Disclaimer: I'm not JKRowling and I don't have the power to snog Harry all during the seventh book sigh

Trying Not To Notice

Her red hair glistened in the sunlight and he tried to not notice. Not to see how she bit her lip and scribbled on her parchment while her turquoise quill brushed the top of her hand. He averted his eyes from the way her narrow shoulders hunched over giving her the misleading appearance of weakness. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned on the warm stone. He had been watching her for quite awhile now, but she had not noticed. No, he was keeping very quiet. He doubted very much that anyone observed the slim fair haired boy in the shadows. It was a sort of vindictive irony, he thought to himself; the fallen angel, all pale beauty and hidden darkness, staring with a look of pained longing at what he could not have. Yes, that was irony.

Irony, Draco mused, was something he could respect, emotions and events twisted into their own savage humor, it was a respectful occurrence. If Draco knew anything better, it was savage humor. Forced when he was a child to laugh at torture and sneer at blood, humor always possessed a sharp edge of absolute cruelty. Yes, cruelty was the word. How cruel it was to look upon her, everything he desired, love and so much more, a mere distance from him and not be able to go to it. It reminded him reminiscently of when his father had chained a captured aruor in the dungeons. Draco had not asked questions; never ask questions was a key rule in the Manor, and not one to be punished lightly. The aruor was linked to a chain mere inches away from food. With no nourishment, he died within the week, so close to what he desired. Draco remembered hearing the screams for water as the man suffered right before he was going to bed at night, every night for nearly a week. Thinking back, he was now revolted and despised it, however, when he was seven, he looked up to the day when he could go and torture the men with his father.

She was getting up, shuffling the papers into her bag and standing up, surveying her surroundings. That is when she noticed him; her brown eyes traveling until they rested on him. His face reveled nothing, closing like shutters on an abandoned house. He did not move; merely met her gaze and she flinched. To be stared at that, it was intimidating. Eyes are the secrets to your soul some people say. Emotion is shown through the eyes better then anywhere else. Eyes can portray love, hatred, and sadness easily. But to look into eyes, and see nothing there, it is a rare and frightening experience. Ginny clutched her bag closer to her chest. She suddenly felt cold, very cold, as if standing on ice. The blood in her veins felt like crystals, moving slower than usual through her body giving her a paralyzing feeling of lightheadedness.

They say that love is a sickness; like the flu, it gives symptoms. Is this love? What I feel, what I see; every time I look at him? I see everything I could ever hope to wish for, and everything I despise. It's what I dreamt for, what I wished out my window for, and now, I can't have it. Justice, like fate, is ever so cruel.

So silently, so she didn't even notice until he was feet from her, he removed himself from the sun-warmed wall of rocks and came towards her. Someone looking out would see a fair figure clad in all black with eyes like diamonds dropped in melted silver moving unhurriedly towards a girl with red hair glistening in the summer light. But someone closer would notice more. They would see how his shoulders were tensed; the one hint of his ardor. They would notice the girl's hand tightening on her bag so fiercely that her knuckles were white; the goose bumps erupting on her arms despite the heat. But no one, no matter how close, would notice – because it was done so subtly - what the fallen angel said to the scarlet-haired witch.

"J'aime et j'espere." I love and I hope.

He was sitting in the common room. Decked in silver and green, it gave off an air of absolute smugness. The silver was new and polished; the furniture immaculate and the lighting was faint and austere. Draco had always liked the Slytherin common room. He felt that it represented his life and emotion quite well. The way the felt looked so soft, but was heavy and rough to the touch. How the fire in the grate was flickering, yet gave no warmth. The overall detail of the room was unforgiving and resolute. He liked it that way.

Draco was splayed on the couch in the fire, not feeling the biting cold always present in the dungeons. He stared into the fire as the flames licked greedily at the stone grate. They seemed to cover it in their hunger, smothering it with their heat.

He sighed as he heard the common room portrait open. He took no notice. The portrait always was opening and shutting; other Slytherins going about their business. However, this visitor was not a Slytherin, but had a task to complete nonetheless.

"Draco. I really need to talk to you."

He immediately noticed that this voice seemed to come from someone who was obviously steeling themselves to do something that was obviously difficult for them. He did not move at all; merely shifted his gaze from the dancing flames to other flames. These flames however were flickering around a narrow face dotted with freckles; eyes a deep and indomitable brown with a red mouth that was turned down in thought.

"And," he said with a tone of indifference, "What would I owe this visit. As you can see, I am quite busy." Sarcasm had always been a favorite of Draco. To lighten the mood was not really his intent, but he enjoyed the influence it made on his victims.

His eyes had not strayed from her face and he detected resoluteness; well yes, that much was evident. He also noticed something else; in her eyes; an indistinguishable emotion. Someone other than Draco would have realized that she was looking at him with a pitting gaze. However, Draco was not someone else and had no idea what the emotion was. He had rarely experienced pity, and could not therefore identify it.

"Don't be such an insufferable git." She spoke not out of anger, but out of sheer exhaustion. She looked quite tired. She had faint under-eye circles and the droop of her shoulders told him that she was barely holding herself up. As if, Draco thought, something was draining her of her very spirit right in front of him. Draco wondered what it was.

"I'm not being a git. You came to me looking like you just got dragged half-way through the grounds by a raging Hippogriff after the Botruckles got through with you in the Forbidden Forest. I was just merely asking you why you are here."

Something flickered in her eyes. Was it… realization? Apparently it was, for no sooner had he said this then she looked absolutely horrified about something and made to the portrait; her skirt was swishing around her legs and her teeth biting into her lip nervously.

Noticing something is a sudden and unexpected reaction. Someone can be completely oblivious at one moment and then… realization will hit, soon followed by embarrassment. We are, after all, just humans. We are cowardly sometimes and when staying just seems like too difficult a challenge, we flee.

Draco removed himself from the couch quickly and blocked her path. He spoke with a tone of absolute sarcasm. "Please don't go yet," and, he added with a smirk, "I am drowning in my own curiosity."

Ginny looked at him incredulously. "How can you just stand there and be sarcastic with me when we're driving each other crazy. You may not realize it, but I do." She drew herself up to her full height, which was a good five inches shorter than him, and poked him in the chest, hard. "I turn around, and you're there. Lurking in the shadows and I can't stop thinking that you're right behind me, always tailing me. I can't take it anymore." She took a breath and a step back from him, as if expecting him to speak. When he didn't she did.

"Stop watching me." She said as simply as if they were having a conversation about last night's homework. Not that they ever had a real conversation before. Just looks from afar and an understanding of their predicament. Nothing was said about it, ever. Her coming to him was as unexpected as Snape taking up with the Giant Squid, which, was rumored to actually have happened several times during the summer.

Draco was quite taken aback that she had the nerve to tell him to stop. In addition, beside today, he was quite unaware that she knew about him watching her. He grinned slyly and leaned casually against the wall looking at her with an obviously amused expression on his face.

"Cocky aren't we?" He moved closer to her. He was close enough to read the label of Madam Malkin's robes imprinted on her coat buttons, her collarbone just under the thin material of her shirt, was just visible underneath her robes. Her dark eyes were framed by dark thick lashes.

"You know," he said while flicking an invisible piece of lint of his dark emerald robes. "Most people think being over confident is entirely unappealing." He met her gaze again and something was tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Ginny, having lived with six older brothers, had a short temper. With Draco, smirking down at her and dropping sarcastic comment after sarcastic comment, her self restraint was bound to snap like a twig under a shoe.

"Not you though. You walk around like you own Hogwarts. I," she added in a superior tone, "find that quite a turnoff."

"Do you?" He moved even closer and her lips parted in surprise. He had always kept his distance from her for the most part. Sometimes he would whisper things in her ear, but they were never this close. So close that she could see the outline of his slim seeker's muscles under the frail cotton of his black shirt.

"Don't. Stop." She was shaking now, her whole body trembling against his. He was inches from her mouth. She couldn't take him being so close to her. She had a purpose for being here… she had a reason.

"Do you really want me to?" His voice was almost… caring, but it had a hint of poison. His fair hair was brushing against her cheek and his grey eyes, like summer storms, were looking at her in a way she had never been looked at before. He smelled of pepper and other spices that were oh-so boyish.

"We can't."

"Why?" He was so near to her that he could count the freckles on her nose.

"Because I can't love you."

He took a step back, very surprised at her words. His heart was hammering against his chest and he took another step back from her.

"I can't love you. I can't kiss you or be with you because it isn't fair. Every time I catch you watching me, I feel so light… But you don't love me. You couldn't, it's against everything you know, everything you've been taught. I hate to be tortured like this and I came here today to end it, to end this. You look at me and see everything you think you want. But you want revenge. To be with me would dishonor everything and everyone you long to hurt, to punish. But you see Draco, I'm not a tool. I want you, I won't deny it, but I can deny myself, and I will."

And with that, she walked purposely from the common room, not noticing the emotion Draco could not hide from his face as he sat down and watched the flames flicker and die out. And soon after her departure, he realized what that emotion in her eyes was.