Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, I do not own any of the characters in Harry Potter; they belong to J.K. Rowling. I think I shall sob in the bathroom now.
A/N: Hello! This is my first attempt at posting a fic, so be gentle with me. R/R and enjoy!
From Beneath the Cloak
Ginny Weasley scurries along the wall of the dank Hogwarts corridor, making sure to stay a safe distance behind her subject of interest. She pulls the cloak around her close and inhales deeply the scents it carries; of adventure, of Harry. Her Harry.
It is a well-known fact about the school that the heart of the youngest of the infamous Weasley clan now belongs to Harry Potter. In all honesty, it has been a well-known fact for nearly six years. The only person it was news to, it seems, was Harry Potter himself.
They've been seeing each other for several months. But even these days, as Ginny walks down the hall to class, or to the Great Hall for meals, or along the trodden paths of Hogsmeade village, there is murmuring. Murmuring that says, "She's the one with the Boy-Who-Lived," or "Isn't that one lucky to have such a hero as her bloke?" Harry hates it. He apologizes for the buzzing and rumoring almost incessantly, looking down at the ground and running a hand through his chaotic locks of raven hair as he does so. She accepts his apologies with a squeeze of her hand, with a peck on the cheek, with a pat on the arm, but really, the fact is that she loves it. In her youth, she had only dreamed of dating a true man, a hero. The Chosen One, they call him now. The Chosen One had chosen her.
But she can distinguish when Harry is not happy, is not content, which is more and more frequently these days. He has been leaving late at night to be alone, to take walks, to get away. Her Harry is so selfless, not wanting to burden his friends with the weight that he carries upon his shoulders! She is simply certain he is off brooding somewhere in the castle, alone. The thought, frankly, breaks her heart.
This particular evening, he has left the bustling Gryffindor common room earlier than usual, before curfew, so he has not bothered to bring his cloak along. She is sure she must follow him. She will follow him wherever he goes and approach him quietly, not wanting to startle him. He will tell her not to worry, her dear Harry, to go back to the common room and play chess with Ron. She won't say a word; instead she will embrace him, hold him, until he feels better. Her poor hero hasn't received many hugs growing up. He clearly needs them now, she thinks with resolve.
She has taken the cloak from his trunk and slipped out of the portrait hole without missing a beat, a mere ten feet behind him. How much she wants to hold her dear hero now, but no, not yet. The time would come.
She continues to follow him as he reaches a part of the castle she has never traveled through before, a particular wing off of the third floor corridor that appears to have been unused for several decades. She sees desks with an inch-thick coating of dust inside abandoned classrooms, spiders dangling precariously from the beams overhead. She gives a visible shiver, wrapping the silky material of the cloak around her person tighter.
Finally, he reaches the room the farthest down the corridor, and she tries her best to regain her breath without making a sound. They have walked a good twenty minutes. It seems a strange place to go for privacy…surely there is somewhere else that is more convenient?
Harry cautiously looks around, and swings the large oak door open. Ginny moves closer so she can get inside, and has a look around once the door clicks shut behind him. The room is quite a bit nicer than the other rooms in this wing. The walls are a deep forest green, as is the carpeting. Large tables and desks of a dark cherry wood are scattered about the room, so old they are practically groaning on their legs. It appears as if it used to be a study of some kind. There is a large wood-burning fireplace much like the one in Gryffindor tower, and in the center of the room is an oversized leather couch.
And sitting on that couch is none other than Draco Malfoy.
The instant she catches sight of him, Ginny feels her stomach clench. The younger Malfoy has always had that effect on her. There is something about the icy grey of his eyes, the sharpness of his aristocratic features that makes her feel small. He has always made fun of her family; he has always picked fights with Harry. Her hero had been quick to jump to defend her honor on so many occasions! But that is Harry, a boy wonder. Her boy wonder. But why is Harry coming to a place that has anything to do with Draco Malfoy? A fight? A duel perhaps?
All notions of fisticuffs or sparring against each other are done away with when Malfoy says, "Potter." It is a greeting of sorts, if not a little cold. But it certainly isn't the malicious sneer that Malfoy addresses Harry with at all other times.
Harry runs a hand through his hair, one of his many habits he declares he wishes to break, and says "Malfoy." It is a reply in kind; it is by no means angry or agitated. It is, Ginny thought, completely neutral. Whatever it is, it is certainly strange.
Harry casually trudges over to the couch and collapses on the other end of it with an exhausted sigh, Malfoy's sharp eyes following him all the way. Harry's face is buried in the thick cushions, breathing deeply, calmingly. After a while he looks up at Malfoy and says, "I'm sorry it's so early; Ron and Hermione want to study later and I couldn't find a way to get out of it." A small smirk graces Malfoy's pointed features.
"Think nothing of it, Potter," he drawls. "I'm sure you could use the help." Ginny feels a hot rush of rage travel to her face. Harry won't take that kind of treatment, she thinks, smirking a bit herself. Harry has always been able to defend himself and those around him. But instead, Harry gives a small chuckle.
"I'm sure I could," he says, bringing himself to a more upright position against the arm of the couch, facing Malfoy. "Merlin knows I won't be able to make a passing mark in Potions at this rate." Malfoy scoffs and rolls his eyes, looking down to check his immaculate fingernails.
"That is no fault of mine, feckless Potter. I made a prodigious attempt to ease your ever-growing ignorance when it comes to Potions, but I suppose it was just too much information for your feeble mind to swallow." Ginny frowns, her brows furrowing with intense dislike. This is nothing new coming from him…that utter git.
Harry laughs a bit more and throws up his hands.
"Alright, alright," he concedes. "I admit I'm shite at the subject. We both know that all too well." Ginny's frown deepens. Did Harry just curse? Her Harry, who she has never heard utter an obscenity in her life? "Plus, it's not like I can do my best work with Snape the Bastard snooping around."
Malfoy shrugs.
"I would be on your ass too, Potter, if I had you as a student," he says, sounding bored. Harry seems fully animated, however, as he speaks.
"Yes, and then you would ensure that I was always paired with Neville, so between the two of us, we would always have failing marks." Malfoy smirks.
"But of course. Just so I could get on your ass further and annoy the living hell out of you." Harry snickers.
"I think I'd enjoy that," he says a bit quieter. Malfoy's smirk is gone and an expression of indignation replaces it.
"The hell you would, Potter! You'd be living in fear of my mighty wrath," he says, sounding somewhere in between joking and full-on righteous anger. "You'd be at my feet, screaming 'Oh Professor Malfoy, anything but the stocks! Be merciful!'" He ends with a falsetto shriek.
Harry is laughing again. Ginny's frown deepens.
"Be that as it may…" says Harry, regaining his breath. "…I'd still enjoy it." The last part is so soft that it's barely audible. But Ginny hears it.
She always hears.
Malfoy's face is inscrutable when he sighs and says, "Yes, Potter, so would I."
There is a brief silence, after which the two return to discussing trivial, unimportant topics. Classes, Quidditch, the weather. It is the nonchalant banter of old friends, and this puzzles and worries Ginny more than she can admit. She doesn't want her hero having anything to do with such an ill-tempered bastard, one that has made it his life's aim to annoy Harry and his friends until his dying day. It does not appear at all like that though, as the two lounge casually on the large couch, a fire crackling adjacent to them, Harry's foot nearly brushing Malfoy's leg. Like they've been doing this for a long time.
How long?
It nears half past nine when Harry sighs heavily and says, "I should probably go," with considerable disappointment in his voice.
Ginny is close enough to catch the equally disappointed expression that passes Malfoy's face for a brief second.
"Yes, you probably should," he says, as they both stand. Malfoy stretches his almost catlike limbs gracefully. "Wouldn't dream of keeping your fan club waiting."
Ginny expects Harry to come back with an icy retort, as always, but he just smiles. She is not disillusioned enough to miss the rather affectionate look in his eye. A very similar look to the one he gives Ron and Hermione when they bicker, or, Ginny thinks in horror, a similar look to the one he gives her.
Her whirlwind of thoughts comes to a screeching halt as Malfoy slowly brings a lazy hand to Harry's shoulder, resting it there. A friendly gesture, she thinks, and her breath catches in her throat.
"Good night, Potter," he says a bit softly, pulling his hand away. Harry looks down, almost blushing, Ginny thinks in revulsion. He looks Malfoy in the eye from beneath hooded lashes.
"Good night, Malfoy." And with that, Harry heads towards the door, where Ginny is still standing, utter shock and incredulity coursing through her veins. She quickly moves out of his way and slips out the door as he does. She cannot follow immediately, though. She leans against the wall, her mind reeling with the events of the past hour.
This is where her Harry has been going all these nights? To sit around and chat idly with Malfoy, of all people? Why isn't he coming to her? She can help…she's always been able to help. But she realizes with vague dismay that Harry has not smiled at her, like he once did, for weeks now. She had thought he was troubled by the Dark Lord, schoolwork, anything. But he smiled at Malfoy. And laughed with him.
Ginny has not seen Harry laugh since the start of term.
The next night, Ginny follows Harry again.
This night she dares to move closer to the two boys, sitting on a bench a few feet away from them. The spacious cloak covers her small form easily; she is not worried about being seen. She takes her knees and draws them up beneath her chin and watches.
Harry is there first this time. A few minutes later, Malfoy stomps in, looking significantly ruffled with a disgruntled look on his face. Harry is immediately at full attention.
"What happened?" he asks, traces of amusement detectable in his voice. Malfoy gives Harry a death glare and brushes down his front with his hands.
"For your information, Potter, a fine female specimen was attempting to thoroughly debauch me on the way out of the common room." Harry narrows his eyes a bit in suspicion.
"Who?"
Malfoy scowls, and then sighs resignedly.
"Pansy." Harry barks out a laugh.
"'Fine female specimen,' Malfoy?" Malfoy scowls deeper.
"Yes, alright, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration," he says. Harry continues to snicker. "I'll have you know, Potter, that I have gaggles of fine women after me around the clock."
"Uh-huh."
"That's right, Potter, gaggles!" Malfoy says with much conviction. Harry grins.
"If Pansy is so intent on taking you, I can only imagine what other fine samples of female lust are on your tail," he says sarcastically. Malfoy continues to sneer, but Ginny notices his eyes contain more mirth than she's ever seen in them.
"Damn right." Malfoy plays with his tie a bit and frowns, clearly unhappy with the destruction Pansy caused to the perfect knot. "Speaking of which, Potter, how are things with the junior Weaselette?"
Ginny sucks in a sharp breath of air at his words. She knows it's wrong, what she's doing. But she cannot bring herself to leave it.
To her utmost horror, a look of pain crosses Harry's face. She feels herself shaking.
"I…she…well, I guess…not so great," Harry says quietly, not looking at Malfoy. "I just don't think that she…well…damn, I don't know." He rests his head on one arm that is balancing on his thigh. Malfoy continues looks at him intently, unwavering. "Sometimes I don't think she sees past…you know…the whole thing." Harry gives a large motion with his free hand. Ginny sits on in confusion, but Malfoy nods knowingly.
"I know what you're talking about," he says. Harry exhales with a bit of relief.
"Most people can't," Harry says faintly. "See past it, I mean."
Malfoy just nods.
There is a long pause. Harry unconsciously moves his hand from beneath his chin and rests it lightly on the couch between them.
Malfoy notices and momentarily stiffens, but Ginny can make out a contemplative look on his face. Finally, Malfoy, a little unsteadily, places his hand on top of Harry's. Ginny puts a palm to her mouth to keep in a loud gasp.
Harry does not flinch or move away, and Malfoy does not make an attempt to grasp his hand. One hand merely sits atop the other, slack at the wrist, covering it completely.
Harry says nothing, but Ginny sees the presence of a smile ghost her hero's features in the firelight.
She always sees.
They do not say anything to each other the rest of the night.
Ginny is back the next night, clutching her dressing gown beneath the cloak, shivering. She doesn't know what is possessing her to do this, but she can find no indication in her mind that she should stop.
To her dismay and her greatest curiosity, they are talking about love interests again.
"Are your parents going to make you marry Pansy?" Harry asked, seeming genuinely curious but also a little fearful. Malfoy grimaced.
"Not if I have a damn thing to say about it," he says pronouncedly. "That insufferable cow will be the end of me."
Harry smiles.
"What about you, Potter?" Malfoy asks, eyeing Harry. "Plans to wed the littlest Weasley?"
Harry's eyes grow wide with shock and he shakes his head, much too quickly for Ginny's liking.
"No!" he says hurriedly. "I mean…wed? I…um, no, of course not…I…don't know what to feel about her…I…it's complicated."
Malfoy looks over at him fully now.
"What do you mean?"
Harry gulps, eyes wide with trepidation.
"I…I…well, she's just…it's really not her, I guess…" Harry's emerald eyes are darting everywhere but at Malfoy. The floor, his hands, the table, the fire, then over again.
"It's you, then?" Malfoy asks softly. Her hero gulps again.
"Sometimes," Harry says in no more than a whisper. "Sometimes I'm not…I don't even think that I'm…you know…I'm not..." He looks Malfoy tentatively in the eye, who looks back without question.
"I know."
Time seems to stop as Ginny watches Malfoy push back Harry's fringe ever so slowly, and he glances at the scar that mars Harry's flesh for a moment. Oh, that scar. Ginny has always looked at it as a symbol of the power lurking within, of the power that the Dark Lord gave him. She fears even touching it. She has felt his face, kissed his face, all over, but she has never touched, never even brushed, the flesh-colored marking on Harry's forehead. In fact, she is almost deathly afraid of it and in the back of her mind, has always tried to avoid looking.
Malfoy leans in and places a soft kiss right on Harry's scar.
Ginny wants to scream.
Harry does not recoil as Malfoy's lips come into contact with the skin of his brow. Ginny can see Harry's eyes sparkle with unshed tears, and to her astonishment he brings up a shaking finger and trails it lightly down the bridge of Malfoy's nose, the one he and Ron have always dubbed pointy, seeming transfixed by the motion.
Malfoy does not draw back. He gradually takes the hand that is touching his face in his own and clasps it tightly.
Before Ginny can take it in, Harry is taking Malfoy by the arms and pulling him into a fierce embrace, so firmly his knuckles are going white, putting his head onto his enemy's cloaked shoulder. Ginny half expects Malfoy to retract, disgusted, but he does nothing, even when Harry lets out a strangled, choked up, sobbing noise. He lets Harry hold him, he lets him clutch his arms almost painfully, lets him do it.
Harry pulls back, a few moments later, an apology so clearly stuck in his throat Ginny can almost hear it. Malfoy's eyes never leave him and their faces never stray more than an inch or two apart.
Ginny is clutching the cloak so tightly her fingernails have dug into her palms, causing them to bleed.
"Malfoy, I–" Harry starts, but Malfoy puts a finger to his lips, silencing whatever Harry wanted to say.
"Draco," he whispers. And Harry nods.
"Draco."
And Malfoy draws ever closer to him, until he is pressing his lips to Harry's.
Ginny's head is light and she knows she should breathe, but it hurts, oh God, it hurts. She realizes that this is the moment. If she and her hero are meant to be, Harry will stop this now. If Harry's heart is truly hers, he will pull away. He will pull away.
When all Harry does is whimper and wrap tentative arms around Malfoy's neck, opening his mouth, Ginny can't look anymore.
She gets up and runs from Harry, her hero, out the door, not caring if they notice the door opening. When no one comes, a few moments later, she knows they are too busy to care.
She does not realize she is crying until she is in Gryffindor tower, tucked under the covers.
The next day, Harry breaks up with her.
He does not supply a reason, really. He says he is too preoccupied with the oncoming war to date right now. And that he is sorry.
All Ginny can do is nod.
She does not beg or plead, and she cries no more tears.
Why? Ron asks her. They seemed so happy, so perfect together. What went wrong?
All Ginny can do is shrug. She tells Ron what Harry told her, and leaves.
Because Ginny does not know what went wrong. She does not know.
She never knows.
–Fin–