Disclaimer: I do not own nor am I making any money from this story or the characters.
Author's Note: yeah! Finally! A little bit of romance!
They said he'd never make it, maybe they're right;
his parents never believed that his dreams could take flight.
All he ever wanted was for them to be proud of him,
it was the whole world to him, he needed to win.
He gave his everything, but sometimes it's not enough
He thinks he's a failure, now he's not worth being loved.
He forgets he had the courage to climb up so high,
the courage to try, the courage to fly.
- Rock Stars; Superchic[k]
Wanted
Confusion
Hogsmead was packed with students and adults alike, all eager to finish their last minute holiday shopping. From the looks of it, Malfoy could see that some procrastinators had decided to begin and end their shopping in the small magical town. He smirked as he saw them struggle with their numerous bags, boxes, and packages, but all with smiles on their faces and laughing lines around their eyes as their teeth chattered in the cold, talking animatedly to friends and family.
It seemed that everyone was in the Christmas spirit, all except ...
He glanced into the small inn across the street with a popular tavern on the lower level. It was located on a less-traveled street, affording him with a clear view of its occupant through the glass window. Yes, she was still there, sitting alone and stirring her hot chocolate with a spoon, slowly, methodically, just like the careful girl she was. Her red hair, gleaming like soft gold in the dimmed light, was up in a high ponytail, straight strands falling down her back and over the chair, long bangs tucked behind either ear. Her eyes were cast down and concentrating on a Daily Prophet in front of her, serious and, only if you looked carefully enough, sad.
Ginny Weasley was hiding a great secret of monstrous proportions, a story that could be, and one day most likely would be, woven into a tale the likes of the ancient epics. Her tale was complete with a protagonist and antagonist of legendary status, and her, the innocent, manipulated bystander caught in the middle.
She was an amazingly strong and resilient young woman. She was a warrior who refused to submit, a fighter who would not let weariness stop her defense and slow her attack. She was a healer who looked after herself when she took a blow, and nurturer, like a mother, cradling and protecting herself; all hiding away in the slender tall frame of a young woman.
In fact, she looked perfectly normal - even attractive to some. It was only if you examined her long and hard did you realize that she never smiled and her pretty brown eyes never gleamed nor glittered, her skin didn't glow with a certain gleam that so many blossoming girls her age had.
It was only if you studied her long and hard that you would see the flaw, and realize that there was something wrong with her.
Malfoy was in an oddity shop across the street from the tavern, isolated from the main hustle and bustle of the more popular side of Hogsmead. Few students ventured down here, mostly older pupils who were bored with the Honeydukes and Zonkos. He had caught a glimpse of a red ponytail from down the street and followed, careful to remain invisible to her eye. The last thing that they both needed was a rumor starting about a secret and passionate romance that neither of them were partaking on.
So Malfoy kept his distance, walking around the store, information about her racing through his mind. He continued to be amazed, awed, and silenced by this young woman, but she had no need to find that out.
As she walked through the doors of Monday Afternoon, her favorite store in all of Hogsmead, Ginny felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She raised a hand to itch it, willing herself to take deeper breaths, as it suddenly became very hard to breathe. Turning around slowly to look at a second shelf, she glanced down the aisle and saw no one. When the feeling didn't fade away, she dropped a journal she had been fingering on the other side of the aisle and bent down, taking her time to pick it up. There was no one on that side of the aisle either, and Ginny felt her cheeks burn bright pink, matching the color of her scalding ears, at her paranoia.
Today, she was wearing a mid-thigh denim skirt made from a pair of old jeans under a pair of nylons and black knee-high socks. For a top, she wore one of Ron's long-sleeved white button-up shirts, and her hair was in a high ponytail. She wore a red and gold scarf that she had knit herself under her Hogwarts robe and a worn black cloak.
It was one week before Christmas vacation, the last Hogwarts visit to Hogsmead before the New Year, and the weather had certainly harmonized with the season. Everyone anticipated a heavier snowfall upon the castle, but there was only a flurry of soft flakes that melted on contact with the ground. The temperature, however, had dropped since the beginning of December, and now, it seemed, it had reached an all-time low.
Winter had never been a very good season for Ginny. It seemed that, while she found herself enjoying work outside of class, the teachers seized the two-week break to load on assignment after assignment, which only frustrated and overwhelmed her. She couldn't accomplish things when she was weakened like that, when she was distracted, when Tom would be at his strongest within her.
And the holidays, especially Christmas, New Years, and Valentines, in succession, only served to remind her that she had no one to share them with, not a friend and most certainly not a boyfriend. She did have Ron, but she was not his priority over the holidays, nor did she want herself to be. She had decided earlier, in bed, staring at the wine-colored canopy, that Malfoy really didn't count as company, since she technically didn't invite him, but she couldn't deny that she enjoyed his attention and that she wanted more, which was odd in itself.
The prickling was fainter as she left Monday Afternoon empty handed and walked to a small tavern across the street. She wasn't as worried as she was before because now she had a clear view through the front windows of each store. She read The Daily Prophet that she had taken off an empty table, not looking for anything in particular, but noted the more interesting articles while absentmindly stirring her hot chocolate.
Yesterday, Malfoy had approached Professor Corran, resident Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts about the term paper that the sixth years had written. He was interested in reading a certain one, and wondered if he could see it. She asked if he would be staying over the holidays, and he replied that he would. That would be a perfect time to come in and read it, she informed him, and only asked that he tell her in advanced so she'd know which one to grade first. Her eyebrows slowly raised higher and higher as he told her the name and she bit her lips to hold back a question. Malfoy was relieved and almost grateful; the last thing he needed was probing questions from a teacher with a sudden suspicious interest in him. She agreed and located the lengthy report to begin grading.
Now that Malfoy had secured the paper, he began to cautiously study Ginny. He would find out about this Tom Riddle person who grew up to be Lord Voldemort. He would find out how he affected her and how she dealt with it day after day.
As he watched her, he began to realize that she was drawn into herself, closed and introverted. She avoided eye contact with passing students and teachers, and opted to stare at her reflection in her shiny brass plate than chat with peers around her at mealtimes. Ginny, he understood, had locked herself inside a prison, a fortress where her only defense was withdrawal. She kept to herself, burying herself in her work, excelling in all of her classes due to refined work and countless hours spent studying.
'Maybe', he thought as he twirled a quill in his hand, 'She pretended to not exist so that people would forget she was there.'
But her efforts seemed to be in vain, to him at least. She was easy to spot, with fiery red hair that shone like gleaming rubies and creamy pale skin that complimented, rather than clashed with her hair. She was tall, slim, and had grown to become very, very attractive, Malfoy decided one day. Her scrawny and awkward body had grown into a sixteen-year old woman with soft curves from her shoulders to her chest, with a small indention of a stomach and slim hips, leading to her thighs and long legs. But her face had lost its radiant, healthy glow and her angelic smile when she left the Chamber. Her face now had the consistency of a flickering candle, shining sometimes and almost extinguished at others; Tom had stolen her smile and replaced it with a sad, depressing smirk when she did try at all.
But Malfoy was only being a guy, and he was only observing. He didn't have any real feeling extending past admiration, slight jealousy, and limited tolerance for the red-haired girl. He certainly didn't like her and didn't want to dwell on her any more than necessary, but coaxing her out of her shell and stealing her secret, along with her story, would take more than a weekend.
Apparently, Tom's presence inside her hadn't caused her to grow a third eye or tentacles, only stealing her glow, her happiness, her love for life and taking them for his own.
Malfoy walked into the small shop, not knowing what to find. He tried hard to imagine what Weasley would look at and admire as he meandered around the store. He stopped; eyeing a display of quills arranged elegantly on shelves on the wall and gathered three eye-catching quills. He moved onto another aisle, this one filled with blank journals. A soft red leather journal with gold clasps and pages caught his eye; the combination of scarlet and gold was almost attractive together. These feathers would look lovely against the cover of this new journal, and a new, elegant fire colored crystal on a small black leather choker would look more than lovely against the creamy pale skin of her neck.
Wishful thinking, Ginny, a caressing voice taunted in her ear, moving as fluidly as the wind. No one was looking at you, he reassured her. Nobody notices you, he scolded. He took on a more cunning, sharper edge to his words and Ginny felt a small lump gather in the back of her throat.
It wasn't wishful thinking, I know that. You wishing that I thought it was wishful thinking is rather wishful thinking in itself. She congradulated herself on her wittiness.
She stirred her hot chocolate faster and raised it to her lips to take a drink.
Her hands were shaking, ever so slightly.
Cold? I think not. We're not scared, Ginny, are we? Of me? Why, I'm harmless. You're the one you should be worried about. It's not healthy to hear voices in your head.
It's not healthy to be possessed by evil, either, but what am I s'posed to do about that?
The chocolate ran down her throat, and she could feel its heat spread down to the very tips of her toes, though fading fast. She grimaced and wished for warmth that would last longer, like an embrace or even a kiss.
Tsk tsk Ginny, you really mustn't be so rude, you might hurt my feelings. She was not so caught up in the sudden darkness of the room that the sarcasm in his voice passed her. Ginny pulled her cloak tighter around her to stop the cold from reaching her, but it spread from the inside out, numbing her.
Stop it, she tried to order, bowing her head and wincing as though she were in great pain. Go away. You're not wanted, Tom.
We both know the truth, Ginny - must you force me to spell it out for you? You keep me around, you hold onto me because I'm the only thing you know. I'm the only thing that's constant, I'm the only one who talks to you. You poured yourself into me, and you were willing to do whatever I wanted, as long as I'd be your 'friend'. Remember, Ginny? Oh, Tom, I'll do anything for you. You're my only friend here; you're the only one I can really trust. Every chuckle of his laughter was like a rock that hit her back, tearing open a new wound over skin that never fully healed.
Dark spots began appearing in the corner of her eyes, a sign that she would faint soon, and there, Tom could tell her whatever he pleased and she could do nothing but take it all in. She tried to steady her short sharp breaths into long, easy flowing ones but wished for a distraction, a knight that would rescue her right now.
That was then - I've changed. That was all a mistake, a misspoken word and misplaced trust. It's not my fault, you deceived me into trusting and believing you, you vile power-hungry pig. Don't you dare try to tell me this was my fault.
I was your only friend. I was your only confidant. I am the only one who can give you faith enough to continue living; you are nothing without me.
The lump slowly grew larger and Ginny swallowed while her eyes became painfully salty. Her heart pounded inside her like a large drum and a loud roaring sound ripped through her head. She knew she was slipping away, and needed something to grasp onto.
I have ... I have Malfoy.
He would count, but only for now. She needed someone now, a friend that she could imagine. Tom couldn't say things that weren't true now, even if they were true then.
He is no friend.
No more than you were.
She closed her eyes as tears welled in the corners, and tried to visualize him, her temporary strong hold. His hair was ironically the color of angelic haloes, which she envisioned. She breathed her first steady breath deeply; his pale skin made only brighter surrounded by the dark and clouds that she imagined Tom to be.
You are foolish, Ginny, just like a little naïve child. Too trusting, too optimistic ...
You're dead, Tom. I may be hurting and hiding, but I am living and breathing and I ...
"Is this seat taken?"
Ginny's head snapped up to see Malfoy's hand on the chair across the table from her, his eyebrows raised as if he was frozen in position.
Today, he wore a pair of loose black pants and a green pullover, offsetting his pale skin. His silver hair was brushed back in its normal fashion, clearing his face. He had only a black cloak, with no scarf, Ginny noted. In the hand that was not resting on the cafe's chair clutched a small paper bag whose name Ginny could not read.
"No," she muttered, wondering why her? - why him? - why now?
"We seem to be running into each other a lot, now, Weasley, don't we?" he asked, pulling the chair back and stepping around it.
"That we do," she said in a low voice, daring herself to continue the stare down between them. She found his steely eyes most attractive, their color flashing like a metal sword in the sun. His intense eyes cleared her murky thoughts like a lighthouse beam pierced darkness and fog.
She watched him sit down in the chair and place crinkled bag on the table calmly, as though meeting her in a café like such was an everyday occurrence. She looked at the brown wrapping, catching a 'O', 'N', and the words 'Day' and 'Noon' written in fancy script. Since when had Malfoy shopped at The Monday Afternoon? Odd.
Noticing her fixation and curiosity on the bag, Malfoy said, rather pleased, "Oh, just finishing a bit o' hols shopping before break."
"I see."
They lapsed into silence as Draco ordered a drink from a pretty waitress and Ginny went back to reading The Daily Prophet. He flirted shamelessly with her as she looked for reasons to stay by their table, although he did send some concerned looks towards Ginny's bent head. He didn't want her to think that he had come over to her table only to flirt, which was what she was probably thinking anyway.
"Are you staying at Hogwarts over Christmas break, Weasley?" he asked conversationally. She looked up at him, small pieces of hair falling out of her ponytail and framing her face. She looked at the pieces with irritation and brushed it behind her ear. Malfoy bit the top part of his lip, uncertain of the emotion that that simple look had caused him to feel.
"I believe so. My parents are going to visit Bill and Fluer in the French backcountry, so I'll be stuck here with Ron." She almost made a face, but decided against it. "Are you?" she asked politely, breaking away to take a sip of hot chocolate. Her long fingernails looked as though they were dipped in melted gold and shimmered in Malfoy's eye. His eyes became fixed on her perfect hands, long fingers with graceful movements and gold fingertips.
"Yes." There was a break in the conversation as Draco's drink arrived. He dipped a long finger into his cup and pulled it out shaking, wiping it on a napkin. Ginny allowed herself a smirk.
"Are you one much for snow?" he asked spontaneously, knowing the answer.
"No," she sighed, running a slender finger around the ceramic rim of her mug, her eyes running in small circles as she watched. "Winter is too depressing for me," she paused, then said, "Everything dies."
Malfoy's hands formed fists, hard as rocks. This was the second time she had mentioned death that he had heard of in the entire three meetings that they had. This was not good. He shot her a worried look but she did not look especially depressed or enthused.
She looked absolutely neutral.
"What season do you like?" he asked, not wanting to dwell. He took a sip of his drink, which had cooled down considerably since he had first ordered it.
"Summer," she replied without missing a beat. She did not expand, but instead counter-questioned him.
"Autumn," he replied easily. "Everything's changing, and the colors all match one another. It's so scenic and peaceful that it's almost painful to watch them fade away. Besides," he added, "Every good astronomy student knows that autumn is when the air is the clearest at night."
"Is astronomy your favorite subject, Malfoy?" she asked, curious and not just being polite.
He shrugged. "I like looking up at the stars," he said. She nodded her head.
"They are bloody beautiful, aren't they?" she agreed, looking him straight in the eye and cocking her head, waiting for his answer. Malfoy bit his tongue to avoid voicing a rather sincere, romantic, and potentially embarrassing thought. He bit down hard.
He nodded and tried not to wince, forcing down a drink, almost draining his large mug.
"Do you go stargazing often?" she asked.
"When I can find the time," he said, inwardly cursing himself for his moment of weakness.
"What's your favorite planet?" She watched him bite his lip as his eyes moved from her to her red hair, and she felt her cheeks warm up in self-consciousness.
"Mars," he answered to her hair as though enchanted by its color. The sound of his low voice sent shivers down her spine, and Ginny felt uncomfortable, as though she was treading through a part of herself and emotions that hadn't been traveled through before. Part of her wished that he'd stop and leave her, and the other begged him to continue.
"The Roman god of anger, jealousy, and war, a coward but unbelievably brave in battle. It's fiery and attractive, forbidden and dangerous, cold but burns with a freezing fire. It's inhabitable, and yet very alluring, it's forbidden landscape becoming desirable. Bright and shining in the sky, closest to earth."
Malfoy strangely found it easy to talk sensually about and to Ginny, using her as Mars' higher meaning. He fought to keep his voice under control as he spoke to her, but the words came easily to him.
He knew the instant he saw her face that he had said the wrong thing. He was being too bold, and that might scare her, or at least her give her reason to be concerned about his intentions. He wanted her to feel she was appreciated, beautiful, and admired, earning her confidence and trust ? that she'd open up a bit more. The one thing that could ruin his plans was now the rousing of her suspicion.
Ginny wondered worriedly if he was still talking about the planet or something ? or someone ? else. She placed an elbow on the table and held her chin with her thumb and placing a knuckle under her lips, leaning down and cracking it with a loud pop. She nodded slightly, her head bobbing up and down, silently absorbing his words.
Moving his hand slowly, Malfoy reached for his shopping bag on the table and flipped it over, trying to appear nonchalant as he finished off his drink. Setting the empty mug on the table, he reached into his pocket and extracted a few galleons. Placing them on the table, he rose and pushed in his chair.
"That should be enough to cover your drink too, Weasley," he said, nodding at her with a knowing smirk on his handsome face. He turned around and walked out of the café. He was out of sight when Ginny realized that he had left without his bag. She stood up to grab it and return it to him when she noticed writing on the back as she held it in a shaking hand.
Merry Christmas, Weasley, was all it said.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please review!
Much thanks to reviewers Mynuet (thanks! I check out the Fire and Ice archive regularily, and I'll try to join when I have a spare moment to upload my fics. Great site, finally glad there's a D/G shrine that'll be updated and has a pretty big following.) Miaka Summers (thanks, I'm glad you think they're in character. I try pretty hard to make the scenes real to the reviewers), Mary, Silvia (sorry it took so long to update! Thanks!), ESP, Monique (thanks, I hope that I won't disappoint you), Hplova4eva, and Nuwanda.