Needing Is One Thing; Getting? Getting's Another
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Prompt: "Anonymous asked: Could you write a little Dramione scene with Ginny in love with Draco or attracted to him, but he's in love with Hermione?"
Ginny: Part 1
Spring - Fall 2003
She'd dated Harry for two years, and it had been fine. They'd gotten along well. After the war, he'd really mellowed out and he'd balanced out the more fiery aspects of her personality. He could calmly ride out any storm, including his girlfriend. She forced him to have fun, to go out and live when all he wanted to do was stay at home and do something quiet.
Ginny liked to think that it had been a good set-up, while it lasted. Of course, it hadn't lasted, and that wasn't really anyone's fault.
She'd missed the boy she'd fallen in love with. The passionate, wild-eyed youth that Harry had been was a product, she knew, of a horrible upbringing and then being thrust far too young into the maws of death. She'd seen the haunted look that lingered in his eyes and wanted to provide comfort. She'd seen his serious mein – unusual for a boy his age – and aspired to his 'maturity.' She'd placed him on a pedestal, and that had definitely been her fault.
And when they'd finally sat down and discussed their relationship, he'd admitted that maybe his attraction to her had been at least partially due to a desire to be a member of her family. It had hurt at the time to hear that, but looking back on it, she understood. She wished she'd known earlier, to be honest.
She could have told him that he'd always be an honorary Weasley, whether he dated her or not.
After two years of him dating approximately no one – he was barely even seen outside of his job, preferring to stay in his house and play those 'video games' he liked, or read books – the first time he'd stepped out with a girl had been the biggest media hurricane since the war itself.
Daphne Greengrass.
Ginny remembered forlornly asking Hermione if she thought Daphne Greengrass was prettier than she was. Hermione and Ron had recently parted ways (finally, Ginny had thought; she'd never thought they worked well together), so they'd formed a sort of impromptu Single Girl's Club. She remembered the startled look Hermione had sent her, as if to ask, Harry Potter? You're still not over him?
But she'd answered, "Of course not, Ginny. You're not called the Hotty Harpy for nothing, you know."
And even though Hermione was usually not the comforting sort, it had made her feel better. She liked to think they'd become a lot closer girlfriends as adults – they'd always been friends in school, of course, but Hermione had been understandably wrapped up in Harry's adventures. And Ginny treasured the friendship they had now more than anything.
The introduction of Daphne Greengrass into their life was a bit odd to start with. Harry had been anxious, and Hermione had gone out of her way to be as welcoming and accepting as possible. Ginny had felt awkward when meeting her, unable to help but notice how collected and put together and beautiful the woman looked. Ron had looked awkward, too, his eyes darting between his sister and his best mate's new girlfriend almost frantically, like he was trying to determine which side he'd have to take if it came to a duel.
So Ginny had plastered a smile on her face. Harry and her were over, after all, and they were just friends, now. And she had no right to feel jealousy when she'd been as glad to break up with him as he'd been to break up with her. She didn't even want Harry Potter, so why did she have to suffer through the ugliness of this possessive instinct?
Of course, it did not help that Daphne was about as kind and charming as you'd expect a Slytherin not to be. She'd been quiet enough, in school, but Ginny remembered her giggling with Pansy Parkinson as Draco threw out insult after insult.
But, hey. People grew up, apparently.
Daphne was nice. And she got along well with Hermione, and never once tried to insinuate that her blood status mattered in any capacity.
The group slowly began to collect Slytherins. Pansy was first, since she and Daphne were still good friends. Pansy was sharp and acid-tongued and Ginny liked her – her sarcasm was even more pointed and dangerous than it had been in school, except now that they were friendly, it was witty instead of painful.
Blaise had been next. He was as suave and charming as ever, coolly confident and well-dressed. His barbs lay more in the realm of backhanded compliments and passive aggressive eyebrow raises. Other than that, he was perfectly polite, always the sort of man who never left the evidence of his insults behind.
Then it had been Draco Malfoy.
That had been a tense addition; Ron still didn't care for him, after all, and it was hard for both Harry and Draco to set aside the almost-ingrained habit of enmity. Harry tried, though, and valiantly. It had almost hurt to see how hard he tried to get along with Draco Malfoy, knowing it was all for Daphne's sake. Ginny sometimes wondered if he would have ever tried that hard to change for her. She'd never know, she supposed, and she knew it was useless wondering.
"They're sickening, aren't they?" he'd drawled during a little get-together at Harry's house. Grimmauld Place had become less melancholy since Daphne's addition to it. Harry, ever the introvert, was now inviting people over to socialize.
Draco had found her in the kitchen, nursing a strong cup of something-or-the-other. When she cast him a curious frown, he'd gently tilted his head towards Harry and Daphne, curled up against each other on the couch. "All lovey-dovey," he'd muttered, rolling his eyes. "And Pansy's sinking her claws into your brother. Better watch out."
Ginny blinked, her frown intensifying as her eyes panned to see Pansy talking to Ron. He seemed as oblivious as usual, but she saw the way Pansy's hip was cocked, the way she let her hand linger on his arm as she laughed at something he said.
He already looked half-smitten.
"I like Pansy," she'd said, shrugging. And it was true. She wasn't sure how her mother would feel about the relationship, but truth be told, Ginny wasn't against it.
Draco had looked at her, then, his lips curling into an appreciative smirk. "Do you? Not many do," he'd added.
"I thought you were friends."
"She's my best friend," Draco affirmed. "And I appreciate the unique aspects of her personality. It's rare to find someone else who does. Proves you've got good taste. For a blood traitor," he'd added.
Ginny's hackles rose before she realized that his tone was light, and teasing, and his eyes were kind of twinkling in this mischievous way she'd never seen before. Momentarily speechless, she'd stared at him a beat before laughing, a little embarrassed by how quickly she'd been able to be baited. "Well, your taste isn't too awful, yourself. For an inbred little Death Eater."
As soon as she'd said it, she'd wondered if it was too far, but he'd laughed, and clinked his plastic cup against hers. "Cheers to that."
And Ginny felt a curious warmth spreading in her belly as she regarded him, suddenly finding it a little hard to swallow. Of course, she knew a crush when she felt it – she'd endured a decade-long one with Harry, after all – but it still caught her off-guard. Not that it was too out of the ordinary, she'd defended to herself: Draco Malfoy was handsome, he was single, he was funny, and he seemed like the sort of guy who might appreciate the kind of unapologetic person she was.
So why not?
She'd nursed the crush for months. They always seemed to find each other during get togethers, having a blast making fun of everyone else. It got a little mean, sometimes, but it felt good to tap into that kind of acidity. It felt kind of nice to pierce the bubble of niceness and goodness that had come from the Golden Trio.
It felt strangely gratifying.
"Merlin, what is she wearing?" Draco had sighed, and Ginny had followed his gaze to Hermione.
Hermione had never been fashion-conscious. Right now, she was wearing jeans and some baggy flannel thing over a t-shirt, with beaten-up runners. Ginny had kind of grown used to that, though; Hermione had always prized comfort over anything else. For a moment, she'd stalled, not sure of what to say.
Hermione was one of Draco's favorite targets for their idle gossip, and she'd always done her best to steer away from it, innately uncomfortable with the idea of it. It felt much more like betrayal than sniping at the others.
Because Hermione was a good person. She was not always the most likable person, but she was good. She always wanted to do the right thing. She always held tightly onto what she considered to be the right opinion, even if it was an unpopular one (and it frequently was). She defended people when things got too mean, even people like Luna or Neville who were constantly the butt of people's jokes – even the people who were supposed to be their enemies. And she was stubborn and strong enough to glare anyone down who tried to defend themselves about it.
Ginny had always been envious of that kind of confidence. There had been times when she'd thought Pansy or Ron or Blaise had been a little mean in their commentary regarding Luna or Neville, but she'd never said anything about it. Maybe she was afraid of being targeted, herself.
Of course, the hypocrisy of that lay in her interactions with Draco, but those were private. Intimate. They didn't blast their rude opinions out to everyone, they just snickered quietly over them together. It was different.
Not that she thought Hermione would share that opinion.
"She likes to be comfortable," Ginny murmured. "Did you see Blaise's vest? It looks like a bunch of flowers puked onto it."
"Why do you always do that?" Draco wondered, chuckling. "You're telling me you're scared of Granger, too? You think she's going to come over here and give you a sharp look if you speak ill of her? I won't tell, you know."
Ginny frowned. "I'm not scared of her. We're not scared of her," she clarified, although she wasn't sure that was strictly true; she'd seen Harry and Ron's terror the few times they'd truly pissed the bushy-haired witch off. She didn't know what they knew about Hermione that she didn't, but whatever it was they did know, they did their best to never push the girl too far.
Draco leaned in, his eyes half-lidded, and she felt her mouth grow dry. "So, what, you think she's perfect? Beyond reproach? Beyond judgment?"
"No," she said, softly.
"So? Give me something. Don't make me stand here and make fun of her all by myself," he coaxed. His eyes were magnetic; pale and not blue, like she'd always assumed. Grey. "And you know what she's wearing is atrocious."
She felt her resistance crumbling, and for the first time since her little gossipy chats with Draco started, she felt a pang of guilt. "She's had those clothes for over six years," she said. She didn't know why she did it. Maybe because of the euphoric high she felt when Draco's eyes lit up. "She refuses to throw anything away until it's positively in tatters. I grew up poor, and even I think that's sad."
Draco laughed, and the sound of it pooled in her belly like pure liquid warmth. She wanted more. "Maybe she's even poorer than you are."
"That's the thing, she's not," Ginny huffed. "Her parents are healers and they make very good money. She's just abnormal. She hates shopping, and really, I think that's the main thing about it. If she threw her clothes away, she'd have to go shopping, and she'd rather wear a burlap sack than do that." Why did it feel so freeing to speak so badly about Hermione? The guilt was fading away with every word she spoke, and beneath it she saw something she'd never expected to see: Resentment.
Hermione had always been there for her. She was supportive, and kind; maybe a little too honest sometimes, but she always had good intentions. She always set aside time to be there for Ginny. She was like the older sister Ginny had never had.
And she was perfect.
And maybe a small piece of Ginny hated her for it. Why couldn't Hermione be just… wrong, for once? Why couldn't she stop being flawless and wonderful and smart and confident for even two seconds?
What did it say about Ginny, that she felt so much satisfaction in tearing her down?
Draco was still snickering, and he bumped his shoulder against hers, sending her a little wink. "There she is," he said, almost proudly. "I was wondering when you'd finally give in. I don't know what it is about Granger that's got you all so whipped, but it's absolutely revolting."
Ginny knew, of course. But what she said was, "Oh, no one wants to deal with her disappointed looks. It's like she's everyone's second mother that no one wanted."
"That's the perfect way to describe it," he agreed.
She wanted to give him more. She was addicted to this approval, she realized; it was trouble, and she was pretty much a goner. She was beyond help. "Do you know she's still advocating elf rights?" Draco's eyebrows shot up in incredulity, and Ginny smirked. "Yeah, seriously. She never knows when to quit, you know? She says something's wrong, the entire world disagrees, and she still won't stop annoying everyone about it. She never did understand how to pick her battles."
"What is she trying to do, put them all out of work?" he asked, cocking his head. "Out of a home? Where would they even go?"
Ginny shrugged. "I think it's more about getting them paid and making sure they have days off, that sort of thing. She believes that they're people and deserve the same rights as wizards. You can't really talk her out of it, and believe me, Ron has tried."
"I suppose Potter agrees with her?"
Yes. He did. She knew that he did. But she shrugged, as if she didn't. "She's trying to earn rights for every creature on the planet, basically. Centaurs, trolls, giants, all of them. I don't know why she always insists on fighting losing battles."
Draco was silent for a beat. "With all that energy, you'd think she'd figure out something to do with her hair," he drawled.
Ginny burst into giggles, and he smirked a bit. Gods, she loved that smirk. It made her feel all gooey inside. "Don't tell anyone," she murmured, and he leaned in to hear her better. "But she has tried. She's done potions, charms, everything. Nothing really works, it's like her hair has a mind of its own. She officially gave up about a year ago."
"Why can't I tell anyone?"
She shrugged. "She's always going on and on about how people are shallow and the like. It'd be embarrassing to admit she cares about her looks as much as the rest of us mortals, you know?"
He looked thoughtful, sending Hermione a calculating glance, and she felt her heart seize in panic.
She grabbed his arm, hard, and he looked down at her in surprise. "Don't say anything," she repeated, almost pleading. She couldn't believe she'd told Draco Malfoy that Hermione was self-conscious about her looks – the guilt that had been fading away was now back in full force, threatening to eat her alive from the inside. Hermione had told her that on a girl's weekend, red-faced and embarrassed and near tears (they'd had too much wine, at that point), and Ginny had sworn to keep her secret.
Now, realizing that she'd just fed it to Hermione's school bully, she was horrified.
"Please," she said, lowly. "Don't… just forget I said that, alright?"
He gently twisted his arm out of her grip. "What's the big deal? So she's a person. She really finds that mortifying?" he demanded, rolling his eyes. "If anything, knowing that she's human at least makes her slightly more tolerable."
Swallowing, Ginny couldn't help but agree. "Well, it was a secret," she said, quietly. "I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. Not even Harry or Ron."
"I already told you I wouldn't tell anyone," Draco assured her. "Malfoys keep their promises."
Relief flooded her. "Thanks."
After a beat, he said, "Although if she does care about her appearance, why does she always have to walk around looking like a homeless vagrant dressed her from the remnants of a dumpster?"
Giggling again, Ginny said, "Because then it would look like she was trying. Can't have that."
He'd laughed, and it had chased her worries and guilt away.
Now that they'd broken the seal, Ginny noticed over the course of the next several months that they spent more time making fun of Hermione than anyone else. She'd assumed that Draco was beyond his little schoolboy grudges, but apparently not. Sometimes, Ginny even worried that he still hated Hermione, and the thought filled her with dread – because if that came out, they wouldn't be able to be friends anymore, and would probably never see each other. She certainly wouldn't be able to date him.
His mean remarks sometimes made their way out of their little gossip bubble, and he and Hermione would viciously snipe at each other before Hermione threw her hands up and stalked away, determined to be the mature one.
She wasn't sure when the snide remarks turned into genuine questions. The change had been gradual.
It had been going on for a while by the time she realized.
"So what does she do when she's not at work, then?" Draco was asking her. They'd been gossip buddies for eight months, now, and Ginny sometimes wondered when he was finally going to ask her out. They'd been flirting for so long. Was it his parents? Did they not approve of her?
"Who?" she asked, although she knew exactly who he was talking about.
"Granger."
"She reads, mostly, I think. She likes these muggle things called films, and she'll go out to see films a lot. They're like plays," she added. "But… like, in a picture. Like if you took a picture and it had a full two-hour play in it, with sound."
He was staring at Hermione speculatively. Something about his expression made a feeling of palpable dread sink down her spine, although she couldn't figure out why, exactly. "Plays. What else does she do?"
"I mean, she likes museums, and stuff… parks," Ginny said, slowly. She realized that he hadn't said a single mean thing about Hermione this entire conversation. "Why?"
He blinked at her. "What?"
"Why are you asking what she does in her free time?" Ginny asked, her voice flat.
He shrugged. "I'm curious to see what muggleborns get up to when they're not working or otherwise trying desperately to be productive members of society," he drawled, in an airy tone, but the nonchalance felt forced. "I always just assumed they went home and stared at a wall until they were able to be of any use, again."
She fell silent, her stomach turning dangerously. Draco couldn't possibly fancy Hermione, could he?
All he ever did was make fun of her – how ridiculous her hair was, how unappealing her clothing selection was, how annoying her personality was. He made fun of her more than he made fun of everyone else.
And maybe she was just the idiot who'd decided that his obsession was born of hatred instead of something else.
She felt like she was going to be sick.
"Do you fancy her?" she heard herself ask, and in that moment she desperately wanted to take the question back. She was afraid of the answer.
Draco froze, his glass of Firewhisky halfway up to his lips. "What?" he'd scoffed, but he'd hesitated first.
Ginny swallowed. It was painfully hard. She couldn't believe she'd been so naive and stupid – thinking that she and Draco were flirting and bonding over some sort of shared superiority to everyone else. Thinking that they'd been flirting and bonding over making fun of Hermione Granger when all he'd been doing was plunging Ginny for information about her.
She should have seen it coming. She wasn't normally this dumb. "You fancy her," she said, slowly, disbelieving. "Hermione. You fancy Hermione Granger."
"Will you keep your voice down?" he muttered, glancing around. No one had heard, but the way he'd tensed up said it all. Ginny glared at him, coldly, and his jaw clenched a bit. He hadn't thought he'd be caught, she realized; he'd gotten sloppy, there, towards the end. Had forgot to be mean at the right moments. Had started asking genuine questions. "Maybe I do," he finally admitted, in a low, flat tone.
Ginny shook her head, still unable to believe this was happening. "Her," she repeated. Perfect Hermione with the frizzy hair and the dumpy clothes and the frumpy personality.
Her?
"Why?"
Draco looked distinctly uncomfortable. He shifted, almost fidgety, and she fought the urge to scream. "I don't know."
Well, this was embarrassing. Laughing hollowly, Ginny drained her drink. "You know, I thought you were flirting with me, this entire time?" she said, cocking her head at him. She was drunk, she realized; sober, she would have never admitted that.
His eyebrows shot up, his lips parting in surprise. This was the first time she'd ever seen him truly speechless; no matter how surprised he was, Draco always had a glib remark.
"I'm an idiot," Ginny said, smiling humorlessly. "Aren't I?"
Draco stared at her, his expression growing somber as he slowly realized just how badly he'd miscalculated. "No," he said, softly. "You're not. You're one of the few people in here that I actually like."
"As a friend," she finished, bitterly.
His lips thinned a bit, but he nodded. He didn't look away, though. At least he respected her that much.
"Great," she muttered. "Since I'm so lacking in those." She slammed her plastic cup on the kitchen counter and stalked into the living room where everyone else was. She could feel her cheeks burning with mortification. Her nose was stinging. She hoped to Merlin she didn't start crying at the party.
A cool, small hand settled on her shoulder. "You okay?" Hermione whispered. Ginny looked into those soft brown eyes and wasn't sure if she wanted to sink into the comfort of her friend's embrace, crying her eyes out, or smack Hermione in the face for being so relentlessly perfect that even the person that hated her the most for all their lives wanted to freaking date her. It just wasn't fair.
"Did he say something to you?" Hermione demanded, her expression growing stormy as her eyes flicked to the kitchen, where Ginny knew Draco still stood. "I swear, if he said something, I'll hex him right now–"
"No," Ginny muttered. She pressed her fingertips into the corners of her eyes, hoping to stop the tears from coming. "No, he didn't. Listen, I'm going to go home."
Blinking, Hermione looked at her, long and hard. "I'll go with you," she decided.
"You don't have to."
Hermione laughed, rolling her eyes a bit. "Like there's any place I'd rather be than with you," she said, fondly, her tone warm and firm and confident.
Ginny thought of all the awful things she'd said about Hermione behind her back for the past eight months, and she felt her face twist up as the tears started to flow, in earnest. Hermione quickly ushered her into the Floo, her arms wrapped around her shoulders.
Draco didn't deserve her. But Ginny didn't, either.
