The Pain of Contemplation
Chapter 4

I hate being alone. Its like the world is revolving so fast, and you're stuck on the moon. Its feels like being left out; it is being left out from love from something you fear will never happen. How can someone love me? I'm just me… no one special, just another red haired Weasley. Sometimes it's so bad, when you see the friction between people in love, the way they hold each other, the way if you watch close enough, their lips in this perfect motion, like they'd rehearsed it for hours on end. Why? Why can't that be me? It's always everyone else, but not me. There are so many people that don't even deserve love, they're so small minded, so evil; but they have it. They have love, the love I dream about, the love I never really stop thinking about, the love that seems unable to quench. I want that so bad, I want that love, the can't eat, can't sleep without you love.

I hate being alone, being cut off from everyone else because it seems that they have that connection, they have that love in their life that makes them feel special, makes them feel like their worth more than you. You feel like the only person standing in a standing ovation, as if you're the only one who truly cared, who truly listened, who truly understood, yet, even if you're the only one who cared and listened and understood, you're still the one missing out. Sometimes I'd rather not understand then miss out, sometimes I'd give up intelligence, give up pureness, give up everything, just so I could be included. I'd rather have love than anything in the world; I'd rather have love than be myself. But, I can't. I can't give up who I am just for love, it wouldn't be true love, he wouldn't love me, he'd love who I was pretending to be, who I thought he wanted.

Who am I? I'm just an average girl, a girl that no one looks at, that no one wants to see, I couldn't stand out if I wanted too. I should try, maybe put myself out there, set myself on a pedestal and hope he comes, hope he sees me and can't keep his eyes off of me, hope he comes running to tell me how much he cares, hope he isn't tying his shoe or taking a drink, hope he isn't alive, hope he isn't gone, hope he's real.

Average people find love, it's the below average ones that don't. The ones that aren't pretty enough, the ones whose hair doesn't fall just right, the ones whose eyes aren't blue enough, the ones who aren't funny enough, me. I'm so below average, I'm not on the scale, I'm pushed down by all the people around me, all the people I'm different from, all the people that can't accept me because I'm not good enough.

Why should I deserve someone? I don't even deserve the prefect badge on my chest, I don't deserve my family, all of my close friends, the money Fred and George send because I'm their little sister.

I want to run, to run away to a different world. A world where I'm like everyone else, and I can find a man just like everyone else, who's loving and caring and does all the right things, says all the right things, cares about all the right things. I want to find a place where I can get everything I want, to have all of my wishes granted. I would only want one thing; wish for one thing, him. He'd be everything and all, forever and always, happily ever after, if only he'd come.

Maybe I should find him, look for him, rescue him, stop waiting for me to find him. Go out into the world to figure out who he is, what he likes, what he wants, what he fears, what he loves, what he hates. What if I find him, and he doesn't want to be found? What if he hates me, thinks I'm nothing, some ugly red haired girl whose to smart for her own good, dreams too much, has her nose in too many books, plays to many pranks, has too many glints in her eye?

How could he? If he's the one he'll love me, he'll want to take me into his arms and hold me forever, he'll want to kiss me, to have our lips dance like we'd rehearsed for hours, to have friction so thick people on the other side of the world can see it. He'd want to know my fears, my wants; he'd want to know me.

Who am I? Am I this badge on my shirt? Am I just another Weasley, a flame haired, straggly little girl whose no prettier than a flobberworm? Or am I different, unique, special? No, I'm depressed and lonely. I'm the witch with a million cats, the hermit miles from town, the recluse all the children are afraid of, and I'm the one that will never find my someone, because I'm depressed and lonely. If I were happy, I'd find him. If I had everything, he'd come to me. If I was worth it, he'd been her by now, but I'm not. I'm plain, I'm normal, I'm regular, I'm the opposite of everything I wish I was.

How can I pretend to be someone else? I'm not. I'm not that witch that's going to save lives, whose going to change the world, whose going to be something so great everyone will remember her name. I'm that witch with the cats, the hermit, and the recluse.

Merlin, I hate it!

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Draco watched Ginny from his own desk in the prefect common room. He'd been there every day since they'd seen each other at night, waiting for her to show up. She hadn't noticed him when she came in, he liked that. He hadn't wanted her to see him; he'd just wanted to see her.

He couldn't get her out of his mind, he hated that. He hated her, she was a poor muggle lover, and he was a rich pureblood with an odd infatuation with her. It was like the master of an estate wanting the slave girl that cleaned the house; it was a odd sexual desire, nothing more.

Why didn't the Slytherin girls curb that? They were prettier, well no they weren't prettier than Ginny he had to admit. Her red hair looked so beautiful against her porcelain face, like an angel. She was beautiful, not a straggly poor girl, but somewhat refined in a less prominent way.

The Slytherin girls could be pretty, if they didn't wear too much make-up, didn't dress so provocatively, they'd be beautiful, not sexually desirable. Did he want that? Did he really want a girl that was beautiful rather than a girl that was a good shag? He didn't want Pansy and she was the best shag in the house, wasn't much to look at though. She had a pig snout for a nose, which you didn't notice in the bedroom, he didn't like the way that she was a little pudgy, she ate too much, he knew that, and the only exercise she got was in the bed. Does that really count when most of the time she just lays on her back? No, she's just a lazy girl who's not very pretty. He didn't like her hair either; it was a dull blonde and always smelled of cigarettes. He could taste it in her mouth, the disgusting smoke; it was like ash to taste.

Really all she was good for was a shag, an emotionless shag where you didn't kiss or seduce, just did away with your desire. That's what he wanted, he told himself, he wanted a shag without emotion, without the need to please someone else for their pleasure. That's what a boy should want; his father had said that, he'd told him he's too young to worry about emotion. He was told to worry about his service to the Dark Lord and finding a rich girl to marry, pretty or ugly, sweet or bitter, money was the only thing that mattered. He'd been told to get that out of the way, the teenage need for love and sex, do what he pleased at night, just don't get some girl pregnant. He'd listened, taking the potion that made him infertile for twenty-four hours, making the girls take the same one, to eliminate all risk.

He was starting to dislike his orders, why not get emotional? Why not fall in love? Love is weakness, he told himself. Of course it was, you'd risk your own life for love, change your loyalties for love, he didn't want that. He was loyal to the Dark Lord, even if he didn't want to be. He'd flip-flop in his feelings towards Voldemort. He'd been raised to worship evil, to do everything the pureblood way, to persecute muggles and mudbloods, but sometimes he felt if he was just playing a role. He wasn't sure if he was the pureblood his father wanted him to be.

She coughed, bringing him out of the never-ending thoughts of his existence. She was so beautiful; her cheeks were red as she bent over a piece of parchment writing furiously. She hadn't taken her quill from the parchment for ages; he wondered what she was writing. Maybe it was an essay on something she already knew about, like Harry Potter.

He felt anger towards that name, he knew Ginny had liked him, everyone did. Harry chose never to bring it up, another reason Harry Potter irked him, all the girls liked him for no reason. He didn't want Ginny to like him for some reason. Potter was his opposite, the light to Draco's dark. Was that why he'd been so intrigued by the girl lately? Maybe he wanted to corrupt her, sway her from the good to the evil, then use her and throw her away. That was like him, the corrupter of innocent girls. He should do that, he told himself, it would be fun, different from the usual girls. He could chase her, seduce her, then push her aside, break her heart.

But he didn't want to, he didn't want to hurt her, she was too beautiful to hurt. That angel-like face made him want to be a different person, not the evil boy he was, maybe not Potter, but different.

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He'd been watching her for ages, she hated it. He'd been there everyday, lurking in the shadows. Didn't he know she could see him? Did he think that she'd looked past him, not noticing that he'd been waiting for her to arrive? He does think he's invisible, she told herself, she called him names in her head, her anger unable to contain.

She was angry that he bothered her, angry that he got under her skin. She couldn't help thinking about him, knowing that he was watching her for some reason, knowing she had been attracted to him, knowing she couldn't help but want him to hold her.

She'd stopped writing minutes ago, her hand aching from the pressure she'd used on the quill. She stared at the parchment, the ink dark. She'd ruined her quill; the tip had broken off when she'd dotted her exclamation point.

Why was she so angry? She was just being a stupid girl. A stupid girl who was developing a stupid crush on a stupid boy, who was much worse than stupid, he was evil. He'd insulted all of her friends, her family, everything she cared about, millions of times, yet here she was starting to have feelings for him.

No, she wasn't going to get a stupid crush on him, he wasn't worth it. A boy who looked at her like a piece of meat when she was in her pajamas wasn't worth a crush. A boy who wouldn't let one hair get out of place wasn't worth a crush. A boy who looked completely adorable when his hair was ruffled and his cheeks red wasn't worth a crush.

She'd rather have a crush on Harry, he was worth a crush. He was good, he'd rescued her, he wasn't full of himself, he'd never looked at her like piece of meat, he didn't care if his hair was out of place, he wasn't completely adorable either. He was in love with Lily, but he was worth her attention, he deserved her attention more than Draco Malfoy.

Draco was a slug, someone who didn't deserve one ounce of happiness, didn't deserve anything good, he deserved to rot in a cell for all of his life, resigned to the torture of loneliness and only himself to give his stupid body pleasure. That's all he cared about, the pleasure of a girl in his bed. She wondered how many girls he'd had in his bed, probably every Slytherin girl he could get his grimy little hands on. He probably never slept alone, no, he was the type to push the girl out of bed so he could sleep alone, not caring how she felt. Slytherins didn't feel, girl or not, they were just emotionless evil gits.

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AN: You've taken the time to read... so please review!