A/n: thanks go to Lady-Nimoe one of my loyal reviewers :), jeeths as well, seeyahiya and dsjgs. Thank you very much for your reviews, much much appreciated.
Hope you enjoy this chapter as well.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, as usual, you know how it goes.
Chapter 13 - Blood out of a stone
Instead of struggling – which was her first natural instinct – Ginny relaxed into the person and closed her eyes.
It's the world that moves, not me…
Untouchable threads unravelled and the familiar re-winding of them took her away from the pressure around her neck. Opening her eyes she found herself only a little way from where she was and spun to meet the intruder.
Unfathomable grey orbs stared back at her curiously, taking her in and swallowing her up.
"What the hell?" came the predictable reply.
Completely ignoring the question, she turned away from him. "You shouldn't be here."
"It's not really like I had a choice was it?" he bit back, the familiar defence mechanism of shortness kicking in. "Want to clear stuff up for me? Like How I got here, why I'm here and where in fact here is?"
"Resumbria," Ginny snapped, her patience thinning as her anxiety grew. The unseen watchers were back, and their eyes burnt into her back with malice. "Look you shouldn't be here, it's too dangerous."
Draco bristled at the implication that he was incapable of facing anything that she could. "Then why are you here?" he shot back.
Her laugh tinkled through the air, and for a brief, fleeting second he felt a tiny tremor of fear snake through him. Sometimes the youngest Weasley could be a little terrifying. "I'm here because this is mine. My world, my haven, my rules." She looked directly at him then.
So this is the Ginny she hides inside, this is what she doesn't let the world see. And what a sight it was, the tiny wisp of a girl in front of him practically crackled with energy and confidence, it was stunning and intimidating, beautiful and humbling. It took Draco back to that fateful train journey where he learnt there was more to life than him, there were other people who could take his life by storm.
Draco could feel the link they shared more strongly than ever in this 'world'. What had she called it? Resumbria. He had a feeling of belonging but at the same time an unshakeable extraneous air. It was obviously her world though, the vividness, the colour, all of it was a part of her personality that he had only managed to glimpse once. And god, did he want to see it again.
"Look," she started calmly, but her voice wavered almost inaudibly, giving away to Draco the nervousness. Whether at his presence or at something in the world around them he didn't know. "If you must know I am a Sleepsoarer, meaning I can manipulate my dreams. And suck people in. Such as you." She paused, as though thinking what to say next, Ginny studied him sternly. "Here is different to the 'real' world, it's built on conceptions. But you can still hurt. You can still die."
Draco imagined he looked pretty stupid, what with his mouth hanging open and all. And Malfoys didn't do stupid. Shaking himself back to reality, or well, wherever this place was he replied, "Out of all the people's dreams to get stuck in, I had to fall into yours didn't I?"
Instantly the Slytherin regretted the harsh rhetorical question because Ginny turned sharply away from him, refusing to meet his eyes. She has to know there's no chance for us, she has to know it can never happen, his mind chanted, but his heart still hurt beneath the thinned layers of ice.
"Just thought you should know," she muttered, turning away. She walked a little distance, and from this angle her body came into sharp focus for him. Either this dream world accentuated stuff like that or there was a lot of little Ginny Weasley that was hid very well within her loose school robes. Not big-busted by any stretch of the imagination, her figure was still neat and delicate, the curves feminine and not sharply angular in the same way as her brothers. She had a hint of cat-like grace in her walk that Draco concluded was probably hidden by nervousness at school. Suddenly he found himself staring into brown spheres, framed with a dark green; the power was back, perceptibly around his 'being'.
"Now," said the little girl, snapping her fingers. "The third time I snap my fingers you will be gone." A smirk that Draco recognised as quite reminiscent of his own danced around her mouth, she snapped her fingers again. "See you at school," she whispered. The Slytherin wasn't sure whether she licked her lips absently, or on purpose to bring his attention to them, but either way he was filled with a strong desire to kiss her stupid. We could never be together…
Ginny's fingers snapped for the last time. The familiar grey stone ceiling of his green themed bedroom stared back at him as though defying the dream he just had.
He still wanted to kiss her again.
# # #
Lydia's blonde hair stood out sharply against the background, she was easy to track through the air. In fact, with Persephone's black locks and Ginny's fiery ones, the chasers were all easy to spot, which made their tactics seamlessly elegant.
As the wind whipped her hair, Ginny dived and dodged, feeling the freedom of flight course through her blood and pump in her veins. This sensation was irreplaceable, much like falling in love was. At the moment it felt as though both were happening at once to her.
A bludger skimmed her left leg, jerking her back to reality. If she kept thinking about the dream visit she'd be unbroomed.
"Sorry about that!" called Seamus from high above her, genially glancing the bludger towards one of the Hufflepuff players. Ginny waved her arm, showing it didn't matter, before tearing after Persephone who had just managed to intercept the quaffle from a dark blonde Hufflepuff.
The Hufflepuffs were surprisingly good at defensive moves, considerably better than they were at attacking. They formed a blockade in front of Perse, meaning that she'd either have to pass and risk having the quaffle seized or she'd have to double back on herself. In a moment of genius Ginny zoomed beneath her, barely signalling for the quaffle, but Perse knew her well enough to drop it sharply and fluently to the redhead.
In this way Ginny successfully made it passed the chaser blockade but the goalkeeper immediately closed in, disallowing Ginny at any opening for the three goal hoops. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a familiar gold-blonde and took a leap of faith by shooting the quaffle straight to it. Lydia caught the ball with ease and with an empty goal she easily scored.
The Gryffindors erupted, making as much noise as was physically possible. Ginny passed a grin at her fellow chasers; they were winning thirty to nothing thanks to the speed and quick thinking of whole team. Now all Harry had to do was catch the snitch and they'd be set.
# # #
Ron and Hermione were bickering as usual.
"Look Hermione, just watch the match and stop worrying about the colour scheme for the ball, whether or not the Headprat will finish the paper in time or what McGonagall will say when she sees your plans for the Christmas feast," exclaimed Ron, fully aware that he was asking for the near impossible.
"He is not the Headprat," blustered the brunette in what would have been scolding, had her eyes not been sparkling with mirth.
"Whatever," muttered Ron, watching the quidditch game with perhaps too much attention.
Trying as he might he couldn't ignore the fidgeting of the girl – no, young woman – next to him. If she didn't stop soon he'd have to hold her still. The thought of this sent illicit shivers down his spine.
It was crazy really, after nearly seven years of friendship his best friend was still the one. He trusted her, loved her and by god was she one of the most beautiful people he'd ever met. Would ever meet.
Hermione was the one person, besides Harry of course, who would step up and tell him what she thought, when he was wrong (which was quite a lot of the time according to her) and what was right. A pity then, he reflected, that I can't step up and tell her exactly what I think of her.
He was scared, no, terrified, that she would run for the hills. The last thing he ever wanted was for her to push him away. He wouldn't be able to survive, part of him lived and breathed just for her. Ron was more certain now than he'd ever been that she was his missing part, the other half to him, but although he was proud to say he knew her inside out, he just couldn't tell what she felt for him. Whether it was just friendship or something more. He prayed for the latter.
He cast a momentary glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She was watching the match studiously, just as meticulously as she reads those books of hers. He smiled at the memories he had of her – and there were a fair few! Their relationship had progressed from first year when she had been so keen to prove herself, so eager to show the world what she was capable of, to now. Seven years later she had not only shown the world but she had sent ripples through the wizarding community.
A green stripe in Charms at sixteen, a purple in Potions at seventeen, and of course the brown in Transfiguration. She had shattered the mould the muggle-borns were always put in, and he couldn't be prouder of her if he tried.
What, then, said a little voice in his head, would someone of her intellect see in an oaf like you? What could you ever offer her?
This was the depressing buffer that his train of thought usually ended on, leaving him pessimistic and less prepared to tell her how he felt than ever.
"Ron!" the object of his thoughts cried loudly in his ear, shooting to standing. "Harry, look!"
Ron rose to stand beside her watching Harry anxiously. He was in a vertical dive, heading straight for the ground.
# # #
Persephone meandered along the third floor corridor. From this side of the castle there was a clear view of the lake and surrounding trees, it was quite a spectacular view. A ring of frost bordered the glass, making the scene look like something out of a postcard.
Perse stopped to admire the setting. She was meant to be meeting James Radrow in less than ten minutes, but she was early as it was and near her destination. She felt, rather than saw, him rest against the window ledge next to her.
Looking up into impenetrable dark eyes she inwardly sighed.
"Well done in the match," Blaise started, opting to turn away from her burning blue eyes and stare unseeingly at the Hogwarts grounds.
"Thanks," replied Persephone offhandedly.
Her mind was going a thousand miles an hour. What was he doing here? Why did he always pick her out? There were throngs of girls hanging on his look, his every word, why must he always be drawn to her.
Although she didn't make a habit of listening to the cheap gossip of fellow sixth years it was difficult to miss the obvious favourites among the girls. She even agreed with some of them.
Harry Potter, of course, was a number one, then Draco Malfoy in all his cold glory; Terry boot was also sought after as attractive. There must be something about the head boy power that attracts girls, Persephone thought to herself.
Blaise Zabini and Ron Weasley were on about the same even footing. Blaise because of his dark looks and darker disposition, the Gryffindor individually couldn't see what was so exciting about that but apparently everyone else could. Ron Weasley was renowned, on the other hand, for a complete opposite reason. He was known as being soft, gentle and friendly. The type of guy who could be taken home to meet parents without worry. Perse agreed whole-heartedly with this but knew if she so much as voiced it to Ginny, her friend would go mad.
She threw a quick look at the tall Slytherin before promptly deciding that she needed to meet James. She should stay away from the Slytherins anyway. They were always bad news.
She turned to step around him and walk away but found that he stayed with her.
"Why won't you talk to me? What have I done to deserve this coldness?" he asked, sounding disgustingly plaintive, even to himself.
"Ha," snorted the black-haired Gryffindor, "and you being the master of coldness."
Blaise chose to ignore this comment. "In all technicalities I should be the one who is pissed-off with you. After all I was the one on my back in front of the rest of the year."
"You pounced on me in the first place," retorted Persephone, defensively. Silence descended between them until Blaise moved around to block her increasingly fast walk. "Out of my way Zabini," she hissed trying to move around his broad figure. He mirrored her steps, making it impossible. She finally gave up, "What do you want?"
The answer was not one she had wanted.
# # #
Ginny sat comfortably in the corner of the library on her own. She was meant to be finishing her Divination homework, but she thought she'd wait until Persephone got back from meeting with Ravenclaw James (she'd never found out his last name, so he had been christened Ravenclaw James) because divination was her best subject and she'd be able to help.
Well to be honest she'd actually given up on her homework a while ago, instead bringing out her clues for her date to the ball so far.
'Hear the sound like missing and confuse the sneak,
From the ashes on the first month and the second week,
Reminds you of fire, his second name too,'
After a few seconds of complete confusion, she decided to start on the first line and work downwards as that would make the most sense.
A sound like missing… Ginny had no idea what that meant. But 'confuse the sneak' could mean like an anagram or something. An anagram of sneak? Maybe…
Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of silver blonde hair and all thoughts were immediately driven from her mind. Her heart skipped a couple of beats until she realised that it was simply the way the light from the high windows reflected off another student's hair. Their hair was actually dark blonde, not the woven silky platinum of Draco's.
I should not be thinking about his hair.
But it was too late, the first seeds of Draco-thought had been sown and her mind naturally turned to consider him. Ginny remembered clearly how Harry used to make her feel, when she was near him; the familiar chest constriction, dry mouth, shaking hands and when she wasn't with him, she wondered what he was doing. Whether he ever thought of her.
That all-consuming crush was different to what was slowly kindling within her for the Slytherin prince himself. I can sure pick 'em can't I?
Of course there was the familiar awareness of the link that told her where he was and sometimes she could pick up when he was feeling strongly, thankfully though the strange channelling thing that had gone on for a while had ebbed away. But there was also something else.
No matter how much she tried to deny it, Ginny could feel her insides light up when she saw him and the nervous apprehension before she knew she'd be near him. She had tried to suppress her feelings, but once she acknowledged them they only became stronger. Draco didn't make it easy for her though; he was mean, arrogant, egotistical… why do I like him again?
Because he can also be protective, self-sacrificial and there has to be more to him than what he shows on the surface.
He was like a puzzle that she couldn't crack, but would keep trying anyway because theoretically it would all be worth the effort.
The similarity between this beginning of a new feeling (she wouldn't let herself say crush) and what she used to harbour for Harry was that she often wondered how Draco saw her. If he ever saw her properly, or whether he was just like every other person, save Persephone, who simply assumed that there was nothing more to quiet little Ginny Weasley than what was on the outside.
She growled in frustration, wondering where Perse was when she wanted to rant. Maybe she'd run away and become a nun, that would solve her problems.
Ginny wrinkled her freckled nose in scepticism, like that would ever happen.
# # #
It had been accident, he knew it had been, but he couldn't stop himself. He just wanted to lose himself entirely in her body, in her luxurious hair, in her soft inviting lips, and make the whole world disappear until there was just the two of them.
He knew that it shouldn't be happening, but his heart didn't give a toss. A deep buried part of him was slowly awakening, warming, stretching and flexing its muscles to fight for the smoulder, to fan the flames.
He felt her waist beneath his fingertips, sliding down to her hips, deepening the kiss. She reacted in like, leaning into him, moulding to his frame, suffocating the air between them. A deep-rooted groan worked its way up his throat to echo around the private bubble they'd created, a sound of subservience signifying her effect on him. Never in his life had he dreamed of showing vulnerability to someone, but she didn't take advantage, instead bearing herself to him in return.
Not being shot down in flames. One little girl was proving everything his parents had drilled into him as wrong.
Such thoughts were expelled from his brain as easily as air when her hands began to draw tiny circles on his neck, making his knees go weak and tremble. In answer he increased the pressure on her lips, exploring her mouth gently, taking all of her in.
Gradually the passion began to take over from the caution. He pulled her closer than seemed humanly possible, pressing her back against the wall. His hands travelled with a mind of their own down from her hips lower down her thighs, his mouth simultaneously ducking beneath her chin to lavish her neck, gently at first, seeking her pulse point.
Still, the passion built, against him he felt her wriggle in protest against where his hands were going. From there it was downhill. Apparently this small movement of protest jerked her back to where she was and whom she was kissing.
He found himself pushed sharply away, letting her dart away from him, a now-'safe' distance between them. He felt the loss of her instantly.
The firelight danced in her eyes, he saw terror, wonder and betrayal fighting for victory. There was a moment of silence when what just happened began to sink into them, the meaning and the consequences.
With a flash of crystal blue eyes she turned on her heel and ran away, leaving him to wonder where it had gone wrong.