Wow. 2 big fat months later, here it is. Life is crazy sometimes. I'm so happy to have this finished, but I am quite worried, you guys. This doesn't seem anything at all like previous chapters, and I'm afraid I'm losing my touch. Please review and tell me what you think of it, will you? Thanks so much, and I'm terribly sorry for the wait. With summer here, I have much more free time!
THE APPLE OF MY EYE: CHP 8
I have never really used the word regret in my life. That is probably because, as you may have assumed, I don't regret many things that I've done. There was the occasional instance— such as eating the chocolate Ron got from Hermione last Valentine's Day, primarily because it made me a bit queasy— but at no specific point in my 16-year-old existence did I ever really remember thinking, 'Gee, I really regret that one,' or 'Nice going, moron; that's going to come back to kick you in the arse.'
All of that changed the instant his pewter eyes burned through the curtain of snow to meet my own. I think the best thing to compare them to would be the calm before a storm. His eyes reminded me of a swirling gray sky, ominous and indicative of a ferocious passion ready to erupt from its containments at any moment.
Regardless of how idiotic I knew it sounded, my rather poetic and more than a little disgusting train of thought would have continued forever had I allowed it the freedom to do so. You see, one of my more embarrassing— and certainly the most unrealistic and simply stupid—habits was to create this false and completely imaginative sense that my interests (not to say that Draco was an interest) could be described as beautiful individuals capable of floating through life with a certain grace and elegance. It really was amazing how fast my mind came up with things like that. I guess you could call it a gift, albeit not a very useful one. I suppose it meant I had the option of growing up to be a starving poetic artist if I felt the need.
Put simply, I had a tendency to raise them up on pedestals. That was somewhat ironic in this case, seeing as Draco most likely already thought himself to be worthy of such a thing. That was actually very ironic, considering the being that I had just made out to sound like a god currently looked like he was going to eat me alive. Some beautiful person he was, eh? Yes, ironic was definitely the word for it.
I didn't really regret the situation, however, until he started to take dreadfully slow, metered, and downright painful steps toward me. A lazy, lopsided grin screamed trouble, and he shook his head back and forth in what I could tell was a very deliberate manner, as if to say 'Tsk tsk, you fool. What were you thinking? Now you're in for it.'
Quite honestly, I didn't know what to do. Part of me, probably the more logical—if you could call it that—portion of my mind, was telling me to sprint as fast as my legs could carry me, in the opposite direction. How logical this was I didn't know, seeing as I couldn't imagine sprinting through 3 feet of snow to be very effective. The other side of my mind—
I didn't know or want to know what this portion was called—was thinking that being 'caught' may not be as bad as it sounded. Sure, he could very well be planning on wringing my neck, but the notion that I'd be close enough to smell him kept overshadowing any logic that even tried to make an appearance in my head. Heck, I wouldn't mind if he did wring my neck; he'd have to touch me to do it, after all.
It's okay. You can say it. I'm a freak. Cut me some slack, okay? I'm a woman. Hence, I over-analyze things; it's how the world works.
In any case, that last thought made me feel quite perverted, not to mention morbid. I felt like the heroine of some slasher film. With my last bit of willpower I managed to mentally turn off the switch that allowed such freedom of thought. God knows I didn't need any of that rolling around in there. I decided to act on pure instinct; I always did like living in the moment. It was somehow liberating to free my mind of the heavy task of planning ahead.
There was only the soft whistling of the wind, and the ominous crunch of Draco's boots against the snow. I took a step backwards.
"What's the matter, Weasley?" He asked in a sickeningly sweet voice, cocking his head to the side as if to mock me. His eyes gave him away; gray fire still burned in the depths of their orbs. There wasn't an innocent thing about them. I didn't reply. Not like I could have if I'd wanted to. I was fine as long as those eyes weren't intense and smoldering, but in situations like this, I was completely incapacitated.
"No comeback? How uncharacteristic of you. You always have something to say," he continued, his voice low and subdued.
It was that comment that started it. I don't know if it was the fact that he seemed to know something about me, or because his voice was probably the most attractive thing I'd ever heard. It very well may have been those two things combined. Regardless, it had the same effect as running a smoldering jet of water down my back: my spine started to tingle, my breathing grew uneven, and my muscles ached. I knew from that point on, that I could not let him come within reach of me. If my restraint was wavering this much when he was 10 feet away, having him within my grasp would prove to be disastrous. I cursed under my breath as I remembered worrying about this exact issue the moment I stepped out into the chilled air with him. My earlier fears had been justified.
I took another step back, taking immense care to avoid letting my gaze linger on his wretched eyes. He met my step with two more of his own, putting him less than 6 paces in front of me. I felt my hands grow clammy despite cold. Oh not good, not good.
"Draco, don't," I heard myself say. I could feel the timbre of my voice tremble, and hoped to the merciful gods, if there were any left, that it sounded steadfast, or at least normal.
"Don't?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He looked slightly amused. I was annoyed by this; how unfair that I be so affected and he was his completely normal, smug self! "Don't what, exactly?" His words seemed more comfortable than genuinely confused to my ears. A terrible thought then crossed my mind: What if he knew? Was he aware of what he was doing to me? My throat closed up at the possibility. I watched in horror as he slowly took another step.
"Draco…." I managed out, noting the rapidly decreasing space between us. It sounded more like a plea than a threat this time. I started to back away steadily now, only partly aware that I was shaking my head.
"Yes, Ginny?" My stomach clenched as he said my name. Was he trying to make me lose my mind? His impatient eyes waited under heavy lashes. I wanted to punch him.
I opened my mouth with the full intention of saying something, but that didn't go exactly as planned. Think gaping fish, instead. Draco didn't appear satisfied with my….answer.
"You can give it, but can't take it, is that it? What a fine example of duplicity. Tell me, why is it that you can get me but I can't get you? Just how does that validate itself as 'fair' in your mind?" His voice started to rise, though he remained calm, and I realized that this was how he got when he showed emotion.
I swallowed and answered with as few words as possible.
"You're cheating." He raised an eyebrow, now looking slightly agitated. I closed my eyes in hopes that it would allow me to focus all of my energy on stilling my weak knees. Please don't let him see that…
"Care to elaborate?" I could only shake my head, as I was now positive that my voice was failing.
"No? I don't believe in being honest to a fault, remember?"
"Neither of us will benefit from you understanding this, Draco, trust me." He laughed cynically.
"Trust you?" his voice was softer, and my eyes opened on their own accord at his change in tone, curious as to his facial expression, desperate to gain an understanding.
Nothing in this world could have possibly prepared me for what met my eyes. In those few moments when they had been closed, the idiotic boy had nearly eliminated the distance between us, leaving a gap of a mere 10 inches. That may seem like a lot, but to a girl whose mind is as sick and twisted as mine, it is nothing. In a millisecond my imagination was coming up with various ways to close that distance. In the millisecond following, shock took over, and I jolted backwards, losing my balance in my instant of surprise.
I gasped, stumbling backwards in haste as I began to tip towards the snow. I was almost praying that I would hit my head and lose consciousness. That way I wouldn't have to explain my freakish behavior, at the very least. Unfortunately for me, however, Draco quickly grasped my shoulders, planting my feet quite solidly on the ground, and by doing so, ultimately destroyed any hopes of that happening. If only that was all he had destroyed….
I physically felt my resolve shatter at the contact. My body went crazy. My throat all but closed, I clenched my hands into tight fists to prevent them from doing anything ridiculous, and a series of spasms racked through my shoulders. Knowing I couldn't delay it any longer, I reluctantly looked up at him, trying terribly hard to mask the horror on my face. There was no way he couldn't understand now.
I rejoiced slightly at the prospect that he wasn't completely repulsed. He looked at me seriously, his brow furrowed, as if deep in thought. His eyes flicked to his hands, still clamped tightly to my trembling shoulders, before they returned to my own. I swallowed, realizing he was wondering what to make of my quivering frame. With any luck, the conclusion he had reached wasn't utter repulsion at the notion that I thought he was….er….pleasant looking. My stomach twisted as I realized that wasn't the only thing I now found pleasant about him, as I had recently discovered a sharp wit and intellect curtained behind the smirk I found so bloody fascinating.
Quite unexpectedly his eyes narrowed to something just short of a glare, as a hollow looking expression washed over his face.
"…Are you afraid of me?" he sounded incredulous, almost disappointed, and I could have sworn I noticed a bit of anger or resentment lurking in his words. My shaking stilled at his words. He hadn't figured it out.
"No," I responded, alarmed but satisfied at how firm my tone suddenly sounded. A few moments passed before his glare softened, and he nodded curtly before releasing my shoulders and turning on his heel.
I felt my breathing return to normal as I watched him pick up his shovel in his right hand and continue walking, the other stuffed soundly in his pocket. The murkiness impairing my judgment slowly dissipated as Draco reverted back to his normal self, intrigue taking its place. I was grateful, to say the least, for the lessened tension. That had been a very close call. Still, I couldn't help but wonder why he had felt the need to ask me that.
Taking one last deep breath to restore my confidence, I snatched up my shovel and hurried in the same direction, falling into step beside him.
"Should I be?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow playfully. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, and chuckled, shaking his head. He shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. I tried not to note the immense satisfaction I took from making him laugh.
"Probably," he answered gravely, half serious, "I'm not the warm and fuzzy type." It was my turn to laugh. He looked at me curiously, the grin still playing at his lips.
"What?" I asked innocently, "You make me laugh!" Draco shook his head again, eyes looking forward through the bleary white flakes.
"Well I'll be damned."
"What's so weird about that?" I asked, genuinely confused.
"You're different than a lot of people, is all."
"How's that?"
"I dunno. I haven't figured it out yet."
"Fair enough. Though, I should warn you, I don't think I'm the only one that would have laughed at that last bit. In fact," I continued, raising a finger in the air, "you curled up with a warm and fuzzy stuffed bear would make great material for stand up comedy."
"Sod off."
"Oh come on, it'd be brilliant. I can see it now, you curled up in a nice fluffy blanket your mum sent you in fron—"
I was abruptly cut off, as an arm shot out and pushed me sideways into a nearby snow drift. I glared at his back as he continued walking.
"Sorry about that one, Weasley. Muscle spasm, you see. Of course, what am I talking about? You and I both know how easy it is for you to trip all over the place. You probably slipped on something," he called smugly over his shoulder. That was hitting below the belt. How dare he bring up my mishap in the entrance hall!
I waited for him to turn his head before childishly making a face at his retreating form. I honestly didn't care how ridiculous it looked, for it made me feel much better. I then made a grand show of dusting myself off and marching after him with as much dignity as I could muster, pride still intact.
"You're no fun, you know that?" I informed him, glancing sideways in his direction.
"Rubbish, I found that positively enjoyable," he smirked, still looking straight ahead.
"It's all about you, isn't it, Draco?"
"It's not my fault I'm all you think about."
I know he was joking. I know he didn't mean a single thing by it. I even know he didn't intentionally do it. Regardless, it was still pretty bloody frightening to hear him say something so close to the truth, especially after what had just happened a few minutes ago.
I lost my grip on my shovel in my surprise, and it fell from its position on my shoulder, the metal edge thudding against the back of my calf before clattering to the freshly cleared stone. Oddly enough, it was the same leg that had been injured the day before. The poor bugger sure was taking a beating lately. It wasn't that big of a deal; if it hurt, I was far too paranoid to notice.
Draco stopped, and looked backwards at me curiously, eyes darting from my face, to my shovel, to my leg in turn.
"Are you alright?" he asked, preparing to take a step toward me. I nodded hastily, picking up my shovel once more.
"Yeah, the thing's a bit slippery, is all." He raised his eyebrows. I mentally slapped myself for using such a feeble excuse. After a moment, however, he seemed to accept it.
"Right. Well come on, then. We've got a road to clear and a village in need."
I nodded, barely able to make out the snowy rooftops of Hogsmeade in the distance.
END CHAPTER 8
Well, there you go. I hope it seemed longer, or sufficient at least.