5. Ginny loves Draco written by cupid-painted-blind

why the fruit is forbidden

She wonders when she lost her mind. Surely Mum didn't raise this sort of girl, right? She frets and she fumbles with strings and with the ends of quills and thinks that maybe she ought to be committed to that spell damage ward of St. Mungo's because no girl is as crazy or as stupid as she's been.

But... There's something so magnetic, so - there's no word for it, really, just some sort of force about him that drags her closer, pulls her under, drives her mad. He's beautiful and he's terrible and he's everything she can never, ever have, and that makes him irresistible. And that's not right, it's so wrong and it's so foul and it's so cruel but she just can't turn away.

It's just a crush, she tells herself. Just a silly crush on a stupid boy and soon enough she'll grow out of it and go flying back into Harry's arms. Right. Just a stupid crush.

Her heart flutters faster when he comes near, when she smells his cologne (even though she coughs and loudly complains about idiots who think dress codes don't exist and feel the need to rape the nostrils of everyone in the entire north wing of the school, she thinks it really does smell good). Her heart flutters and fumbles and tumbles over and it's not a good feeling at all. All the romance novels say that hearts skipping beats is supposed to be a good feeling, but it's like she can quite breathe and she seems to lose control when he's around.

It's most definitely not what she's supposed to be feeling.

But she really can't pretend it isn't there - after all, Weasleys aren't exactly known for complexions which hide their emotions, and for that, she kind of hates being a Weasley. Because, really, this is getting old. This has gotten old. Got old a long time ago.

She taps her foot impatiently, stuck behind him in line at Honeydukes, loudly sighing and throwing irritated glares at his back, while he deliberately takes longer than he has to, asking the teller mundane questions about which sort of chocolate is better, the white or dark, and whether chocolate covered cherries are better than chocolate covered strawberries.

All she wants to do is buy her damn frogs and get away from his cologne and blond hair and cold eyes. But he's a jerk. For a moment, she's seized with a beautiful hate, and not the cute, romance-novel hate that always seems to grow into love. No, no. This is the real sort, the kind that she's supposed to be feeling about him. She savors it, tastes the sweet succulence of loathing, rolls it around on her tongue.

Oh, this feels good. This is right, remember, this is how she's supposed to feel when it comes to him.

And then she hears his voice, all deep and arrogant and the hate is gone, replaced by a disgusting mushy feeling, because damn, he has a sexy voice. And a tiny piece of her cries, because even though Harry is adorable and wonderful and handsome, his voice just can't hold a candle to Malfoy's.

She sighs heavily and taps her foot louder. Suddenly, Malfoy turns and, with an irritated, nearly disgusted look, tells her to stop that idiotic tapping. After all, he sneers, it's not like you've got the money to buy anything.

She raises her hand to slap him, but drops it lamely at her side instead. She won't accomplish anything by hitting him, no matter how good it would feel. Her roommates have recently been dogging her about her little violent streak, warning her that she'll never get a real boyfriend if she doesn't learn to control her emotions. She thinks that any guy who's serious about her should love her in spite of her emotions, but then again, they have a point.

So she doesn't hit him. Just fumes. And sabotages his chocolate covered cherries later that afternoon when he isn't looking and leaves them sitting at his table in the Three Broomsticks, with one of the Twins' love potions.

She can't explain why she does it. Partly to get revenge for being such a jerk, partly because she knows her brother will probably hit him or at the very least curse him for it, and then partly because -

Partly because of reasons she doesn't want to admit. Partly because of the same reason any woman gives someone a love potion. Partly because being the object of his affection sounds like a wonderful way to spend the rest of the day.

She shakes it off and heads for the castle, stolen cherries in her hands.

After all, they're just cherries. Just chocolate on fruit. He won't miss them. In fact, he'd probably thank her if he knew what was sprinkled all on them. Right. Just a mistake she's made that she managed to show a rare moment of sense after, and fixed. No problems. Just cherries.

That night, she throws them all into the lake, refusing to believe that she's crying. Refusing to think that she'd rather take his fake love than Harry's real. Refusing to admit that she was willing to go that far for a stupid crush.

After all, they're just cherries.