Sunsets

Draco stood for moments on end, dumbstruck in the library, gaping after the place where she'd sat. She was gone now, and with her seemed to have left every ounce of tranquility--the library now seemed to taunt him, laughing and pointing at his shame, his humiliation. Every bad thing he'd ever done came back at him full force, in fact, he embraced them eagerly, trying trying to find some guilt greater than the one that now knawed his stomach, stronger than even the hunger previously present. He found his heart racing, hard, harder than it had ever beat, the blood rushing to his face, pounding at his head, his eyes...

A headache like no other bombarded him, as Draco sat, defeated into his righted chair, still staring at the place where she had been. He took deep breaths, as if trying to catch her strawberry scent in the air, some indication that she was still there, except laughing and giggling behind the bookcases in her vulnerable way. His eyes wouldn't move, and no matter what inner turmoils he purposely wrought on himself, all he could be aware of was the horrifying pain that ate at his heart; chewing it and making it bleed and ache.

Ginny Weasley had just made her sobbing exit, and Draco Malfoy was now brooding over his cruel words, for once feeling the force of his own actions.

He didn't know why there was guilt; he didn't like her, they weren't friends. She really had no right to come charging in here, disturbing him in the hopes that he would eat out of her disgusting hand; then again, she'd had no reason, no obligation...she'd done it off her own free will, off of the goodness in her heart...And Draco realized, he'd had no reason to refuse her good deed, to shoot her down in the vile manner in which he had. Slowly, he put his elbows on the table, carressing his head in his palms and willing the feeling away.

After all, he was Draco Malfoy. He was emotionless; if he could withstand his father's tortures, why couldn't he withstand small hurts inflicted on Ginny Weasley--by himself, nonetheless?

'She is unimportant,' he gritted, digging his nails into his scalp, 'Unimportant.' Tears of anger, anger at himself and anger at her, trickled silently down his cheeks, and the worse part was...

He didn't know why.

All that he was capable of processing, of aptly understanding, was the look of absolute hurt in Ginny Weasley's eyes, the way the usually bright and blue color had dimmed drastically at his statement...the way the tears had pricked at her eyelashes, and she'd turned away quickly so he wouldn't see...the way that, in mid-run, she'd uttered small sorries in her broken voice, each that had cut him so badly, piercing his conscience with silver bullets.

His weeping eyes caught the sight of the still-present shepard's pie, and he grated his teeth. He reached a hand out, finding it cold, but nevertheless scooping up a handful.

Sadly, he ate, all the while thinking of the deed he had just committed, and whether or not he should aspire to right it.

Ginny was in her Dormitory before even she knew it. She flung herself onto the bed and sobbed for a long, long time in her pillow, soaking the pillow case with her tears.

When she was finished, she flipped over, eyes puffy, red and sore, drawing in the curtains to her bed and glaring contemplatively at the ceiling.

'I over-reacted,' she decided, suddenly, 'I hardly even know him--and what I do know of him isn't all that great. I shouldn't have even brought him any of that damn pie. It was good pie, too.' She closed her eyes, splaying her fingers out over her stomach. Her hurt feelings still bristled uncomfortably, and in her ears echoed his cold, angry words; but she knew she would have to get over it eventually. 'I don't even know what I hoped for,' she said, with a small sad smile, 'Helping a Malfoy...what was I thinking? That's, I think, three times I've helped him now...' Her mind flitted back to the Hogwarts Express, holding his hand in hers and healing him...the way his pain had floated into her body, making her cringe as the magic evaluated how deep the cut was, how much of her energy she'd have to use...The way he'd looked at her incredulously, still, though, refusing to meet her eyes for more than a few brief seconds.

She remembered back to Potions class, the way he had shook in some unseen terror, some living nightmare, and the way she'd grasped his hand and he'd clutched back. She remembered reveling in the warmth of his hand, the special tingles that had arose from this small touch...She remembered the way he had gazed at her, confused, then stony; the way he had refused to tell her what was wrong...

"AHCK!" she said out loud, rolling over. She had no clue why this bothered her so much. The thing was: she wanted to know what was wrong...in fact, she needed to know. Every second she saw him, looking like a ghost, a mere wraith of what he once was...it killed some part of her; the part of her that longed for him to go back to normal, even if normal meant those burning insults and cursed jeers.

Slowly, her mind drifted to her latest encounter with Malfoy. Finding him asleep, looking so damn peaceful. What she'd do to...to wake up to that face every...'No!' she suddenly vowed, 'What am I thinking? Am I...Do I...?'

"Gin?"

A brunette head peeped around the crimson curtains of Ginny's four poster bed, Helen's ochre eyes looking concerned. "You looked like you just cried up a storm, sweetie!"

Ginny laughed, unsurely, "I just did."

"Oh dear," Helen replied, drawing the curtains slightly apart so that she could sit herself down on the bed, next to Ginny, "Why?"

Ginny sat up, smoothing out her hair, her mind struggling to find a sensible excuse. "Malfoy--"

"Oh, that no good bastard!" Helen suddenly swore, "Wait till I get my hands on him--"

Helen was about to march defiantly out the door, when Ginny interrupted her exit. "No, Helen; please don't. It's okay. I'm on PMS, so I took a pathetic word a bit too much to heart. It's fine."

Helen visibly softened, "If you say so, lady. Still, I'd like to have a few words with the no good..."

And so Ginny's evening progressed, with Helen jaunting on about just about any one who seemed to pop into her mind, all the while Ginny brooding sadly on her bruised feelings, trying to suppress any feeling having to do with Mr. Draco Malfoy.

Ginny cursed her luck the moment she stepped in to the next Potions class, willing it all to just be a bad, bad dream. She had successfully managed to avoid Malfoy for the past few days, only passing him by ocassionally in the hallways, though somehow grateful to the fact that he now attended dinner. He ate sparsely, but at least he ate at all, and the way he sometimes looked up at her regretfully sated both her pride and her sense of worry. He was eating, and he obviously remembered quite vividly his crude dismissal of her.

But this, this she was not sure she could handle. Anger, fear and hurt welled up in her as she stepped into the class, once again on time, but too late to get a proper seat...a seat away from the room's most concrete inhabitant: Draco Malfoy. Hesitantly, with her sourest face on, she approached the seat, and he looked up, his eyes suddenly dimming--if that was at all possible at this point. She settled next to him, placing her bag under the table, and he shuffled away until he was as far away from her as possible.

She sat on the very edge of the bench, willing him to disappear, or willing herself to melt into the rough wood--neither happened. Instead, she sat there, studying the grooves of the table, eyes traveling up to her pewter cauldron, then across to her seating partner. He didn't look as gaunt as before, though he looked like he hadn't slept in a while--his fair hair fell recklessly into his face and his uniform was rather disheveled. Ginny dropped her gaze to his hands; they were big and strong, smooth but with the slightest of calluses, doubtlessly from gripping broomsticks--and still, still she fought the horrific urge to reach out and hold them, to bring some of the warmth they undoubtedly held into her own palms, and lose herself in sensation.

Her eyes narrowed, and she looked up as Snape walked into the room. "Today," he started, his cold voice echoing off the walls, "we shall begin on a very complex potion called Cattivo Ricodare. Can any one tell me who discovered this potion, and what it is used for?"

Hermione's eager hand shot up, and Snape did a good job of ignoring her. Slowly, Ginny rose her hand, shaking with nervousness. Snape looked to her, and nodded his head in assent. "Cattivo Ricodare was discovered by a Warlock named James Ricodare in the 1650s. It doesn't have any practical use, but is used to discover a person's worse memory, or a situation that has scarred them considerably."

"But, Miss Weasley, it does have a practical use. The Dark Lord was known for his tyrant misuse of the Potion, often torturing his captives into submission with its continued use. The variation of the Potion that we will be working on for the rest of the week, however, does not recquire the person in question to drink it; rather to simply place a hair, a nail, even a flake of skin, into the cauldron and say 'Cattivius Ricodara'. This will cause the surface of the Potion to turn blue, and, if the Potion is done correctly, show that person's worse nightmare. When this nightmare has become to...shall we say, pressing, the person need only counteract it with the same words he or she said to begin it." Snape brushed a lock of oily, black hair out of his face, his pale hand skeletal and ominous in the shadows. "Now, class, copy the ingredients off the board and begin. By the end of this week I expect to have a vial full of each of your worse nightmares." He presently stalked out of the room, leaving them to their work.

Ginny copied quickly, eager to reach the Ingredients cabinet before Malfoy so that she could have a mere moment to gather her wits. Just being around him seemed to make her blood hot with emotion, and she was finding it rather hard to contain. Once she gathered her ingredients, she walked--rather slowly--back to the desk, and began chopping up Hornbeak liver with gentle deliberation. Malfoy was now at the cabinet, and she watched him out of the corner of her eye; eyeing his erect, black-clad back with a certain anticipated apprehension.

When he returned, she thrust herself into her work, careful to avoid glancing at him, or even brushing his hand. Still, she could not deny, in the very deepest pit of her stomach, she could feel his presence, moving purposefully next to her. She knew that, like herself, he was working to dodge any unecessary contact. She could almost feel the guilt and sure nervousness radiate off of him; in fact, the air was thick with their combined auras, tense in rememberance.

Draco didn't know how long he could hold up. For some reason, it was taking all of his self-control to not fall to his knees before her and beg for forgiveness. Just the fact that she could go on like nothing had happened seemed to peeve him, making him want, all the more, to get her to notice him once again. He almost missed her concern; the way she had previously openly cared and was constantly angry at himself for having averted it.

So imbursed was he in his own angry thoughts, that he almost didn't realize it when the blade he was using to cut up Klavicus root sliced into his finger. "Shit," he swore quietly, just loud enough for her to hear him. Blood trickled down his finger from where the wound was, pain mounting to a steady sting. "What is bloody wrong with me!" he groaned in exasperation.

For the first time that class, Ginny looked over to him, and promptly stopped what she was doing. A small gasp emanated from her lips, making him look over to her. Their eyes met for a moment, silver pouring into blue, and Draco could feel himself melt in guilt. Sparks flew up his spine, making all his hairs stand on end, and his heart pounded loudly in his chest. She looked away, down to his finger, shaking her head almost tiredly. "What is wrong with you Malfoy?" she questioned, her voice a bit bitter. The tone stung him; it had never occured to him that she would be angry; just hurt. "Do you need a nanny to look over you or something? God! How can you possibly always hurt yourself, and why am I always the only one around to see it?"

By now, however, Ginny's outburst, though it had been quiet and only directed at him, had been noticed. Students in close vicinity were peering questioningly at the two, some alarmed at Draco's bleeding finger, others amused by Ginny's anger. As if it were her duty, Ginny drew her wand, and Draco, remembering the episode on the Hogwarts Express, pushed his hand obediently towards her. She watched him a bit warily after this gesture. "I hope you're not getting used to this, Malfoy," she told him, before muttering quietly her healing spell.

"I'm not," he murmured to her, once the finger was healed and the onlookers had gone back to work, "Though I think I'd like to have you around more, just in case."

Draco bit the inside of his cheek when he saw her look, instantly knowing that had been the wrong thing to say. "Piss off, Malfoy," Ginny snarled, "I'm not your mother, after all."

Draco watched, his mouth hanging open, as Weasley gathered her things. She stuffed her books into her bag, along with her quille and sealed ink pot, then hastily walked out of the class. He sat there for a moment, in the dark of the dungeon, amidst his year mates gathering their things and bustling out. It was a while before he realized that class was over. Slowly, as if every movement pained him, he gathered his things, tucking them into his back pack, all the while trying to figure out why he'd said what he had, and why on earth Weasley's retort hurt him so damn much.

Ginny decided that for tonight, dinner was irrelevant. She ducked quietly into a darkened corner, dropping her bag on the floor and resting her forehead against the cold stone. The tears fell, slow but steady, down her cheeks, each one marking another question. "What's wrong with me?" "Why did I say that?" "Why did he say that?" "Why am I even crying?" Everything, very suddenly, felt strange. It was as if she no longer knew herself; all she knew was Malfoy and Malfoy and more Malfoy.

'Now he knows how it feels,' she decided, but still the tears rolled down her cheeks. She held back a sob. It was all wrong. Why was she acting like this? Why was she so worried about stupid Malfoy? And why was he having this sort of effect on her? 'This has never happened before,' Ginny thought, 'I've never felt the urge to...to protect...to know anything about Malfoy. Why am I suddenly so wrapped up in him?'

She thought back to the years previous, the way she would hide around every corner, listening with growing anger as Malfoy insulted her brother; the way she would boo him as loud as she could as he raced towards the Snitch, Harry hot on his tail. The way she would grasp at any chance to catch his eye, or to simply watch him walk arrogantly down a corridor. It wasn't abnormal. Ginny knew that every girl in her year had, at one point or another, obsessed over the Slytherin Prince. He was too devishly good-looking for any sane, straight female to bypass, without, at least, the slightest of tingles.

But this year...this year he seemed to be illiciting more than tingles from her. This year he had her worrying over him; this year he had her longing to hear his voice, to touch him, to...to..."Oh, gosh!" Ginny swore, wiping away her tears, "I have to stop this!"

Draco didn't see Ginny at dinner that evening, and for some reason it rose within him the embers of worry. 'Did I upset her that much?' he brooded, concernedly, as he laborously chewed on a piece of succulent chicken, 'Maybe...maybe...' He was stuck; it seemed no matter how much he chided himself, he could not, would not stop glancing over at the Gryffindor table, in dim hopes that she had just arrived. His stomach twisted and twirled, guilt lacing itself in between his fingers and seeping into every crevice. By the time dinner was over, Draco was practically drowned in it, and it was most definitely the worse feeling he had ever experienced.

'I'm going to go find her,' he decided, and remembering how she had brought him food in the library that day, he wrapped a piece of that delicious chicken in a napkin and waited for the platters to disappear.

Before they did, Dumbledore made one of his abrupt appearances. His blue eyes twinkled, as was normal, his white beard seemingly even more flowing than usual. He gave his pupils a shining grin before beginning. "I hope you are all having a wonderful year so far; to tell you all the truth, I am! Just making sure you all are aware of the fact that this Saturday is the very first Hogsmeade trip of the year, for third years and over. You all are expected to leave the school at eight o'clock, if you want to leave at all, and to return by seven that evening. Thank you for your attention, you all may now return to your Dormitories."

Draco was hardly listening as Dumbledore said his typical goodbye, something consisting of lemondrops, humblebugs and frog apples. He was already out the door by the time Dumbledore had settled himself into the Head chair, gratefully accepting the cheese puffs offered by Flitwick; and by the time Dumbledore had glanced back the the doors to the Great Hall to see why they had been closed so suddenly, Draco was already on his way to the library.

Author's Note: Oh, how tragic, Draco feels broodingly guilty, Ginny feels regretfully sad...what next? Reviews purdy please :-)