A/N: Wow! I've gotten more reviews on this story than any of my others. This is great! I am so glad that you guys enjoy it, and because of that, I promise to write as often as possible.
This chapter, I have to say, is dedicated to all those of you who have reviewed, and enjoyed this little fic. (But also with a great, special shout-out to 'Raine and Frodo' who seems to have posted a review for every chapter. Thanks so much!) You guys are the best!
And for those of you who haven't reviewed yet, there's no time like the present!
Enjoy!
Chapter 5:
First Signs
It was one of those days. Things had just gone wrong from the very moment I got up. You don't believe me? Well, as I was laboriously getting out of bed (a task that seems to become harder and harder each day, thanks to Harry's new training régime) there was a terrific scream from the general direction of the bathroom. Caught completely unawares, I managed to get my left foot entangled in the blankets just as I jumped out to investigate the origins of the noise. The results: one Weasley decidedly not sunny-side-up. Hrmm.
To add to this, it turned out that the birth of this blood-curdling scream was not due to pain or fear but rather due to one of the sixth years, Melissa, describing in very graphic details, the snogging session she had with a seventh year Slytherin the previous evening to her equally ditzy best friend. I shoved my head into my trunk to avoid causing more screams.
Snogging a Slytherin; what the world has not come to. How can anyone even consider doing that? It is treason of the highest degree, a sin that should be punished by expulsion and torture…ok, perhaps it isn't quite that bad. I guess the entire incident was made worse by the fact that just before I was forced to get out of my comfortable bed, I was having a rather scandalous dream containing a certain blond-haired Slytherin.
I can simply not figure out what is happening to me. Sure, I've had my misled crushes before, but this one takes the cake. Wait a second; I did not just imply that I have a crush on Malfoy…that is just not possible. I do not have any feelings – except perhaps hate and disgust – for the junior Death Eater. I mean, the guy has been practically marked as a future Voldemort supporter; his deeds at school have certainly made it hard to doubt his inherent evilness.
Not to mention the fact that his father had tried to kill me.
Yet, in the weeks following our little incident in the Prefect's bathroom, I have constantly found my eyes following him. I hate it; I hate myself for it, but there is absolutely bugger all I can do about it. The most disturbing of the lot, is the fact that I often find his eyes on me; and in those fleeting moments before he remembers to sneer my way, I fathom that I can read something else in his gaze, but what it is, remains to be seen.
The day got progressively worse from then on. Nursing aching knees and a slightly bruised nose, I made my way down to breakfast, just in time to see my darling brother and the-boy-who-lived start yet another of their now infamous rows.
Everything had been relatively in control until the day that Ron had caused Snape to take points from Harry. After that, it was all out war. Ron, my dearest idiot brother, started the challenge by picking Hermione a huge bunch of multi-coloured flowers (I presume he got them with Hagrid's help, since there isn't a handy florist anywhere near Hogwarts). Unfortunately, he didn't consider the fact that half of them were poisonous. 'Mione ended up in the hospital wing knocked out cold after smelling them.
Harry rose to the occasion by taking Hermione a big box of chocolates, which she refused to touch as she hurled her stomach out thanks to the side-effects of Ron's accidentally poisonous flowers. She ended up giving me the chocolates and later confessed that she wasn't really all that big a fan of sweet things.
This particular morning's fight had started when both Harry and Ron tried to hand the salt shaker to Hermione at the same time. A jug of pumpkin juice upended over both of them as they struggled for dominance of the salt shaker, and the catcalls from the Slytherin table only caused them to fight harder.
They had to be pulled apart by Hagrid and Krum (who I firmly believe only came over to have an excuse of being close to Hermione) and I presume that they got quite the scolding from McGonagall, which is most likely why we had the worst Quidditch practice ever. I wish they would learn to keep their personal lives off the Quidditch pitch. I mean, it isn't the players' fault that our captain and his (ex) best friend were at odds due to a girl.
Not quite in the mood to tromp back to the Common room with friendly and friendlier, I dallied in the change room till everyone had left before making my way alone up to the castle.
In hindsight, it was stupid, I know. I should have learnt by now that evil luck haunts me the way ghosts haunt Hogwarts; it is only logical that I should run into him when it least suited me. Damn my luck.
****
Draco was in a foul mood. Where he had previously thought that being Head Boy was a good thing, he was now having very strong second thoughts about it. While everyone else was having dinner, he, Draco Malfoy, was patrolling the corridors for would be marauders. It was a task every Prefect would have to do at some time, but Draco had wished that he would be skipped the boredom of it. No such luck though.
As he walked, his thoughts turned from Hogwarts to the world outside it. He had very little news of what went on beyond the enchanted barriers of the school, as it would be too dangerous to disclose vast amounts of knowledge via owl post, but what little he did know, caused a small seed of disquiet to form in the pit of his stomach. He pushed it away with only the smallest of shrugs.
Draco had grown up knowing that he would serve Lord Voldemort one day. It was a fact beyond reckoning that it was the destiny he was born for. Things were slightly different now that his father had been captured and kept well hidden by the authorities, but the schemes had to be put into place.
The army of the Dark Lord grew with every passing day, while resistance was almost unheard of. There had been several setbacks, the truth be told, and most of it due to the appearance of the Order of the Phoenix, but Lord Voldemort was still confident. Too confident, Draco thought. He had learnt from experience that overconfidence could be the most crippling of all vices, but he'd rather die than voice that thought out loud. It simply was not the Malfoy way of thinking.
He was so caught up in his melancholic thoughts that he did not even see the youngest Weasley until he walked smack into her. Even then, his brain did not quite register who it was until he had caught her firmly by the upper arms. A startled gasp came from her parted lips, and for a moment they stood, frozen, neither quite willing to break the contact.
Ginny's hair was still wet from the shower she had taken after Quidditch practice, and Draco could smell the faint scent of the lavender soap she had used. For the hundredth time in weeks, he was struck by her beauty.
She was not one of those women who could be described as a classical beauty, but there was something about her that drew him like a helpless moth to the brightness of her inner flame. Her beauty resided in the way she walked, the sparkle in her eyes and the magic of her laugh. Oh, and what a laugh it was. Pure and crystalline, enigmatic and filled with a life of its own, her laughter had a way of surrounding him that made him feel lightheaded.
They stood for what could have been but a few seconds, yet felt like years. Draco became acutely aware of the way her body fitted next to his, and it was that particular thought that caused him to step away from her. No matter what he felt, such feelings simply had to be caused by lust. It would be unMalfoy-like for it to be anything else. Even lust was pushing the limits, Draco knew, and as he stepped back, firmly stomped on the impulse to let his hands trail down her arms. He wanted to curse his body for making a fool of him; it must have completely overridden his mind.
"Draco…" His name was a soft breath upon her lips, and even as he moved away, he was struck by the knowledge that it was the first time it had ever passed her lips.
As if saying his name had alerted her to her own weakness, Ginny seemed to snap back to reality.
"What are you doing here?" She demanded, suddenly on the offensive track again.
"I could ask the same thing of you." Draco shot back, almost unnerved by her swift change in demeanor. Relief, however, flooded through him. On these grounds he could face her; in these circumstances he could hate her. He could almost forget the feelings she had woken in him. Almost.
"None of your business." She hissed, and drew herself up a bit. "Now if you would please move your huge ego out of the way so that I could pass…"
"I am afraid I can't do that." Draco sneered. "You see, I have to patrol these corridors against troublemakers, and with your family history I think it would be very appropriate to order you to detention for planning pranks." His smirk widened as he saw the anger rise in her.
"You can't do that, Malfoy! I'm moving from my Common Room to dinner, there is no rule against that." She sniffed and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. "Besides, you can't issue detention."
"But I can, Miss Weasley." Snape's voice was a low greasy drawl as he came to stand beside his favorite student. "Showing no respect for the Head Boy…detention in the dungeon tomorrow night at seven." Snape gave Ginny a nasty smile. "Don't be late."
Snape turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Draco and Ginny alone in the hallway. The red-haired Gryffindor gave a low, frustrated growl and spun around, not even bothering to shoot a remark in Draco's direction.
He sighed as she stormed away, confused at the fact that he felt not even a wit of satisfaction.
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