be made.

All day Ginny was in a state trying to decide whether or not go and meet this person. And should she tell someone about it? Perhaps it was a set up, but how could things really get any worse than they had already been.

As eight 'o' clock drew nearer, she still hadn't made a real decision. But Ginny knew that in the back of her mind her curiosity had won the second she read the note; she would go.

A short time later, she was picking her way through the frozen grounds towards the entrance of the Quidditch pitch; Ginny hugged her robes tight around her body, cursing whoever it was that summoned her here for choosing an outdoor meeting point.

She could see their silhouette as she approached the pitch. As she drew closer Ginny could make out the build of a male, but nothing more. Hugging herself against the cold, she peered into the shadows that he had cloaked himself in. As he stepped out into the light, Ginny gasped as she saw who he was.

"H-Harry?" she stuttered. "It was you?"

"It was," he said almost proudly, holding his head up high.

"But why!?" she demanded.

"I wanted to show you how miserable your life would be without me," he replied smugly. Taking a step closer to her, he reached up and held her face between his palms. "We're meant to be together, Gin. No one will ever love you like I do."

"Love?!" she cried, almost screaming out in frustration. "That's what you call these twisted attempts at ruining my life?"

The blow came suddenly, and she barely had time to register the burning sensation from the first slap before another followed it across the other cheek. He clutched at her face, looming in on her, his nose a few inches from her own.

"We were meant to be together," he growled at her. "Just accept it." A fierce, wild look was reflecting in his eyes. If Ginny didn't know better, she might have thought him insane.

Ginny felt tears clouding up her eyes. "No," she gasped, pushing him away from her. Backing slowly away from him she said, "It's too late, Harry, I could never love you again."

She turned then and fled up to the castle, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks. Ginny could still hear him yelling after her.

"You can't run forever, Ginny," he called, "No one does this to Harry Potter!"