Chapter 7: Ginny's Boyfriend
Ginny
The early-morning sunlight filters down through the windows, and Ginny wakes with a start. She is disorientated, in a cocoon of warmth. Malfoy's body is pressed against hers, his breath even and calm. A part of her wants to close her eyes and hold him tighter, bury herself into the crook of his neck and inhale that boy smell.
Instead, Ginny slides out from under the covers, her bare feet silent on the stone floor. She must have fallen asleep. What if someone had seen them? What if she hadn't woken in time, before Madame Pomfrey had appeared to check on Draco, before a gang of Slytherins had sauntered into the hospital wing?
Ginny should be counting her lucky stars.
She looks at him one last time. He's peaceful, his bandaged chest rising and falling. His face is calm, free of tension, his white-blond hair splayed across his forehead.
Ginny turns away. She hurries back through the silent castle, back through the secret passageway, and back into the Gryffindor common room (The fat lady is not happy to be woken by her urgent whispers). Somehow, with her heart hammering all the way, she manages to make it back to her dorm and into her bed, only moments before her dorm mates begin to stir.
The day passes in a haze. She feels underslept, and every time she closes her eyes for a moment, she can picture him perfectly: his bandaged chest and the tired, pleading look he gave her last night. He looked so wretched in that hospital bed. Ginny has to remind herself how he got there: he nearly cursed Harry with an Unforgivable.
Things are awkward between her and Hermione, and Concepta keeps giving her knowing glances like she can read Ginny's mind.
She slogs through her morning classes. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Snape deducts ten points from Gryffindor because Ginny ignores him completely when he asks her a question. She doesn't hear him.
She tries to pry her mind away from Draco Malfoy, to focus on the tasks in front of her, but he is always there at the back of her mind, at the front of her wayward thoughts.
Stop it, she tells herself. So he got himself injured and nearly cursed Harry, that's hardly reason to gloss over his bad qualities. He's arrogant and petty. He's mean and heartless. Maybe not heartless, Ginny thinks. Maybe not entirely.
That evening, Harry keeps the Gryffindor team is on the pitch well past sundown. Ginny can barely make out Ron in the Keeper's Ring across the pitch. She pitches forward on her broom, ducking beneath Demelza and Dean who pass the Quaffle back and forth in a complicated, zigzagging pattern that Harry has etched into the sky for them to follow. Ginny scans the sky for the tiny, golden ball. She wonders if she can hone her Seeker skills quickly enough to win the cup. Harry's on his broom, but he doesn't play; he knows he'll have detention during the match, so he drills them mercilessly.
The match with Ravenclaw is one day away.
It's proper nightfall by the time they leave the pitch. She walks back to the castle with Ron and Harry, wiping the sweat from her forehead and releasing her hair from its ponytail.
The boys begin to climb the staircase to the Gryffindor tower, but Ginny lingers. "You go ahead," she calls. "I've got to meet some friends at the library."
"At this hour?" asks Ron. "Madame Pince'll send you straight back to the common room."
"Just mind your own business, Ron," she mutters, and stalks off in the other direction.
She wishes she had Harry's invisibility cloak, but all she can conjure is a simple concealment charm. It doesn't hide her from view, but it does make her less noticeable, more likely to blend into the background. It is just enough to let her peek into the hospital wing and check on Malfoy without being seen.
She thought it would be late enough, that he would be alone, but Pansy Parkinson is sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. She is touching him: her finger trailing his bare arm. Blood rushes to Ginny's face. She has an impulse to leave, but she lurks in the doorway instead.
"You look better, Draco," says Pansy. Her voice is surprisingly gentle. Normally, Pansy communicates by spitting insults, but with Draco her voice has grown soft and feathery. "You've suffered so much. I hope Potter is expelled."
"You know that would never happen."
"Not with Dumbledore running the school. It's so unfair. You could have been killed." She brushes back his hair, her fingers lingering on his forehead.
Draco sneers. "He should be punished, at the very least. He's just got detention. Probably doing lines for Snape. Sure, he can't play Quidditch, but that's hardly adequate punishment if you ask me."
"It's preferential treatment."
"For Dumbledore's golden boy. Big surprise."
It's like they finish each others' sentences. Ginny rolls her eyes. He is such a wanker, and here Ginny is, vying to be Mrs. Wanker.
Draco does look stronger. He's sitting up, his shoulders squared, and his new set of bandages are no longer stained dark with his blood.
Pansy leans over and places her head against his heart, the place where Ginny lay only hours before. "Soon that will all change," she says quietly, so Ginny has to strain to make out her words. "Soon the Dark Lord will rid this school of Mudbloods and blood traitors, and people like us will receive our due reward."
"It's only a matter of time," Draco smirks. He moves his head sideways, and his lips fall on Pansy's temple. He kisses it softly.
Ginny nearly trips over her own feet backing out the door. Draco lifts his grey eyes abruptly, searching the doorway, but she's outside his field of vision.
She hurriedly makes her way back to the Gryffindor common room, a knot in her stomach.
Forget it. Forget him. Ginny sinks into a sofa across from the fireplace. With a flick of her wand, a fire begins to stir in the hearth. She stares at it, growing warm, drawing her legs into her chest. She's not eleven anymore, and it's about time she stop pining over dark wizards and evil arseholes.
Harry steps tentatively through the portrait hole. He takes a moment to appraise the situation, and Ginny watches his expression change as he realizes that they've won the Quidditch Cup.
She mirrors his wide grin from across the room, happy enough to laugh out loud at his astonished expression.
Her heart has been thrumming continuously since her fingers closed around the Snitch, since the deafening roar of the crowd erupted from the stands, since her teammates crushed her into a hug as they each landed on the slippery grass. It was amazing, incredible. The Gryffindors won an epic victory, and Ginny was a fucking superstar.
Harry begins to make his way through the crowd. The cheering, which barely had a chance to die down, resumes in full force as the Gryffindors spot their captain. Ginny is pumped full of adrenaline, her face bright red, dancing on the balls of her feet.
Harry Potter is standing in the middle of the room, grinning broadly. The crowd is wild all around him, but The Boy Who Lived only has eyes for her. Ginny decides then and there to stop avoiding Harry and his lingering gaze, to stop hiding behind Ron, to stop putting off the inevitable.
They won the match, she caught the Snitch, and now she will reward herself with a new start. With the right start.
Ginny takes two long strides towards him. He meets her with alarming decidedness. He is broader than she realized, more solid in this close proximity. Harry takes her by the elbows, and draws her into him. And before she quite finds her footing, his face is in hers, his mouth is on hers, his tongue is flicking shyly against her closed lips.
Ginny pulls away, breathless. She hears somebody wolf-whistle. She looks over her shoulder and sees Concepta giving her a thumbs up. She sees Ron shrugging at Harry, as if to say "Go ahead, mate." Ginny turns back to Harry. His glasses are askew, and his green eyes are wide and nervous.
He is so unlike Draco. He wears it all on his face, everything he feels. He is easy to read, easy to love. He is the hero, after all.
Ginny pulls on Harry's robes, pulls his face close to hers, and presses her lips against his.
Draco
Draco surveys his scars. They crisscross his chest, fine, silver lines etched onto his skin. Madame Pomfrey says they will fade over time, but will never vanish entirely. Dark magic leaves a mark. But he already knew that.
He shrugs on a clean shirt, buttons it up. He puts on his Slytherin robes and combs his hair back. He stares at himself in the mirror. He looks unscathed. Maybe a bit more pale than usual, a bit thinner, his cheekbones more pronounced, the shadows darker under his eyes.
Draco blinks rapidly. He needs to get it together. He's lost nearly a week recovering in the hospital wing, and the Dark Mark has been pulsating on his arm, making him acutely aware of the numbered days remaining until the end of term.
A thought occurs to him: Dumbledore will be dead before the students of Hogwarts head home for the year, and it will be by Draco's own hand. The alternative is death. His own death. Draco swallows hard, keeping his face impassive. Maybe if he were a braver man…
As he leaves the boy's dormitory, Crabbe and Goyle flank him on either side. He meets Pansy and Millicent queuing up for breakfast in the Great Hall.
It's Sunday, and it's the first truly warm day of the year. He can see the sun coming in through the tall windows, and the wide blue sky beyond. After months of fog and rain, summer is on the horizon. In spite of everything, a tinge of optimism blooms in his chest.
As they approach, Pansy's brow wrinkles with worry. "Oh, Draco," she says in the syrupy voice she's taken to using with him. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," he says.
"Oh, well I'm so glad you're finally out of the hospital wing." She loops her arm into his, and they make their way to the Slytherin table.
While Pansy reaches for the eggs, he scans the hall. He wants to see Ginny Weasley: Her freckled face, her fierce eyes, and her lovely, sweeping red hair.
He waited for her each night in the hospital wing, but she never returned.
He won't make a scene, won't do anything rash. He just wants to look at her, maybe catch her eye, maybe talk to her privately. It might be a side-effect of being torn open by Potter's curse, but he needs to talk to her before he goes back to the Room of Requirement and returns to the Dark Lord's task. To really talk to her.
But she's not in the Great Hall. Pansy notices him staring at the Gryffindor table. "Looks like Potter's not showing his face at mealtimes," she scoffs. "He's probably afraid you'll retaliate now that you're healthy again."
After breakfast, Draco follows everyone's lead and heads into the sunshine. He curves around the same path they argued on days ago (or was it weeks ago?). He turns a corner, and that's when he sees them: Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter.
They are kissing in plain sight.
They are sitting beneath a drooping oak tree, and his arm is around her waist, and his stupid, ugly face is pushed right up to hers.
Draco stops short. Grabbe and Goyle also pause, waiting for Draco to comment, to say something derisive, so they can laugh.
His face turns red, anger and shock pounding at his temples. "Potty and the Weasel," he shouts a note too loud. She turns around in surprise. "Isn't this just a match made in heaven? A blood traitor and a Mudblood lover." The sneer quivers on his lips.
A writhing insecurity has awakened in Draco's gut. Of course she never returned to see him. Of course she forgot all about him once Potter finally worked up the nerve to ask her out. He crosses his arms to keep his hands from shaking. "Disgusting. Do that in your own common room, will you? We just ate, and I don't want Crabbe here to hurl up his sausage."
"Sod off, Malfoy," says Potter. He's mildly annoyed.
Ginny says nothing, only looks up to frown at him defiantly. But when she meets his eyes, a shadow of guilt crosses her features.
Draco blinks several times. Then, he turns and walks back towards the castle. Crabbe and Goyle barely have time to bark out their laughter before having to turn around and stumble after him.
He sits for a long time in the empty potions classroom. Most of the student body is outside, enjoying the warm weather, and the room is ensconced in a cool, dusty silence.
The old jealousy sits like a leaden ball in the pit of his stomach. Draco still wants her so badly. He wants to touch her, to run his hands through her red curls, to feel her body against his. He wants her, but Potter gets to have her. He gets to kiss her, and hold her hand, and walk laughing down the hallways alongside Granger and Weasel, and the whole sodding world will cheer for them.
A/N: I have been trying to keep this fic mostly in line with canon so far, but the next few chapters will start to be more AU. I know this chapter ends on a down note, but this is a Drinny fic after all, so...stay with me! Thanks again for all who have reviewed. I really appreciate all my readers! Please feel free to comment on the story, or if you have any good fic recommendations, message me those as well! I'm a sucker for any decent Draco-centric fanfic: Drinny, Dramione, Drarry - I love it all. Next chapter will be up in about a week.
