Sunsets

The first day of school commenced with great havoc; nothing seemed to be going right for Draco. First, Pansy pinched his leg all throughout Transfiguration class, reawakening in Draco horrid memories of his father's hands...During Charms, Draco's mind had, distractedly, wandered off into his isolated shell, and the spell he was trying to perform went horribly wrong: needless to say, Professor Flitwick assured him that the donkey ears would vanish by the time Herbology was over. Still, he had to bear the ridicule of his fellow students, who snickered, to his displeasure, and pointed rather blatantly at his embarassing apendages. Naturally, being in the bitter mood he was, he hexed one boy before the rest quieted down--but still he fancied he could hear their merciless sniggers follow him through lunch, though he masterfully avoided having to eat anything; a few sips of water would suffice.

All the while, Draco's mind seemed to be in some other place; deep within him was a turmoil of feelings, and for some reason there was a big black hole of loneliness pitting itself in his stomach. Ever since his encounter with Ginny Weasley the day before, he'd found himself strangely haunted by a feeling of absence. Not that he wanted her around, so to say, just that he had felt, with her in those brief, agonizing moments, strangely full.

'What are you thinking, Draco?' he would snarl to himself, unwilling to let himself go astray, 'She's a filthy Mudblood loving ingrate...' But at the same time, a smaller, more suppressed part of him would think, 'Draco, she wouldn't have time for you anyways.'

And he knew she wouldn't. He knew the type of reputation she had about her; a bit of a flirt, really, but generally cheerful and frustratingly aloof. He'd seen her once or twice in the past few years; never really paid her much attention--but he knew how she walked about with her hair flying back and a glorious smile on her face, saying hello to every person she saw on the way to whatever class she was bound to.

She wouldn't have time for him, and he decided he would make no time for her either.

The last class of the day was with the Gryffindors; Potions, naturally, since the teachers seemed to have a nasty obsession with placing the two feuding houses together in the most nasty of classes. Draco was glad for this class; despite his feeling of academics holding a particular unimportance to him on this day, Potions had always been his favorite and best of subjects. He would breeze through it, and the hour would pass quickly so that he could retire to the library and engulf himself in the throes of some book, or, as he suspected would happen, prop himself up behind a mighty stack of volumes and doze off.

As he stepped into the room, he was immediately reminded of his home; cold and unwelcoming, not a place you'd say was homely or comfortable. It was like a stone, unmoving, unfeeling and completely unable to reflect any of its inhabitant's feelings. Even after his mother's death, the house had still maintained its aura of airy stiffness, a feeling Draco hoped would have dissolved since his father no longer had some one to argue with.

His father...Lucius...Draco shivered in discomfort as he took his seat on the splintery wooden bench in front of his designated cauldron. A faint memory of stinging and pain emerged in his mind, but he pushed it back, determined to, again, become emotionless. He wouldn't think, he wouldn't think about Lucius or anything to do with his 'home', the Malfoy Manor. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, clenching the table with white-knuckles...Behind his eyes memories flashed past, and Draco could do nothing to stop them..nothing...nothing...

By the time Ginny reached the Potions room, all the seats had been filled up. She was on time, but still late enough to not have gotten a sensible place to sit. All heads turned around to look at the new comer, and there were some murmurings of curiousity as to a fifth year's presence in a sixth year's class...No body questioned her aloud, however, and within the minute they were once again distracted and paying attention to everything but her.

Ginny felt a bit out of place, but nevertheless began to look for a sitting acomodation. There was one left, near the shadowy corner of the room, and the other person sitting at the table was none other than Draco Malfoy. She approached the chair and expected him to express displeasure at her wanting to sit with him--not that she wanted to, of course, she really had no choice--but found him, to her surprise, with his eyes shut tight. Ginny frowned, looking around the classroom to see if any one else might have noticed, but no one had. Hesitantly, she took her seat, dropping her bag beneath the table and edging farthest away from the concentrated Malfoy as she could.

With concerned eyes, she watched him in wonderment, pondering what was wrong; why his hands began to shake where they held the table as if for dear life, why beneath his eyelids she could see his pupils rolling around in a panic. Her frown deepened and she looked closer, her concern only increasing, unsettlement increasing with it. Suddenly, with abrupt violence, his body began to shake, and Ginny's eyes widened. His mouth dropped open and he mouthed the words no, please, no over and over again.

The tremors became worse. The bench shook with its violence and the mouthed words became whispers. Ginny's eyes widened in horror, because on his face she could see his pain, she could see his terror...Almost unconsciously, impulsively, she raised her hand...

Draco wanted to scream, to shout, yet still he tried his hardest to contain his anguish...Slowly, the memories became worse...his mind flitted to what was possibly the worst of them all...His father was touching him...touching him, and all Draco could see was the grey of the ceiling and, if he looked to his right, a few blonde locks of his dead mother's hair...He couldn't move, he was trapped...Every attempted movement sent horrific pains ricocheting through his beaten body...but surely any movement was better than this...

Suddenly, there was a warmth, a touch carressing and desperate at the same time. A small hand grasped his, knocking him abruptly from his nightmarish reverie...His father's malicious eyes disappeared and instead a barrage of tingles waivered throughout his body; tingles comforting and completing...

Draco gasped, his eyes opening, his body's tremors coming to an abrupt end. The first thing he saw was a small hand clasped over his, and instinctively, before he even had it registered, he clasped back, lacing his needy fingers in between the other person's. He frowned in relief, then suddenly followed the hand up to its owner...

His eyes met hers, and the relief faded. Ginny Weasley had saved him; that stupidly beautiful red-headed Weasley, with her speckled blue eyes gazing worriedly back at him. He snatched his hand back and that feeling of completion remained with him, though he couldn't fathom why.

She stared at him, confused, pulling her hand back to her side of the desk, but all he could do was stare down at the bench, just as confused as she was.

"Malfoy?" she asked softly; not that it would have made a difference--the rest of the class were chattering about as if they had never had the chance to speak before, "Are...are you alright?" He didn't answer, just continued staring at the desk, eventually hitching his hands up to glare at his nails as if they, in themselves, were the cause of all his problems. "I'm serious," she said, and he heard a tone of something different in her voice, something that really wanted to know. "Are you alright?" she repeated.

Could he trust her? Could he tell her about all of his experiences, all of the horrific things he had seen in the past sixteen years of his life? Some small part of him, a part that he hardly listened to, told him he could, but...

'Of course not,' he thought, 'I don't even know her. And she's a Weasley. A filthy, bloodsucking tick of a Weasley.' He looked up for a moment, catching her gaze, before his eyes yet again fell. "None of your business," he told her stiffly, again looking up, then quickly back down. For some reason, every time he looked at her something strange happened within him; he didn't know what. It was as if at the same time he lost control and was in control; it was as if every time he looked at her, a different part of him opened up...the part that could smile and be happy, cry and be sad; the part that could feel.

And then, when he was with her, there was the feeling of completion; the same one that still lingered in his stomach presently. He glanced over at her, to find her still peering back, then went back to studying his nails. There was something about her that suited him just right, that rubbed him in both the wrong and right way...something he swore he would, could and should ignore.

"If you say so," she said, uncertainly, but he could still detect a trace of puzzlement and concern; the revelation sending a steady jolt through him--she cared.

Then, sudden as always, Snape made his appearance, and Draco, though all through class was distinctly aware of her being; moving, shifting, living beside him, had no other time to ponder his queer emotions.

Ginny had escaped from Potions as soon as possible. She couldn't work sitting next to Malfoy! He was so strange, with his queer bouts of trembling, and his unwillingness to tell her what was wrong. She sighed in frustration, yet in her stomach, still worry knawed at her. During class, she had constantly been stealing glances at him, though she was sure he hadn't looked at her once. She had watched his expressionless face study the notes, then his hands expertly handle the ingredients, as if it were a second nature.

How she had longed to grasp his hand within hers, yet again, feeling those long fingers lace through her own and know that he would be fine...just as long as she touched him, was with him...

"Ginnnnnnnnnnn!"

Her named echoed throughout the hallway, the prolonged ending letter immediately informing her of who exactly was at her back. "Helen," she said, smilingly, welcoming her brunette-haired friend to her side.

Helen snaked her arm through Ginny's. "What's up, lady?" she inquired as the two walked up to the Dormitory, hands linked. Helen Baxter was a sixth year Gryffindor girl, constantly laughing or crying, her face always awash with emotion. Maybe this, Ginny had always thought, was what attracted her to the girl. She was so predictable, so easy to read, that Ginny found herself perfectly at ease with Helen, as if she had just grown an extra arm or something.

"Nothing," Ginny answered, "At least, not really. I've been noticing things lately."

"Like what?" Helen asked again, ever the one with the questions.

"Just...things," Ginny's reluctance to fill her long-time friend in on her worry, somehow concreted something within her, "How was your day?"

"Not bad," Helen replied, her eyes shining, "Was observing the men, you know...Do you know that boy in Ravenclaw? The one with the brown hair?"

Ginny laughed, "There are lots of boys with brown hair in Ravenclaw."

"Well..."

And so the two walked up to their Dormitories, dropped their things in their respective rooms, and once again began their arm-linked and question-bathed walk down to the Great Hall for Dinner.

Ginny wasn't at all concerned about Malfoy, she told herself--nor was she getting protective of him, either. Just because she wouldn't tell Helen her little encounters with the younger Malfoy (whether they were by coincidence or unconscious deliberance), didn't mean anything. Sure, he was handsome and smart, and a royal mystery--but he was so not Ginny's type.

That's what she told herself, all the while she looked frantically, with suppressed hurry, about the Great Hall for her puzzling subject, her mouth half filled with shepard's pie. 'Oh god,' she thought, 'Where is he?' She had been in the Great Hall, feeding her mighty appetite diligently for the past forty-five minutes, while also diligently looking out for Malfoy. For some reason, she thought it her responsibility of sorts to make sure he was okay, especially after today's outburst. She had been hoping he would come to dinner, but there was only fifteen minutes left and still there was no trace of him to be seen.

Frowning, she quickly cut another slice of the succulent shepard's pie, and wrapped it delicately in a napkin. In the back of her mind, she told herself it was for later on tonight, just in case she got hungry; but deep down, she knew that once she left that table, which she did, she was going looking for Malfoy. She had noticed how skinny he had seemed as of late, his cheeks sunken into his face and his eyes hollowed. His pants were now so big that they slid off his hips, and through his robes she could see the outline of his skeletal frame. She didn't know what was wrong, and since he refused to tell her, convinced herself she didn't care; but if she did find him, she would force this shepard's pie down his throat if it was the last thing she did.

'And it probably will be,' she thought to herself as she wandered down the hallway, sauntering past the library, then abruptly turning back. Quickly, she hid the pie in her back pack, knowing Madame Pince would allow no food in the library, but knowing that she would have allowed a studious Malfoy, intent on skipping dinner. She walked in, praying the delicious smell would not give her away, raised her hand in greeting to the wary book-keeper and then walked towards the back.

She figured, if she was going to search for Malfoy, she might as well do it properly. She remembered seeing him in the Potions section of the library in previous years, dutifully pouring over dusty volumes in search of some potion or the other. Slowly, she made her way there, and, triumphantly, found him dozing upon the pages of an opened tome. She smiled softly, never having seen him look so peaceful, and at the same time unwilling to awaken him from his slumber.

She approached him quietly, leaning down to watch him closer; the way his forehead was graced by his messy hair, the way his eyelashes kissed his cheeks and his mouth was upturned in a half-smile, half-grimace. She had never seen any one look so utterly beautiful when asleep; not only that, he looked angelic. She thought faintly of running her finger along his jaw, just to feel the skin that looked so smooth, but was abruptly jarred out of her mesmerization by his sudden awakening.

Draco had been a light sleeper ever since his father had begun stalking into his room to pull him out of bed for a beating; Ginny's warm breath on his face had alerted him immediately of some one's presence. As his eyes snapped open and poured into hers, he jolted back, almost overturning his chair.

"Weasley!" he snarled, venemously, apparently less than pleased that she had been watching him sleep. Still, he felt a blush dare to creep into his cheeks, and he found himself flustered.

"Sorry!" she said, calmly, a tiny smile on her lips.

There was a silence, where Draco fidgeted with his hands, watching them intently, and where Ginny quietly rummaged through her bag.

"Why weren't you at dinner?"

Draco's mind reeled over into defense mode. "None of your business; but if it matters so much to you, I wasn't hungry."

She rolled her eyes. "Looks to me like you haven't been hungry for a while now."

Draco almost choked on his breath: she'd been watching him? "No, I haven't."

An alluring smell suddenly reached his nostrils, and Ginny set some very delicious looking food on the table. "Here," she said simply, and Draco gaped at the half-mashed slice of shepard's pie in front of him; an endearing mixture of peas, mashed potatoes and carrots topped with glisteningly juicy minced beef. His mouth watered for it, and he realized how long it had been since he'd eaten anything sustaining. "Eat," she ordered.

Draco looked to her, his eyes wide, like that of a child's. Then, he concreted. "No." He found the shreds of his pride rising up in his throat, he would not take orders from anyone! Even if that person was the recklessly beautiful Ginny Weasley, who seemed at this moment both extraordinarily naive and extraordinarily thoughtful for bringing him this yummy present.

Ginny promptly sat, and Draco felt his patience leaving him. "Eat it, or I will feed you."

Eat it, or I will feed you...The words resounded through Draco's head, echoing, and he was dragged back, back in time, to when he was young still; stubborn and over-filled with dignity. He remembered his mother, his beautiful lovely mother, holding the silver spoon in her hand, teasing him...He watched as Ginny gathered some of the scrumptuous meal in her hand, leaning towards him threateningly...Eat it, Draco, or I will feed you...The food touched his lips, his mother's silver spoon cold against his shut tight mouth, Ginny's hand a splash of warmth...

He was overcome with anger, a fear so inaudible he could not even comprehend it until Ginny Weasley and his mother said the exact same words and it all came pouring out in a torrent of volatility. "Eat, Draco; please?"

He jumped back suddenly, slamming his fists against the table and bellowing loudly, "Goddamnit Weasley; you're not my fucking mother, so lay off!"

There was a silence where neither could hear anything but the beats of their hearts, a rhythmic drumming in their ears. Draco looked to the ceiling, trying to gather his wits, then back down to Ginny. When he saw the tears in her eyes, his heart gave a cold pang. "Sorry," she murmured, before grabbing her bag and running away, away from Draco, away from the library, tears breaking out over her face. "Sorry..."

Author's Note: Uh oh, Draco, what have you done now? Working on next chapter, dutifully; pwweeeeez review every one!