Chapter 1

She walks through the dim house dark, steps across the low ceiling of the second door. Home is strange and familiar, walls swelling up around her and he is there in the room, face bright by the tiny bed in the corner, tall as the ceiling height. He looks up, and she pauses at the meeting of their eyes asking a question because yes, I think so, and maybe you do too and would you want-yes. And movements slow; air thick like water she finds him holding her shoulder bones, feels his mouth warm and malleable pressing on hers, wet teeth and tongue fumbling kisses tasting texture, and this is her first ever and it's him, she hardly even knows him but it's okay because it feels nice and needy and her pulse is so fast, so loud she can hear it throbbing in her neck and the room; every atom in the walls and floor and every cell in her body is pulsing with her heart, and then she notices that his hair is growing thicker and wavy and darker, not blond, and there is a freckle on his cheek that was not there before, and who is this, it isn't him it is part of him but also Harry and Cedric and Tom Riddle, a medley of boys, and she breaks away and looks at him hurt, as if betrayed. She silently leaves, walks out of the shadowed house and into the light-night jungle forest down the summer camp path, she was sick of that place anyway with its candles and many doors and then there is a loud noise and all of a sudden she breathes in the cold air of the dormitory and feels her warm bed, and she is cuddled in her blankets and it was all a dream...and she has never kissed Draco Malfoy.

She didn't remember what had happened right away, but she woke up with that electric autumn feeling that things were changing. The world was in glaring clarity; her vision was sharp and defined, and everything was made of bright colors, pungent and vivid, distorting her senses.

She smiled to herself to think about the possibilities held by this day, crisp and cool with its newness. She brushed out her hair, put on her favorite shirt, her gold earrings that flattered her skin, wondering if he would notice. It was only when she looked in the mirror that she saw the faint dark smudges under her eyes, remnants of her tears from the previous night, and remembered: She need never think of Harry noticing her again. She later realized that this did not affect her as much as she would have expected, and that Harry was not the 'he' that she had first thought of.

Infatuation slips itself in subtly. At first you notice him around more, like how when you think about a color you notice how many people are wearing it. It's not a huge thing...you just think about him sometimes. Then you begin to see him wherever you go, watching out for him between classes, during meals. You observe the gesture of his hands, his sinewy forearms, the way his hair curls around his ears and at the nape of his neck. This is a normal crush, and that's all well and good. It only becomes cemented when you tell someone. That's the turning point; when you give voice to your attraction, it becomes a tangible reality, thrust to the forefront of your consciousness from where it had lurked among the fleeting shadows of your desires. Meaning, now you're hooked.

Ginny ruminated over her growing feelings for several months before she finally gave in to that giddy sensation of secret-telling and spilled everything to Luna Lovegood. Not that there was all that much to tell; it was pretty much a game of "Guess who I fancy?" that collapsed into a fit of giggles.

That was her only slip, though. She prided herself on how well she kept her secret. She stole glances at him sometimes, but they were discreet. She was sure that he hadn't the slightest inkling of how she felt about him, and she intended to keep it that way.

Draco usually enjoys dinner. There's lots of tasty food, and he can sit back and watch the ebb and flow of interaction between the houses. Lately, however, he's felt rather awkward when eating, and has begun to dread mealtimes. Mainly because Ginny Weasley won't stop staring at him.

"Fecking hell, she's doing it again."

"Who, the weaslette?" Blaise chimed in.

"Who else?" He glowered at the Gryffindor table, but was unable to meet her gaze.

"I don't know why you're so bothered; it's not as if she's malicious. Besides, she's cute."

"Blaise, that is entirely beside the point!"

The boy looked at him skeptically. "What other point do you need?"

Draco had first noticed it about a month ago. It had taken him five days to determine that she was actually looking at him, and not at someone next to or behind him. The 'behind him' part should have been easier to figure out, seeing as his table was next to the wall, but it just goes to show that he was grasping at straws. It's quite nervous-making to have someone staring at you all of the time, you know? Especially someone like Ginny Weasley. She can be somewhat intimidating, and...well, yeah, she's cute.

"Why don't you just talk to her?"

"What?! I can't do that! She's...a Weasley!"

"So what, you're allergic?"

"You know what I mean, Blaise."

"Yeah, but it's stupid. You'll have to talk to her eventually; you might as well initiate the conversation so you'll be the one in control."

Oh yes, control. Draco likes control. Here are strategy and calculation, concepts that are familiar and comforting amidst this new onslaught of confusion about a certain female Gryffindor. He's not very good with this kind of thing; while it is not uncommon for girls to glance or stare at him, the looks that he usually receives are laden with a feral intent that lets him know exactly what the sender is thinking. Namely, that Draco is hot. However, while Ginny Weasley's gaze suggests attraction, there is also an air of knowing and subtle undertone of devotion that is both intriguing and unsettling.

That is why Draco is nervous when, a mere half-hour later, he finds himself standing in the corridor, waiting to intercept the Weasel when she exits the Great Hall. Damn! Is it always so cold on the ground floor? He folds his arms and jumps up and down to stay warm, and it sends adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream, which is why he doesn't notice all of the odd looks he is receiving from passers-by. Why in Merlin's name is he nervous? She's just a little girl, younger and shorter than him. There's no reason for his stomach to be dancing so, it feels like fireworks in there, and this never happens unless he has a quidditch match. How does he handle his nerves before a match? Oh right, strategy! He can do this.

So, what is his objective? After thinking for a moment, he isn't quite sure. Maybe…to figure out why she keeps staring at him. And get her to stop. Alright, so what are his advantages? His rapier wit and dashing good looks, of course; and the element of surprise. With all three combined, she won't know what hit her. What are her weaknesses? There are many, but it is primarily important that she is smaller than him and that he has evidence against her (the staring). Also, she's poor. He knows that this fact doesn't affect the situation, but it makes him feel better. It's a fallback plan…if all else fails, insult the opponent and storm away triumphant.

So finally, his plan of attack: confront Ginny Weasley as she walks towards the Gryffindor dormitories, intimidating her with his superior size and impeccable bone structure, so as to determine her intentions as she's walking towards him and her hair looks so soft in the firelight like that and oh shit! He has to stop her.

"Weasley!" There, that's good—got her attention.

"Malfoy."

He looks at her smugly. She's completely overwhelmed, cowering there in front of him, looking blankly at his face. Wait, that isn't fear...he realizes that he's just been standing there watching her, and it must seem odd because she's rolling her eyes and walking away and no, this wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"What do you want?" He forces out.

"What? You addressed me! What do you want?"

"I…um…" shit, she's walking away again. "Why do you keep staring at me?" There, that worked. Stopped her right in her tracks. She doesn't turn around but he knows she's embarrassed; her ears have gone red.

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"I think you know. I think you're conscious of the fact that you look at me all of the time, and I want to know why, Weasel."

"If I wanted to look at a ferret, I'd go to a menagerie and see one that isn't inbred."

That's it. He grabs her arm and spins her around the corner, into an unused corridor. "You know what, Weasley? I'm not in the mood for this shit. So how about you tell me what the hell is so fascinating about my face, since you can't seem to stop looking at it?"

The corridor is cool and poorly lit, rarely used, and for a moment all he can hear is their combined heavy breathing. Instead of being frightened as he had expected, she is fuming; her eyes are burning into him so hotly that he feels his insides melt.

He clears his throat. "Well?"

"What do you want me to say?" She's screaming. "What the hell do you want me to say, Malfoy? That I think you're attractive? That I like you? Merlin knows why. Is that what you wanted?"

She's blazing. All he can do is stare.

"Malfoy! Answer me!" Her voice breaks with hurt.

"I don't..." He feels his face grow hot.

"Don't what?" She is searching his expression for something.

He clears his throat again. "No. That's not what I wanted."

And now her mouth is breaking, too, glassy eyes staring at the floor, cheeks crumpling sending her tears into rivulets down her face dropping off of her chin. She turns towards the wall, pressing her forehead against cold stone. She is shaking.

His throat clenches, as if to swallow the words that he has just said; his head swims with regret. He is thinking, finish your sentence, idiot! You don't want to hurt her! You didn't mean for this to happen! Why couldn't you have said that? Why don't you say that now? "Look, Weasley, I didn't want--"

She whirls around. "What's wrong with me?"

Huh? "What?"

"Am I really so horrible that no one can stand the thought of me? Am I?"

"Wait, I didn't--"

"Dear Merlin! Look at me, I'm clingy! I fall all over the first guy to be nice to me! As you can clearly see."

He is agog with disbelief. "What are you talking about? When was I nice to you?"

She sniffs. "Oh, you know. That night, after Harry rejected me."

"He what?" His head is spinning. "Wait, no! I was just doing my duty as a prefect! I wasn't--"

"Oh, fabulous! Even better! I cling to a guy who's only doing his job in being nice to me! You didn't even want to help, you just felt obligated!"

"No, that's not what I meant!"

"Why, Malfoy? Why doesn't anyone want me? Am I really dreadfully ugly, and no one wants to say it? Is it my hair? Tell me the truth!"

"Fecking hell, you talk too much!"

"Oh, I do! I can't help it. Is that why?"

"NO! No. I didn't mean it. Well, you do talk a lot, but some blokes like that."

"Really?"

"Well, maybe."

She looks at him skeptically. "So what is it, then?

"Nothing! There's nothing wrong with you. Except that you're poor and a blood traitor. I mean, you seem nice and everything, and...you have nice hair. Just don't talk so badly about yourself, that's generally a turn-off."

"Shit. I'll bet this whole bloody conversation is just one huge turn-off."

But it isn't, not as much as she thinks. Draco finds it kind of endearing to see her ripping her heart out like this, screaming at him. She's showing him her weakness, which is a terrible slip as any good Slytherin knows, but he feels protective rather than smug. He knows her insecurity, but he doesn't want to use it against her anymore.

She sighs. "I'm sorry that I yelled at you. Even though you were mean and called me a blood traitor."

"You said to tell the truth, so I did."

"I suppose I got what I asked for, then."

The fire has gone out of her, sucked away into the stone wall; it has left her body drooping like a wilted flower. He can't walk away from her like this...he has to do something.

"Hey, Weasley...Do you want to talk about it?"

It's funny, and she almost laughs. This is all so similar...the corridor, the crying, the awkward boy; the rejection. Malfoy trying to make it better. This is so much like last time. The thought is comforting, because it hurt last time, too, and she got through it. She can do it again.

Relief is like warmth spreading through her body, a blanket of light to clothe her chilled bones. Okay, Malfoy. I'll give you a chance to do this.

"Okay. Thanks."

She smiles, and he is melting again, but in a gentler way.

a/n: Thanks to Ori, Book junkie from beyond, and Jaded Lane. You guys are awesome! Sorry it took me so long to get this out.