Author's Note: So, Ginny's alright (or is she), Ron, Harry and Hermione are there for comfort (or are they), and Draco's gone off to steam (or has he). Enough with the Parenthesis Contradictions. Chapter 12. Draco is so idiotic. He over-reacts and jumps to conclusions. Dumb-ass boys...but yay, just read and enjoy, because I love hearing what you think!

Disclaimer: You know what? Listen to your effing conscience; don't take anything (not like you'd want to). If you have any qualms, check out the last million chapters, where I told you the same thing in nicer, prettier, formatted words. Grrrrr. Back to trying to get my bitching computer to cooperate.

Chapter 12: In a World Without Love…

Ginny was still smiling to herself. It felt so good to say.

"…I think I love him."

She really did. At least, she felt so strongly for him, more so than anyone else, save perhaps her family, but she loved them in a very different way. Somehow, though she'd only really known him for a couple of months, she felt closer to Draco than anyone else in her life. As if it were meant to be. And if not, she would just deal with things as they came. But she had to give him a chance. Because even though it was childish and naïve, she really had lost her heart to him. She loved him.

Now if only she could find him and say it to his face…

Ron sat back, biting his lip. Behind him, Harry scoffed, looking unimpressed an incredibly doubtful.

"Yeah right." He murmured under his breath, rolling his eyes indirectly at Ginny. To his (and Ginny's and Hermione's) surprise, Ron stood and whirled around, eye flashing.

"No one asked you, Harry! And besides, who my sister loves or even likes is no longer your concern. You never showed any interest in her love life before, so you can damned well stay out of it before." He snorted angrily.

Harry ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Merlin, Ron…Ginny…I'm sorry, I didn't mean…it's just…it's Malfoy!" He spat the name out. Ron balled up his fists, ready to get really pissed. He didn't like the bloke any more than Harry did, possibly even less. But if Ginny cared even a whit for him, he would let it pass.

"Why you-" Ron began, but stopped, looking down at the five cold fingers wrapped gently around his arm. He looked up at Ginny, who was sitting calmly and peacefully, giving him a look of pure appreciation and sibling love.

"'S okay, Ron. Really. I think I can take things from here." She squeezed his arm tenderly. "Thanks for being a big brother, but I'll do this my way." Ron shrugged and sat down on the edge of her bed, his warm hand sliding into her frigid one.

Ginny blew out a breath of air, a stray strand of red hair fluttering in front of her eyes. "I don't blame you Harry. At first, I couldn't stop thinking that same thing…'he's a Malfoy!'. He disgusted me. I hated him and everything about him." She cocked her head, and smiled to herself. "And then I got to know him, and I realized that his name disgusted me. I hated who he should be. And it was everything he was destined to become made me sick. But him, as a person, I realized I liked him. And I've come to love him. Forget Malfoy. I fell in love with Draco. He's not a Malfoy. He refused the Dark Mark. He ran away from his parents. He's been living with Blaise's cousin for the past couple of years. He's a different person, though what his father ingrained in him is still there. But I can help him. I can help him get rid of all that Malfoy nonsense. Because I do love him. Although he's put me through so much, I love him lore than ever." She finished, wincing internally at the thought of earlier that morning; looking out the window, she noted that it was night. How fast Christmas had gone by, and she hadn't even gotten to enjoy it.

Oh well…if she could just see Draco, it would be fine. But the stupid dolt wasn't there…

Sighing resignedly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Immediately there were three sets of hands pushing her back onto the mattress. Ginny popped back up, staring at her three older friends angrily.

"What the hell?" She growled, struggling to squirm off the bed against Ron's arms. And damnit, why did he have to have been (for most of his life, anyway) a Beater, of all things? Of course, now he was Keeper, but he still had those Beater muscles, damn him. Ginny flopped back on her pillows after several more minutes of fruitless struggling.

She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring up at Ron, and Harry and Hermione, though they had somewhat faded back in the picture.

"Well, what the hell is it?" She asked through clenched teeth.

Ron shook his head. He loved his little sister, though sometimes she could be a stubborn pain in the arse. Damn Weasley traits…

He sat down on the edge of her bed again. "Gins, you're many things; wonderful, brilliant, beautiful, funny, talented…but you're not invincible. You get up now and you'll be back down on the floor within a few minutes. You've lost a lot of blood," he nodded at her extensive bandaging "and Madame P. says no movement or extraneous exertion of any kind. That includes gallivanting around school looking for that ars-uh…Malfoy." He recovered quickly.

"Nice save." Ginny muttered distractedly. Damn Ron and his mind-reading abilities! She didn't care if she did take a nosedive down the stairs; she had to at least try to find Draco. There were still things they needed to talk about…things that needed to be explained.

Ginny looked up at Ron, who was looking frighteningly like Molly Weasley at that moment. "Now, you're staying in this bed for the rest of today, and tomorrow, if you're feeling even the slightest under the weather." He said, standing and putting his hands on his hips.

Ginny grinned wryly as Hermione covered a peeking smile. "Yes mother." She grumbled, burrowing under her covers jadedly.

And then, the tiniest spark of an idea flew into her head. She groaned slightly, hoping it didn't sound too forced, and put a hand to her forehead. "Though it's a pain to say, I think you're right, Ron. My head hurts just from talking to you." She pulled herself out of her little drama to shoot him a wicked grin. "Though that may not be from blood loss." She said pointedly, before quickly turning onto her back and closing her eyes, making sure to exhale loudly. "G'night." She muttered drowsily.

She could hear shuffling and Ron muttering something behind her, but she kept her eyes closed. Seconds later the door to the hospital closed and Ginny exhaled loudly. Finally. She was alone.

She waited a few more seconds, just to be sure, and then flung back the covers, leaping from her bed. Her head spun slightly, b she managed to quell the feeling. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet, but she barely noticed it as she rushed over to where her clothes (minus about a liter of blood) were folded neatly.

Grabbing the clothing, she raced to the bathroom and shut the door firmly. Two minutes later, she was dressed, and tossed her hospital gown onto her mussed-up bed.

Time to go find Draco.

Draco glanced furtively around the deserted library.

Perfect. He thought to himself. Everyone was off enjoying a late Christmas dinner. Even Madame Pince had abandoned her normal perch and was nowhere to be found. Ideal for Draco, as he'd rather kill himself before letting anyone (excluding a certain redhead) see him with teary red eyes. It was disgraceful.

Draco shuffled along to the back of the vast emptiness of the library, cautious in case any irritating couples had snuck back there to cuddle and snog. Revolting. Unless it happened to be him and Ginny…

Draco gave one last glance around before flopping down into the nearest chair. There was no other description for how he felt just then. He was simply exhausted. Ginny had been right; crying did take a lot out of you. Of course, it was more than just the leakage of salt water from his eyes that was bothering him. The whole having-to-leave-Ginny-because-he-would-hurt-her-and-she-was-better-off-with-someone-like-Potter-anyway thing was a bit depressing as well.

He was just so tired. He felt like lying down and going to sleep forever. His drooping eyelids flew open. Wait…why couldn't he? Wasn't that the same as death? What did he have to live for anyway? His caring mother? His loving father? His adoring friends?

He scoffed at the sarcasm in his head. There was always Ginny, but they couldn't be…together anyway, so what did he truly have to live for? He had no great loves in his life (save for said redhead); he was good at Quidditch, but it wasn't his passion. He liked school and was good at it, but it was just something to pass the time until…until what? He grew up and became his own man? No matter how old he got, Draco would never be his own man, not until Lucius was dead and gone. Even if he did…marry…and get his own life, the looming figure of his father, cold and unforgiving, would always be there. He's always just imagined that everything would be different once he was trained and out of Hogwarts, but it wouldn't be. It would be the same, except for the fact that he had tasted freedom, if only briefly. He had experienced so much with Ginny, and she had shown him so much. Love, pain, emotions he'd never even dreamt or heard of. Through everything though, she was amazing. Inspirational. Incredible. His own angel. And he had held that angel, and loved her. She would be the only girl he ever fell for, even if she stopped caring for him. He could almost imagine a life to live for if he could be with her…but that wasn't an option anymore. And if that was the case…it was best to get out now. While she still loved him; before he either had to hurt her, or be hurt by her. If he could go out now, he would be fine. With the knowledge that he had loved, and was loved, without the pain of having to live through his life alone brooding on what could have been if things were different.

After all, he really had no reason to stay alive. Life had nothing left to offer him. It had given him one sliver of perfection and love, with which he could have lived contentedly for the rest of his years. And then it had pulled that sweet angel away, and he was left colder and more desperate than ever, realizing and knowing what he could have had, it weren't for who he was.

Anger and hatred, two emotions he felt often, were bubbling up in him in a new form; one he'd never experienced before. Yes, they were the same feelings he'd felt before, but more primitive and barbaric. He felt the straining need to hit, to strike, to lash out at anything. The need to kill. The need to destroy. And he had the perfect guinea pig…

Himself.

"Well, that was, I must say, the best Christmas ever." Blaise said contentedly, flopping down on the now-folded couch-bed in Janet's living room. Heather sighed and rolled her eyes, though she couldn't stop grinning.

It seemed to be contagious, because Janet, Blaise, and Skye were all wearing the same ridiculous smile. Skye's grin grew wider as she plopped down in a comfortable silk chair, which was rather unfortunate for Janet, who happened to have been occupying the chair.

"Skye!" She groaned, half-heartedly trying to shove Skye off her lap. The red-haired witch simply laughed and took a sip of her white wine. Blaise and Heather also broke into laughter, and Janet simply sighed, wrapping her arms around Skye's waist.

Blaise and Heather glanced away considerately, snuggling down next to each other. After a morning spent opening presents, eating breakfast, and talking, they were more or less exhausted come nightfall. They were now sitting in different (yet similarly comfortable) seats around a roaring fire, all sipping wine (blessed be France's underage drinking laws).

Heather moaned softly and appreciatively as she leaned back against Blaise's chest, burrowing into the warmth of his large green sweater. Copying Janet's pose, he encircled Heather's waist with his arm, pulling her closer to him and burying his face in her hair.

She sighed and her eyes opened, flicking contentedly around the room. "I have to agree; of all fifteen of my Christmas's, this has to be my favorite." She glanced over at Janet, who was nuzzling the soft flesh of Skye's neck. "Thank you, for everything." She said, in general to Janet, Skye and Blaise.

Janet turned away from Skye, who pouted slightly, but gave Heather an animated wink all the same. "Actually, it was great having you. It saved us having to listen to Blaise whine and mope about how much he misses you." She rolled her eyes comically at her younger cousin, ignoring the scowl he sent her.

"But, really, you're the nicest of Blaise's girlfriends I've ever met." She smiled up at Heather before losing herself to Skye. Heather tensed as Janet's words struck home and Blaise winced. Oops…

Heather stood abruptly, trying to remain expressionless, and, saying her goodnights, stalked off to her bedroom, steaming. She shut the door as gently as possible, though she felt like ranting and raving and slamming, and would have, had it been her own house. As it was, she sunk down on her bed, burying her face in the sheets and sighed.

She knew she was blowing things out of proportion, but though she'd often mentioned that Blaise was her first, he'd never mentioned any girlfriends. At least, none he'd been really serious about. How many other girls had he brought out to his cousin's, making them feel special and wanted? How many other girls had he fooled with his 'I'm-madly-in-love-with-you' lines? She felt like a first-class moron.

She was so busy with her thoughts and trying to hold back hurt tears that she didn't hear the door opening and shutting softly.

But she did feel the weight of someone sinking onto the bed. Before she could sit up, she felt someone settle their chest on her back, lightly caressing her upper arms with apologetic fingers, sending cool shivers down her spine.

"Don't be mad." Blaise whispered into her ear, his head next to hers. He caught her wrists and played with them gently, his weight still on hers.

Heather felt her face sticking to the damp sheets and realized that she had been crying. She sniffled softly in the blankets and turned her head so she could just see his face. He looked anxious and sorry, which surprised her. She'd expected something more like the usual Slytherin reserve that was so coolly delivered. She hadn't expected this...tender apologetic softness.

She knew then, that she had been imagining things. The look he was giving her said that no matter how many other girls he'd been with, she was the only one he cared for now.

He reached up and brushed away her mussed up hair, looking into her eyes. He pressed his wide lips to her forehead, and despite herself, she felt her anger ebbing away as she leaned into his kiss.

She had already known that she was overreacting, but she knew, or thought she knew, that their relationship was too…perfect. That sooner or later, something would happen to shatter the happiness and pleasure of the past couple of months. But she now knew that she didn't have to invent a problem for them. If there was one, they could deal with it, but there was no reason to screw up a perfectly good relationship just for the hell of it.

She turned suddenly, her body twisting around under his so she was staring up at him.

Blaise bit his lip as he felt his body heating up. Yeah, he respected that she wanted to keep sex from their affiliation, but it didn't mean she couldn't send him crazy; he couldn't help what his body did. After all, he was a hormonal seventeen-year-old, as Heather had told him countless times, usually rolling her eyes at his antics.

Heather looked up at him shyly and it was hesitant arms that circled his waist, bringing him closer to her. He sank down on top of her, body, head, and…other things pounding with the urgent need to do something, anything. It was hard enough to concentrate with this gorgeous little creature under him in her night clothes. For possibly the first time in his life, he had no clue what to do. Oh, there were many things that he wanted to do right now, but all of them would earn him a fist to the gut and a knee to the groin, neither of which he wanted to experience now.

Heather, who had no idea what she was doing to Blaise, merely pulled him closer, their legs entwining. She felt so foolish. She had blown things way out of proportion. Thank the gods Blaise was more understanding than most boys. She hugged him tighter to her, unsure of why he suddenly tensed.

Blaise was having his own internal battle. Gods, he wanted her so badly. He didn't care if they couldn't sleep together (he'd never really cared for the term 'fuck' in relation to sex), he just wanted to be as close to her as possible. But would he be able to control himself if she didn't push him away?

Heather's lips seeking his took the decision away from him. She kissed him hard. Not gently or softly, but deep and passionately, pouring everything into it, including the anger and sadness she'd felt earlier. While her pains were disintegrating, Blaise was on the verge of insanity. If he could just kiss her, touch her, hold her, he would be fine.

So he did. He kissed her back equally, if not more roughly and with more fervor than any of their other kisses. Heather whimpered into his mouth as he nipped at her lower lip. Everything was so wrong, but it felt so good. She hadn't realized that her hands had strayed to his shirt and were unconsciously undoing the buttons.

Blaise sucked in his breath, breaking his lips from hers as he grasped her wandering hands and pulled them from his shirt. He looked down at her, and nearly gasped out the breath he'd inhaled just as sharply.

Her cheeks were flooded with a soft pink tint, and her eyes were wild and huge, glazed over with something indescribable, something so incredibly sexy. Her hair was in a seriously disheveled state.

Heather watched as his gaze raked over her, his own eyes going shades darker, looking impossibly black. She was glad she was lying down, or she would have fallen into the endless abyss of those glittering black eyes.

"Oh gods…" he said, in a strange, rough and strangled voice, his eyes skating over her body to lock with hers.

And then he was all over her, kissing and touching like he'd never done before. Heat was coursing through both of them, practically radiating from one to the other. Heather was making soft noises in the back of her throat. Blaise had no idea what she was doing to him, but he didn't want it to stop.

Although he had actually…slept around with a few girls at Hogwarts, he had never, ever, felt this good, and they were still completely clothed. Though that wasn't really by his choice…

Though neither knew how it came to be, they were soon lying, breathing heavily; both of their over-shirts discarded carelessly on the floor where they'd been tossed. Blaise, though in only his baggy night pants, wasn't suffering in the least from the cold. Heather, in only a light sports shirt, was equally warm, especially her cheeks, which had flushed with heat every time he touched her.

Blaise's mouth was still fused to hers when his hand strayed to the drawstrings of her baggy pants. He needed her so badly, and the fact that he was laying on top of her half-clad was not helping.

Heather felt the insistent tug on the waistband of her pants, bringing them down to settle just at her hips. She pulled her hand from where it had been entangled in his hair to stop him from pulling them any lower.

Blaise felt her body tense and her lips stopped moving. Then her hand was on his, gentle, yet firm. He pulled back and looked down at her face. Her eyes were still half-lidded, dark and soft at the same time. Her lips were swollen and her cheeks flushed.

He then looked down to where his hand had come up, almost on its own accord, to the strings. He played absent-mindedly with them, toying them around his finger. Heather pulled his face to look at her. Her eyes were still welcoming, but pleading, and the tiniest bit scared.

Blaise was scared too. For a moment there, he'd forgotten everything; her wishes, his resolve, and he hadn't thought it possible to stop. But just looking at her eyes now, he did stop. He couldn't bear to cause those huge eyes to look so frightened.

Instead, he pulled his hand away from the waistband of her pants and moved it up her torso and neck to cup her face, pulling her into another spiraling world of kisses and soft caresses. It was a world that engulfed them both, and neither cared, as long as they were in it together.

Some time later, Blaise finally broke his lips from hers. Breath coming unevenly and raggedly, he lowered his head so it was resting on her collar bone. Trailing minute kisses along the protruding bone, he sighed to himself. Though they hadn't even gotten to removing lower body clothing, he felt more satisfied than he ever had in his life.

Heather echoed his sigh, wrapping an arm around his waist, where it lay comfortably.

It was in that position that they felt asleep, both supremely comfortable with only each other as a blanket.

Back in the living room, Skye was still sitting on Janet's lap. Or rather, she was lying across her lap, one arm wrapped around Janet's neck, playing idly with her shirt strap as she raised the other to sip from her wine glass.

She laughed throatily and set down her glass. "Ten to one says that one of them doesn't use their own bed tonight." She giggled, moving her hand along Janet's shoulder-line to play with the hair that was falling about her shoulders.

Janet turned to look at the violently red-haired woman nestled against her chest. "What d'you mean?" she asked, them gasped softly as her eyes grew round with comprehension.

"You don't mean…? Urgh, not in my house!"

She struggled to get up, back Skye pushed her back into the chair gently. "Relax. I don't know much about your cousin, but I do know two things. One, Heather can handle herself. She's a sensible girl, and if Blaise does anything inappropriate, she'll let him know quite efficiently. And two, he's head over heels for her. That could be a liability, but I think he can regulate himself."

She smiled seductively, eyelashes fluttering dramatically. "I, on the other hand…" she waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Janet scoffed, though she couldn't hold back a smile.

"Merry Christmas, Skye." She whispered, before covering her mouth with hers.

Skye sighed appreciatively into their kiss, hands coming up to cup Janet's face and pull her closer to her. She parted her lips and smiled.

Merry Christmas indeed.