Disclaimer: No owning here.

A/N: Welcome! I think this chapter holds a special place in my chest cavity because autumn is my favorite season. Eww, let the writing begin!

It's hard to tell when autumn is here.

In September, it's still warm, too warm to wear a light coat, but chilly enough to have the good sense not to go out in shorts and a tank. The colors start appearing near the end of the month, reds, yellows, and oranges scattering our school's grounds, though the residents take the beauty for granted and continue studying voraciously.

By October, the moon takes over the spotlight, its obnoxious glow obscuring me from gazing at the stars. She is large and floats over the sky, her dance becoming progressively longer as the days grow short. In time, she's all I can see when the sun goes to sleep.

And suddenly, November is upon us, her harsh winds driving everyone inside their homes, stripping trees of their leaves, already brown and decaying, and leaving a thick coat of frost on the hard grass every morning, making everything ugly and bare, preparing the way for winter to come through.

And somehow during those months, summer slips from my sight, and here is this mysterious season, a buffer between extreme heat and extreme cold. I suppose that I get so caught up in the colors and school that somewhere, I forget to say goodbye.

Even so, autumn can be just as beautiful.

The breezes are cool and dry, rushing past us in the open-air hallways, making our skirts swish and our hair blow loosely. Her weather is forgiving and serene, enough to temp me into taking a nap on a Sunday afternoon beside the lake, right on the grass. I breathe in the sharp scent of earth, and it's comforting.

During the summer, the blue in the lake is alive, an intense azure that penetrates deep into its depths. By October, it has transcended into a peaceful, still blue that is beyond me, beyond Hogwarts, beyond everything. The surface of the water reflects that same unmoving serenity up there in the passing gray clouds, not too gray to be mistaken for winter, but no longer that fluffy, stark white a few months ago.

It's the time when I see the birds leave. They're always in groups, often in a V-formation, headed for God-knows-where, to the sunny south, and come back again several months later, living in a perpetual springtime where they are not familiar with the frost and chills. Sometimes I like to look at them flying towards that forever and wish the same could happen to me.

Autumn also means school. Doing homework outside, taking a walk with friends, or hearing the brittle sound of leaves snapping under your feet while you're walking. Falling asleep in class, finishing essays at the last minute, and still finding time to fool around with your mates. It's all worth it.

It's especially worth it to be late for class because you are running around the trees; catching leaves in your hair and trying to see what shade you have caught the most. I often catch red in mine, though it's a bit hard to tell. And even better if you are extremely late because you can't bring yourself to ignore the flock of geese flying overhead, their noise echoing in your ears.

Yes, there's that whole familiarity of school with Hermione and Ron and Harry. The scent of crisp parchment floats around the common room and feathers land in my food after the owls' mail delivery. I find that my favorite reading spot in the library is untouched, secluded and just for me.

So even if my family isn't here with me, I still feel like I'm rich, drenched in autumn spice and wine, that concentrated perfume reeking of apples and cinnamon.

And yet, year after year like clockwork, autumn steals summer away and does not return her to me until after what seems like an eternity has passed. And I have never quite understood why autumn does that.

I plop myself down on the grass, basking in the cordial October sun, one of the last that we'll be receiving for this year. It's Sunday afternoon, and the lake is right beside me, the watery plane disturbed by a bobbing tentacle. I had completed all my homework on Saturday, at the cost of missing a Hogsmeade visit. No matter. This is worth missing a shopping trip.

I look around, and there aren't many people out here, save a random group of friends heading inside. Content, I open my book and run my fingers down the paper, tracing small-print words. It's one of the books I bought that day in Flourish and Blott's. There was no time to read it until now.

And so I commence my reading.

There are voices. A murmur, followed quickly by a titter.

"Don't be so damn loud."

"Oh, just go ahead and do it before she wakes up."

"All right, don't rush me."

I hear feet shuffling closer and a pause.

"…"

"Well? Aren't you going to do it?"

"I'm taking my time."

"Don't take so long; it's getting dark."

Dark? How long have I been asleep? And now that it was mentioned, the air does seem cooler, and I can't feel the sun on my face. I'll get up and go back in as soon as they leave. But what are they going to do?

I feel a nudge on my side, and I suck in my breath.

"Cor, she's heavy." The voice is very close, and I can tell that it belongs to a boy.

A huff. "I'm going back in. It's dinner hour." And this is a girl, a whiny one at that.

I can imagine the boy shrugging nonchalantly. "Fine. I'll be in there in a few minutes."

More noises I can't make out. I hear one pair of footsteps walking away, and then it fades out. Moments later, a blunt pressure is applied on my stomach, not enough to make me breathless, but enough for me to gasp and open my eyes. A Malfoy appears over my face, his luminous skin standing out against the twilight.

"You were awake the entire time," he says brusquely.

I patiently let my arms lay still at my sides. "You woke me up. Mind letting me get up?"

"Actually, I do mind," he replies, crossing his arms. The pressure increases noticeably, and I swallow a hard lump in my throat. It doesn't hurt yet.

"You could have done it when she was here," I point out, "Why now?"

Some leaves float gently downward, landing at his feet. They were already brown, no longer that lovely shade of yellow I had seen a few weeks before.

He shrugs. "She doesn't have to witness all my acts of cruelty."

I quickly grab a hold of Malfoy's foot and squeeze, hard. He lets out a yelp of disgust, but doesn't move an inch. He presses deep, for a split second, and I wince, my face draining of color. His foot relaxes again, and I'm taking deep, gulping breaths, for once afraid that he might actually go through with injuring me. Perhaps even worse.

An ugly sneer twists his features. "Not so full of smart answers now, are you, you little tart?"

I manage to raise an eyebrow and suppress my anger at being called a whore. "Tart? Where's your mandatory greeting of 'Weasel'?"

"Tsk, tsk." He shakes a finger. "Don't you Weasleys ever know when to keep your mouth closed? And, also," he adds with a glint in his eye, "your openings?"

I widen my eyes and feel a rush of red coming back to my face. "Your dad's obviously scared of a strong, able heir taking over the fortune and estate during his prime years. Why else would he take up with a frail, fluttering lady and father something like you?"

Again, that sudden adrenaline rush I felt back in August. It's exhilarating.

He narrows his eyes. "Pity that you're in Gryffindor. Slytherin could do with a tongue like yours, though old Salazar might have a hard time letting you in, with what your dirty blood and all."

I lay my head down on the ground, tired and exasperated. "Is that all you can say? Is everything that comes out of your mouth all about blood? You have no imagination, Malfoy. And I'm assuming that You-Know-Who likes some sick sort of creativity."

He raises an eyebrow. "And how would you know about that? Perhaps my father's whisperings of a certain Weasel opening the Chamber are true after all. Shame that Riddle could have chosen a better candidate. You can't even get up."

My stomach growls loudly in protest and at this he laughs. "Hungry?"

"Quite."

"Starve," he says with a sneer.

"I'd rather not. You see, when my brothers notice my absence at the table, they will go searching for me and eventually, they will find me here, under your foot and quite hungry."

The pressure on my gut lessens, but he still won't lift his damn foot up. "I see you're running to your Muggle-loving family again. Pathetic."

I purse my lips, my patience growing thinner by the second. "I want to eat dinner Malfoy. I know you want to too, and sooner or later Parkinson is going to come out here looking for you."

The sky is now completely dark, and I can barely make out the winding trail leading to the front door of Hogwarts. The lights merrily dance around the window, a flicker of shadow appearing here or there. And then I'm looking at him again, willing his mind to command his foot to rise. He takes on a thoughtful look, and I was taken aback for a moment that he could even assume such an expression.

After some time of deep contemplation, of which I can imagine only the foulest notions were flitting about in there, he leans forward, his hands in his robe pockets. "I'll only let you go," he announces clearly, as if I was a simpleton, "if you tell me what the hell possessed you to talk to me like that back in August, at Flourish and Blott's."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

He sighs theatrically. "That day we caught you alone, probably talking to yourself before we came. You didn't run away and not only that, you mocked, disrespected, and made an outright fool of me. And in front of Parkinson too no less. So what were you on when you said that?"

His voice is dead flat when he says this, almost as if he was hiding his genuine curiosity of wanting to know what went on in my mind that day, that distinct moment. "I only wish that I had said that sooner to you," I answer and attempt to move his foot away. Still not budging.

His jaw twitches. "You still haven't told me why. I'm not kidding when I say I will press down until you cannot breathe." His voice is dripping with sudden venom. I know he will. Unfortunately, I don't why I told him off, much less remember what I said.

I have no choice but to give him a reason. "Because," I say, choosing my words carefully, "I felt bold and wanted someone to put you down for once. I took the chance."

"No one," he states, "can ever put me down. No matter how low the insult."

I chuckle with little mirth. "At least I tried. I felt pretty damn good after that too so it wasn't all for nothing."

"You have little to be happy about anyway," sneers Malfoy.

I attempt to sit up. "I told you why so lift your foot or I'll scream. And I'm not kidding either."

He scowls, but releases me. I stand up, dusting the dirt off of the back of my robes. He instantly takes on his usual smirk. "Here, you missed the rest of yourself." He gestures towards my face, the front of my robes, and my shoes.

I shrug. "At least I can rid myself of my filth simply by taking a bath."

Before he can say anything, I walk off, my stomach growling as loudly as it can.

"Ginny," Hermione hisses once I'm seated next to her in the converted dining Hall, "where were you?"

I gulp down a spoonful of pudding. "I was reading a book and just lost track of time."

She nods, understanding that kind of situation, and turns back to her plate of victuals. Ron burps deafeningly, earning a glare from the rest of the table, and leans back on his chair. "Don't see why anyone would nearly skip dinner to read a book. I almost went looking for you, thought something bad happened to you."

I wave my hand dismissively. "I can take care of myself, thank you."

"Yeah Ron," Harry cuts in, "At least she can clean her room and do her homework. Unlike a certain friend of mine…"

"Hey," Ron protests.

I smile inwardly and turn my attention to the other House tables, particularly a green and silver-clad one. Parkinson is clinging to the arm of Malfoy, looking worried while he looks rather henpecked. They say something; she grins indulgently and, if possible, holds on tighter. He politely tries to pry her off, but to no avail.

It's then that he happens to glance across the table and meet my eyes. I don't break away and continue to stare impassively. He gives me an odd look for a moment, completely devoid of smirks and sneers. I'm startled and blink. The strange expression is gone, and he's back to eating again.

"Ginny, what are you staring at?"

"What?" I look at who's addressing me, and it's Harry, smiling curiously. The green in his eyes really are pleasant to look at. To my frustration, I blush slightly and murmur, "Nothing really."

He seems not to notice. "Okay," he says and goes back to talking to Hermione.

Malfoy is such a bastard. And it abruptly occurs to me as I'm walking back to Gryffindor that I could have screamed at any time, and help would surely have come within minutes. So why didn't I scream? It could have been that I did not think of that earlier, but I did so that can't be it. And we had been outside for quite a bit.

I really don't understand myself sometimes.

Yeah! Another one done! I'm on a roll here! –pumps fist into air-

Now review people!