(Only posting this once, so pay attention!) Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the original characters. I'm not making money off this thing, and don't believe I could. So no worries. The plot, and anything you don't recognize in this thing are mine. Unless there's something of JKR's in here that you don't remember. Or something.
Full summary: While home for the summer of her sixth year, Ginny Weasley is having the best few weeks of her life. But, unfortunately, it doesn't last long. Draco Malfoy unexpectedly comes into her life again, now harboring a dark secret. She's forced to take him into her home, but how long will she be able to keep it a secret?
'Ships: DM/GW (what else?), and just a little bit of HP/GW. Possibly some RW/HG along the way, too.
Author's Note: This is the D/G story that I've really been working on, and it is MUCH better than the first one I posted. So, if you didn't like the other, at least give this one a chance.
Chapter One: Teenage Crushes and a Murder
Dark clouds, heavy with rain, rumbled threateningly above. And yet the sound never reached the boy's ears. His mind was already filled with a deafening roar that wouldn't cease, hadn't ceased since he'd escaped Malfoy Manor hours ago.
He didn't bother shielding himself from the branches and vines that lashed out at him as he hurdled through the forest, his face was already a mask of cuts, scratches, and bruises from his journey. He barely flinched as a thick branch, seemingly out of nowhere, smashed into his nose. An arched tree root hooked his foot. He didn't realize what had happened until he found himself sprawled in a deep, muddy puddle. Thrusting his arms beneath him, he lifted himself up nimbly, before continuing his aimless trek.
He was barely aware of his surroundings. Not at all aware of the long, slender blade still clenched tightly in his cold fist. He unconsciously held the blade out of striking distance of himself during his reckless gait.
His whole being ached from his journey. Open cuts and scratches stung madly on his face and the bare skin of his arms. The stitch in his side only seemed to grow in pain, never lessen. His chest heaved painfully with every step, and every known muscle in his body screamed in agony.
Lightening danced joyfully across the raven sky, snapping at the darkness briefly before vanishing once more, inky blackness reigning in its wake. Still the loud claps of thunder gained no response from Draco, the only thing overthrowing the constant roar were the few things his father-Lucius had told him before he left.
"What've you done now, boy?" The voice was cold, revealing nothing other than seething hatred for Draco. No grief. No worry. No pain.
Hate.
At last the clouds began to unload themselves. Thick, lazy drops of water slowly began drizzling over the forest. An icy drop splashed across Draco's forehead. He didn't feel it.
Finally, the pain weighing him down was too much. He collapsed just inside a wide clearing, knife flung a few feet away. His mind raced, spinning and twirling in a sickeningly fast motion. He clutched desperately at the ground, hands digging into the thick grass, trying to steady the spinning world.
The thin sheets of rain soon grew thick, soaking the world beneath quickly. The rain intensified greatly, cold blankets of wetness blinding. Draco's body shook violently beneath the frigid water. But soon the spinning feeling in his mind lessened, and his hands slowly released their grip on the earth.
Lucius' image swam below his eyelids, cold voice ringing in his ears. And then he was unconscious.
--
The young girl, fat covers tightly wound around her curled form, sat contentedly on the large sofa near the window in the living room. She gasped quietly as a thick bolt of lightening spider webbed across the sky through the water-streaked pane. She loved to watch the rain, but hated being upstairs during a storm.
Chocolate eyes gazed over the drawn blankets, out into the twilight. Cracking thunder rung through the Burrow as lightening lit up the area just beyond the window. She gave a sharp yelp as someone tapped her shoulder.
Turning around as best she could through the weight of the blankets surrounding her, she met the emerald gaze of Harry Potter.
"Gin'?" He questioned slowly, removing his crooked glasses to give them a good cleaning.
"Harry?" Ginny spoke blankly, brows slowly knitting together, "What're you doing down here?"
"Fell 'sleep. 'Bout you?" Harry mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
Now Harry had mentioned it, Ginny did recall hearing the boys conversing late into the night down here. She hadn't counted on one of them falling asleep.
"Oh, I was just watching the storm. I don't like being upstairs, so near the lightening."
Harry chuckled slightly, replacing his glasses.
"I didn't mean to bother you," Ginny murmured softly.
Harry smiled, Ginny's heart skipped a beat, "You never bother me."
Ginny could feel the flaming blush spread over her cheeks. Pretending not to notice, Harry rubbed an eye beneath his glasses, "I'll see you tomorrow, Gin."
"I'll be here. Goodnight, Harry."
Harry mumbled a goodnight and shuffled off to the staircase.
Sinking deeper into the blankets, Ginny returned her gaze to the storm outside.
--
A scream ripped through the manor, strangled and chilling. Draco snapped to attention immediately, gaze darting around rapidly. He was in his dining room. Hadn't he just been upstairs, in his room? He felt as if he'd just awoke from a deep sleep. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind and remember what he had just been doing. He felt a dull ache begin to creep slowly up his neck and rest just beneath his skull.
He was aware of the cold stone beneath his bare feet, and aware of a warm liquid covering his face and arms, aware of a cool metal clutched in his hand. Drawing his hand up to his face he opened his eyes.
A knife. His knife. The blade was stained crimson. He blinked several times. The same crimson he was covered in. He nearly leapt back as a warm pool brushed his toes. Taking a step backwards he looked down, knife lowered to his side.
A puddle of scarlet life was slowly stretching outward from the crumpled form in the center. Icy terror flooded his veins as his gaze met Narcissa's. She stared up at him, unblinking and unmoving. Her expression was not one of shock, or terror. Betrayal and sadness.
His knees nearly caved, just before Lucius Malfoy stepped into the room. At the sight of his father he straightened instinctively, jaw clenching.
"What've you done now, boy?" It may have been the shocked state Draco was in, but he could see no sign of pain or grief in Lucius' eyes. More than anything, he felt that Lucius was laughing at him.
A thin streak slipped down Draco's left cheek unbid. And then he ran. He ran for all that he was worth. Away from Lucius and his home. And his mother.
He had no means of travel, no protection other than the wand in his back pocket and the knife he unknowingly brought along. And he had no where to go. No plans. And in Draco's state, he didn't care. Couldn't, really.
Lucius had undoubtedly contacted the wizarding authorities by now, and he knew without thinking it that he had to get away.
And all that filled his mind were the last words Lucius spoke to him, his father's laughing eyes, and the scream that he may or may not have imagined before he "awoke" in the dining room.
--
Harry Potter's voice drifted through Ginny's mind. She couldn't quite make out what he was saying, but she could see his face clearly.
Strikingly green eyes against a pale visage, full lips stretched in a wide smile, and thick eyebrows raised in amusement.
Something was missing. His scar! Ginny focused on his forehead, trying to imagine where his scar had gone. Where once lay a still, lightening shaped scar, now thin bolts of live lightening slithered and stretched across his forehead rapidly, before disappearing again under his dark locks.
Ginny blinked several times, then focused once again on the boy's forehead.
"Peculiar," Ginny thought.
Harry's mouth was moving to unintelligible words, but suddenly one sentence stood out among the jargon.
What's peculiar, Gin'?
Ginny blushed. She hadn't realized Harry was listening in on her thoughts.
She could hear heavy footsteps. Looking up, she saw Harry moving towards her. She craned her neck slightly as he stepped up to her, his mouth moving once again to an empty conversation. Then he leaned over slowly and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. She closed her eyes briefly as a flaming blush quickly spread over her face. But suddenly, her mind seemed to focus on the unintelligible conversation Harry had been holding with himself, and it was now very clear what he was saying. He was talking about Quidditch. But why?
When she opened her eyes to try to figure out what was going on, it suddenly hit her. It had been a dream. The cheerful face of her mother loomed just above her, smiling kindly at her daughter. The world of smoky whiteness she had just inhabited was now replaced with the ever familiar scene of the Burrow's living room at midmorning. Harry and Ron were sitting on the rug a few feet away, conversing amiably about Quidditch.
"Mornin' luv!" Molly Weasley grinned cheekily at her youngest offspring. Ginny could feel the not-so-imaginary blush resting on her face from when she had been dreaming. Her face grew hotter, now.
"In the mood for some breakfast, then?" Molly straightened herself, smoothing the lines out of her apron and nodding toward the kitchen.
That question prompted Ginny's realization of the delicious smells wafting through the room, tempting and teasing her senses. She nodded quickly, her dream pushed away momentarily by the prospect of a happy and fed stomach. Her mother smiled, and turned back to the kitchen to prepare a plate as Ginny struggled to free herself from the tangled confines of her blanket. Too busy waging war with her covers, she didn't realize she was leaning slightly over the edge of the sofa, and with another tug at her binds she toppled over the side and landed in a heap of limbs and tangled fabric onto the hard wood floor of the Burrow.
Ron guffawed loudly, while Harry tried unsuccessfully to smother his giggles behind his hands. Ginny finally threw off her captor, now looking rather ruffled, and with an indignant "humph" strode quickly into the kitchen.
Molly Weasley was scooping strips of bacon onto a plate sitting on the table, already laden with scrambled eggs and toast. Ginny dropped into the chair pulled out for her (the only one without a dirty plate in front of it) and waited as her mother poured her a glass of juice. Molly moved away from the table with the intention of putting the feather duster and mop to work, as Ginny took a quick drink of juice.
Ginny was clothed in a shirt a few sizes too large for her, with a logo of the Chudley Cannons printed over the front. The shirt had once belonged to Ron but, to his dismay, he grew out of it. She also wore deep blue cloth pants, with yellow moons and stars on them, that went just past her knees, and a pair of thick socks.
Her striking red hair hung in tangles about her face, neck, and just past her shoulders. She ran a hand through it to try and sort out the disarray, but it caught on a tangle almost immediately. Grumbling, she removed her hand from the tangles and picked up the fork sat in front of her.
She shoveled food into her mouth as she watched her mother humming a tune to something or another while flying the dirty dishes sitting on the table into the sink. Ginny picked up her feet, pulling her legs under herself in Indian style as the mop splashed it's way under the table. She growled, fork stuck in mouth, as the feather duster paused from it's duty cleaning off the cabinets to dust Ginny's freckled nose.
"My face isn't dirty! Those are just freckles!" Ginny grumbled through a mouthful of eggs. At that moment Harry walked through the entrance of the kitchen, looked to Ginny as she spoke, and chuckled. Ginny, trying to swat the feather duster away, ignored him.
"That's the problem with these ruddy things," Ginny began, the feather duster finally taking the hint and returning to the cupboards, "they make my face look filthy."
Molly clicked her tongue at her daughter as she gathered some miniature shovels, gloves, and an assortment of other small gardening tools from a cabinet below the sink. She then donned a rather large, hot pink sunhat before heading out the kitchen door and into the Burrow's backyard. Harry grinned at Molly's retreating form, then turned to the table.
"I don't think they're ruddy, nor do they make your face look filthy." Harry stated easily, picking up a half full orange juice glass from the table before continuing, "Quite on the contrary, I've always had a soft spot for freckles." He took a swig of juice, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "Must be why I hang around so many Weasleys."
Ginny's eyes were wide, she knew, but she couldn't quite wipe the look of astonishment off of her face. Harry turned to her one last time, shot her a wicked grin, and ambled out of the room.
--
Ginny sat, content, in the single armchair that occupied her room. The chair was lumpy, and some of its seams were split, with stuffing spilling out, and it was a horrible color of greenish brown… but Ginny liked the chair, despite all of its flaws. It was actually quite comfortable, and even seemed to warm her up when she was cold.
The chair kind of reminded her of herself, she admitted with a giggle.
"Lumpy and warm," She chuckled aloud at the absurdity. That, of course, was not at all why she considered the chair akin to her. She couldn't quite explain it, even to herself, but nevertheless she still felt attached to it.
Perhaps her sudden weird thoughts were coaxed into existence by the fact that she was truly very content at the moment, which could be somewhat of a rarity for Ginevra M. Weasley.
Maybe the cause of her sudden bout of happiness was the thought of returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, her home away from home, in a short amount of time. Or maybe the promise of Hogsmeade visitations. Or that she would be seeing her closest and dearest friend upon her return to Hogwarts.
Or maybe it was that Harry Potter, he whom Ginny was fascinated by before she knew that he was The Boy Who Lived, seemed to show at least some form of interest in her now. It was at least better than him treating her like his kid sister, and by far better than him and the rest of the golden trio ignoring her completely.
And it was all of this that had spurred her to begin writing again. She liked to write. She mainly wrote in her small journal, now propped open in her lap at a fresh, empty page. She had been neglecting her journal for a few months now, having nothing inspiring enough happen to her to get her creative juices flowing.
And sometimes, when she was especially inspired, or when she was just in the mood… she would write short stories. And she even had a (albeit very small) book in which she wrote an occasional poem.
So, there she sat, in her lumpy chair, with a small, beaten up journal in her lap, a quill between her teeth and an open bottle of ink resting on the arm of her chair.
And she wrote.
She wrote about how she was feeling, and how Harry had been treating her, and how Ron still tried desperately to ignore her while his best friend seemed suddenly compelled to include her in their activities.
She wrote about her friend, Abigail Thistle, and how dearly she missed her. She wrote about Hogsmeade, and all the wonderful sounds and smells therein. She wrote about the changing leaves outside her window, now a nice shade of auburn, and how, just a week ago, Harry Potter had commented leisurely that they reminded him of her hair.
And that she had had to race inside the Burrow to keep him from seeing the deep crimson her face, neck, and ears had gone after that statement had clicked inside her brain, and she had realized exactly what he'd said.
Of course, Ron had not been within earshot when Harry mentioned this. Ginny was thankful of that.
She'd wrote nearly five full pages and had the motivation to carry on like that for pages still. That is, until a knock broke the silence of her room.
Her fingers snapped the book closed deftly as Harry Potter's head peeked into the room. She turned a look of curiosity toward him and he smiled.
"Mind if I come in for a second?" he pushed the door open more, not at all expecting her to deny his request. She gestured inward with her hand, and he proceeded to fully enter the room.
Ginny stuffed the book into the crack of the chair and straightened up, turning her body towards him. "Me and Ron-" Harry began, and Ginny could hear a small "humph" come from the hallway, "were just wondering," Harry pushed on, glaring at the doorway, "if you'd like to come and play a little bit of Quidditch with us." he ended brightly, pulling out his Firebolt from behind his back.
"Hmm…" Ginny tapped her chin, seriously considering his invitation. Harry's brows furrowed. He'd obviously not expected her to have to think about that question.
"Well, I am rather busy. Writing, and all…" she mumbled quietly.
"I'll let you ride my broom." Harry smiled and wiggled his broomstick in front of her, hopefully in a tempting fashion. Ginny raised an eyebrow, tempted only to tell him how very wrong that sentence sounded, but decided against it.
"Come on, Gin." Harry urged, "It'll do you good to get a bit of sun."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ginny teased, feigning resentment.
"Well, I'm told sunlight darkens freckles, for one." Harry grinned wickedly.
Ginny's face immediately flushed, "Yes, well," she stood up, straightening, "I, ah, suppose I could join you for a bit." she tossed her quill onto her chair and quickly screwed on the inkwell's lid before dropping it near the quill.
Harry outstretched his arm toward the open door, gesturing for her to lead the way.
--
The day after the torrential rain was such a complete change that you would have never guessed what the night before had been like. There was nary a dark cloud in the sky, and the sun beamed happily down upon the soaking world beneath, warming and beginning to dry what the night's clouds had previously drenched.
Including one thin, and at the moment, frail looking body lying amongst the water laden blades of grass.
Shoulder length silver-blonde hair clung wetly to the young man's face and neck, and his clothes hung heavy around him, thick with water. Although the sun had began heating up the world around him, Draco was still shaking, even through his slumber. His dreams were fraught with horrors, and that didn't help his shivering in the least.
It was nearing noon before his nightmares had diminished, and he soon found himself lying awake. With a splitting headache, throbbing limbs, intense hunger, and a wonder about why exactly he felt so wet, and why his bare skin was flat against something very not his bed and oddly similar to grass.
His eyes slowly opened, but his vision was blurred so badly that it took several blinks before he realized exactly where he was. He was lying outside, not in his room at Malfoy Manor, but in a small meadow of deep grass. He blinked a few more times before trying to recall exactly what had happened to him.
He recalled a dream… or was it? A dream about a girl… and a frightening man. And a knife. Yes, there was definitely a knife. And red. Lots, and lots of red.
He thought a little bit more of the red, and wondered why there was so much of it. Something was nagging at the back of his brain, something besides the headache.
And then, as if being hit by a train, the full events of the evening before came crashing into him. He bolted upright immediately, but, as the pain shocked through his body, sank back to his stomach almost as fast as he'd got up. His stomach churned violently as his mind focused on the memory of his lifeless mother, dead at his hands…
He remembered it all. His father's laughing eyes, Draco himself fleeing, and the horrible pain he had endured along his aimless trek through forests and streets. Except that he couldn't remember one thing.
He couldn't remember killing his mother. Couldn't remember it at all. Or why he would possibly want to. He loved his mother dearly, and wanted to protect her from Lucius' rage. He had always begged his mother to take him away from Lucius, tried to convince her that they could live together, far away. They'd never have to worry about the horrible fear Lucius instilled in them again. But she refused him. She told Draco that she loved his father, despite the pain he put both of them through.
Draco was disgusted, and suspected that she actually worried about what they would do for money, rather than not wanting to leave Lucius. But he would stay by his mother nevertheless. He wouldn't dare leave her in Lucius' care alone.
But his efforts were useless. She was dead, and there was nothing he could do.
Despite the fact that he couldn't remember if he had killed Narcissa or not, he refused to believe that he did.
"Not even the Imperius Curse itself could make me do it," he thought firmly.
And, he thought in disgust, it was probably Lucius himself that had committed the murder.
He was heartsick, and most probably a wanted man by now. But he pushed pain, physical and mental, away from him as he lifted himself slowly to his hands and knees. He groaned, face screwed up in determination. It had to be the death of his mother weighing heavy on his mind, because he had never felt this wretched before, not even after long grueling hours of Quidditch practice with his teammates.
He sat on his knees and pushed his upper body off of his arms so that he was in a sitting position. Even if it weren't for the pain, he would still be miserable, for the clothes clinging to his body, soaked in water and mud, felt disgusting. He would give anything for a peaceful mind and a nice, warm bubble bath. And he didn't care how girly that sounded.
The pain, and fear of vomiting up his insides if he moved around too much kept him grounded. And so he sat, trying to will away the painful thoughts of his mother while also trying to focus on figuring out what the Hell he was going to do now.
--
Ginny raked her hands through her hair as she walked, bringing them to the back of her head and then looping a ponytail holder around the wad of hair she'd gathered there. Her brother Ron, and his friend Harry were a few steps ahead of her, talking about how they were to play Quidditch and what they were going to use for the balls.
"What time is it?" Ginny asked no one in particular.
"A bit after eleven." replied Ron, grabbing a couple of apples from a bowl on the kitchen cabinet.
As they headed out the kitchen door, into the backyard they passed Molly Weasley, who waved to them with a muddy glove. Harry waved back as they headed to the shed where the brooms were kept. Ron pulled open the door and handed Ginny one of the brooms, then pulled one out for himself.
"Alright, let's get started then." Ron began to lead the way into some trees surrounding the Burrow's yard.
"Wait, Gin'-" Harry grabbed the broom from Ginny's hand, an old Shooting Star that looked about ready to wither away at any given moment, "Try out my Firebolt." he thrust out the hand holding his own broom, smiling kindly. Ginny blinked, her hand still outstretched from holding the other broom. She finally shrugged and took Harry's broom instead.
"Thanks, Harry."
Ron was now a few paces ahead of Ginny and Harry, whom both jogged slowly to catch up. Ron was muttering something, but as his two comrades joined him he quieted.
"What was that, Ron?" Harry smiled at his friend beside him; Ron didn't answer. After walking straight forward through the trees for five minutes they came to the Weasley's paddock that they could use for a quick game of Quidditch.
"Alright, this might be a little difficult, and mostly pointless with so few players, but I suppose it should be fun anyhow." Ron tossed Harry two apples, then two to Ginny as well, "Since there's really no point in having a seeker to look for inanimate objects; Harry, you'll be the chaser. I'm the keeper, and Ginny's the beater. Ginny's on my team, as she'll be tossing apples at you to keep you from scoring." he nodded at Harry, who shrugged and climbed onto his broom.
"What if I toss apples at you to keep you from blocking Harry's score?" Ginny smiled innocently at Ron, who had mounted his broom and was now hovering slightly off of the ground.
"I like my way better." he said flatly, shoving roughly off the ground, yet still not managing to get very far very fast. Ginny giggled, mounting her own broom (or rather, Harry's) and kicking off after Ron.
It didn't take much to get the Firebolt going fast, but Ginny; being used to using much weaker brooms; had pushed off much rougher than needed, and soon found herself gripping onto the broom with every ounce of strength she had. Her knuckles were white, being clenched so tightly, and her legs were wrapped securely around the broom also. Her hair felt as if the ponytail holder keeping it in place was about to fall out, and her eyes watered as the once still air now beat at her. It took a moment for her mind to register what needed to be done, but finally she calmed down after the initial shock and was able to get the broom to halt.
Harry and Ron were much farther down than she, and were both looking up at her in concern. She grinned, trying to stuff down the embarrassment rising in her face and ears, and waved heartily at them. Ron shrugged, flying off to take position. Harry smiled back, though Ginny could see he was still slightly concerned.
Ginny watched as the boys began practicing, and tried to keep herself from laughing. It really was quite entertaining to watch. Being no actual hoop that they could use, and not being able to use magic outside of school, it was really quite difficult to make a fake game of Quidditch work. Ron was forced to hold his arms above his head in a circle, hands clasped together, and Harry was trying to throw apples through, while Ron tried to dodge. It wasn't quite as difficult to score as one would think, because Ron had enough trouble getting his broom to move with both hands on it. All that Harry needed was decent aim, which he seemed to have.
As the boys continued to practice, Ginny took to flying about. She had to keep fairly low (below the tree line) in case of muggles seeing her, but she was still having quite a good time. The Firebolt moved so smoothly, and swiftly, and turned at her slightest touch. Even at its age, the Firebolt was by far the best broom Ginny had ever ridden. She accelerated, dove, and just before impact with the earth jerked back up, flying straight up through the air. She then swooped over backwards, completing a full circle, then slowed the Firebolt down and finally stopped, hovering just below the tree line. She was tempted to whoop out in excitement, but controlled the urge. She grinned, looking around for the boys to see if they were ready to begin.
She suddenly froze. Her breath caught in her chest and she felt suddenly uneasy. Harry was staring at her intensely, mouth curved slightly in the ghost of a smile. She managed to conjure up a wry smile, then turned to look at her brother. Ron looked slightly exasperated, so Ginny flew down to ask when they were planning on starting the game.
"So," Ginny started, sidling up next to Ron and his broom, "we starting this thing, or what?"
"Yeah, yeah. Go on, go get ready."
"I've been ready." Ginny countered, not much liking the tone her brother was giving her.
"Just go! Go, uh, get in position!" Ron grumbled, ears reddening.
Ginny glared, but turned away from them anyway. She flew over them once again, gliding along back and forth through the clearing.
--
It had been barely five minutes since Draco had sat up, and he was now beginning to try to stand. He felt so weak at that point. Felt disgusted in himself. It wasn't that he wasn't strong, because that he most definitely was, but he could still somehow barely get himself together.
As he finally stood at his full height some minutes later, his head swam with dizziness, and he felt like something was eating at his organs. His stomach was making him particularly queasy. He was also aware that he was quite hungry, but was afraid that, even if he had some food, he would not be able to eat it. Or keep it down.
Because his leg felt like it didn't want to move, he slowly began to wiggle his foot forward, trying to coax his leg into following suit. Seconds ticked by, and nearly a full minute later his leg was finally beginning to come around. It was now at least easier to move his foot forward. He walked slowly, trying not to stumble, around in a circle for a few minutes. He again felt disgusted in himself, and also quite foolish. Having to learn how to walk again? What a joke!
He sighed deeply, continuing to move about in the meadow he had awoken in, and suddenly stopped as his foot landed on something metallic. He gingerly lifted his foot and set it just to the side of the object. Looking down, he was suddenly very thankful that his foot had only fell on the handle of the pocket knife. He bent slowly, painfully, and retrieved the knife. He looked it over carefully. No more blood.
He closed the knife and tucked it into his back pocket. He wasn't very happy about having to bring the knife along, but any extra weapons he could find were welcome. He was just about to begin walking out of the clearing when a small, red object bounced through the trees and rolled to a stop at his foot. He looked down again, this time finding an apple…
--
The game had been going on for at least 40 minutes by now, and they were having far more fun than they had previously thought. They had all taken turns as each player, but now were back to the ones they had started as. Ginny a beater, Harry chaser, and Ron keeper.
Harry had been getting progressively better at avoiding Ginny's aim, and she was usually forced to go pick up her fallen apples from the ground. But once, Ginny had lost control of her swing, and she'd thrown so hard and so wildly that the apple soared through the trees of the nearby forest. Harry grinned mockingly at her. She stuck her tongue out at him, then went down to gather her apple, which she decided she had better do before she forgot where it entered the trees at.
She let the Firebolt hover in place and dropped her remaining apple below it, then she jogged towards the trees. She knew it couldn't have got far, so she wasn't too worried. She stepped into the trees and figured it'd be easy enough to find a bright red apple through all the green and brown. She looked everywhere within a reasonable distance, but to no avail. Where could it have gotten off to?
She sighed, giving up and deciding to play with just one apple. The boys were beginning to call for her, anyway. And then she noticed it. There was a meadow, just beyond the trees she was standing in. The point in the forest where she was at was so thin between the paddock's clearing and the meadow, that the apple could have easily bounced through to the other side. She headed for the meadow, pushing vines and limbs out of her way. Finally, she leapt through the remaining trees and landed in a field of tall grass. And then, looking up, she fell backward and nearly found herself in the forest again.
Draco Malfoy's tall, lean form loomed above her. He wore, not his usual sneer, but a look of utter surprise on his face. Ginny was so shocked that she didn't even take the time to consider what he was doing there, and instead whipped out her wand and screeched the only spell that came to mind at the time.
"TARANTALLEGRA!"
--
A/N: Hmm, I wonder what will happen next?… Well, okay, I don't. Because I already know! -ahem- Anyway. Next chapter is already in progress, and shouldn't take too long to get up. I hope you liked this chapter! And if you did (or didn't), please let me know! Any tips, nitpicks, suggestions, constructive criticism welcome! But please, no senseless flames. I know it was a bit confusing because of the time difference between when Draco woke up, and when Ginny and the boys went to play Quidditch. It seemed like Draco was awakening right as they were about to go play, but that's not the case. It just seems that way because of the way I put the story together =/ Ah, well.
Dedication!: For my mommy, because she's always backed me up, and looked at all my drawings, and read my stories for me. I love you, mom! And for an author on here that I don't really know, but whose stories I really, truly cherish: Davesmom! If not for her, I would not be so in love with the Draco/Ginny 'ship. Or, at least not nearly as much as I am.