Ginny ran through the halls with little care for anyone, skidding outside of the portrait hole and barking the password. Ignoring the huffing of the Fat Lady as she nearly sprinted through the common room and up the stairs to her dormitory. No one was inside, luckily enough, and Ginny fell to her knees, headless of the bruises she would no doubt get, beside her open school trunk. Tearing through the miscellaneous objects she had left inside, Ginny sought out the bundle of notes she knew was there. When her hands finally found the parchment, however, she paused, sudden anxiety overwhelming her.
She had cherished these notes when she was younger, had wondered endlessly about the person who had penned them. Even as she had gotten older, she had kept them, looking back at them fondly. The idea that Draco Malfoy had written them sent an unpleasant feeling coursing through her.
But she pushed that aside and pulled out the bundle, unwrapping it carefully. She needed to know. The first note, the note on top, was the last one she had received, at the end of last year. The handwriting was clearly splayed across the scrap of paper. With shaking hands, Ginny dug in her pocket for the note Malfoy had given her, and then held it up beside the note from last year.
The handwriting matched.
Ginny hardly noticed as the bundle of letters fell from her numb hands. She fell back onto her bum and sat staring stupidly in front of her, in shock. She had seen Malfoy's handwriting before, had seen it multiple times every year. How had she not realized before? How could it be Malfoy? How could he have written these?
Her eyes found the bundle of notes again, sitting innocently on the floor, and she recalled with perfect clarity the first time she had ever gotten one.
She had been in her second year, at the beginning of the term, studying in the library. Actually studying was a nice way to put it; she had actually been about to rip out her hair and cry. Her potions homework had been sprawled before her, only half done, and she had been stuck. Her head had been pounding, and her eyes had been red from lack of sleep. Dreams of the Chamber had still haunted her then, with regularity. It had been rather late, and she had been alone. Frustrated, she had stood up and gone down one of the aisles, looking for a book to help her. When she had returned, empty handed and even more frustrated, she had been surprised to find a note scribbled on a scrap of parchment, laying on top of her half-completed homework.
She had picked the note up warily, afraid of any strange writing, but it had been one sentence, and a helpful one at that.
The chart you want is on page 64. Index A should help.
That had been all, and Ginny had sat down and flipped to the specified pages and charts. She had been shocked to find that the person had been correct. Ginny could still recall how she had looked up eagerly, expecting Hermione or Harry to step out of an aisle and smile at her. But no one had been around. The note had not been signed and no one had ever claimed it.
Ginny had finished her homework that night and continued on without another thought, until a week and a half later when she found herself stuck on a Transfiguration problem. She had been in the library again, and had felt ridiculous when she stood up, but the hope that the mysterious person would help again would not leave her. She had wandered down two aisles before returning to her seat, and had been delighted to find another note. It had proven just as helpful, but again, Ginny could not find the person who had left it.
This continued for years. It did not happen every time Ginny went to the library, but often enough, if Ginny left her books for a moment and returned, she would find some written advice. It never failed to help her, and Ginny began to regard this mysterious person as a dear friend. She would be lying if she said she had never fantasized about the person. Often she had hoped it was Harry, but she had always known that was a foolish hope. At first, she had tried to figure it out, looking at everyone's handwriting she could think of, but eventually, she had stopped. It had been rather fun, having this mysterious friend who helped her.
On occasion, even, the notes were not about homework. Sometimes she would find them in her books with little comments about her life. One had advised her to dump Michael Corner, another had told her to stop following Harry around like a puppy. Once, the note had even been a rather stupid but funny joke. They never failed to bring a smile to her face, and the notes had only stopped this year.
They couldn't be from Draco Malfoy.
Ginny could not reconcile the dear friend she had pictured in her mind with the moody Slytherin she knew. It made no sense. Why would Draco Malfoy help her with her homework? Why would he leave her notes?
He wouldn't have. Not the Draco Malfoy she knew. Malfoy was arrogant, selfish, proud. He thought himself above her. He would sooner have laughed over her inability to do an assignment than have helped her with it.
But the handwriting matched.
Ginny glared at the notes as though it was their fault. They had betrayed her by belonging to Malfoy. They no longer felt like friends but like a trap. She had suspected Malfoy of playing a game with her, but she had never expected this. If he was playing with her, it was a game of many years. She just couldn't fathom it. Her mind just kept demanding to know why, and she had no answers, no reasons or logic. Draco Malfoy had no reason to help her.
But he had. He had helped her almost her entire time here at Hogwarts, as much a part of her experience as a Professor. He had even continued to help her through last year, when he had looked so retched and had been plotting Dumbledore's death.
That thought stopped her heart cold.
Draco Malfoy had been plotting murder and helping her with her homework, simultaneously.
It made her nauseous, and with a low moan, Ginny put her hand to her head. He hated her. He hated her family. He hated her blood. Draco Malfoy had tormented her brother, Hermione, and Harry, and he had never shied away from taunting her, when they crossed paths. Or at least, Ginny could not remember him looking the other way as she passed, but what if he had? Had Draco Malfoy always favored her? Had he always helped her?
She felt like throwing up, bombarded with thoughts of crushes or creepy fixations. Malfoy could be in love with her. He could be obsessed with her for some reason. He could be plotting something sick and twisted for her. The reasons just kept flooding in, more paranoid and more perverse with every second, and Ginny couldn't stop.
Her mind was spinning, and she wished she had just dropped the mystery when Malfoy had said to. And that was another thing that made no sense. Malfoy had clearly not wanted her to know it was him leaving her the notes. He had never come forward, and he had told her to stop asking questions. It was not until he had given her the hint that Ginny had realized, and even after he had said it, he looked as though he regretted it. Not to mention the fact that he had not shown up to the detention. Ginny kept coming up against that. It just made no sense.
Ginny had thought once she had placed his handwriting, the mystery would be over and she could move on. But she had even more questions now and even less answers. Malfoy had been right; she should have left it alone.
Malfoy. She could picture him so clearly, standing inches in front of her, angry. It had been surprisingly satisfying to see him so agitated, for he rarely showed emotion. She had unnerved him, as he unnerved her. Had he thought she would realize one day he was the one leaving the notes? What had he been thinking? Should she go find him and demand answers?
A part of her wanted to. Just as she had wanted to place the handwriting, Ginny now burnt with the need to know why. But she was afraid. Afraid of what Malfoy would answer. It was too much, all these little things piled up. He had missed detention, he had warned her to look like she had been tortured, he had threatened her when she was digging around, all trying to protect her. He had helped her with homework and given her advice, he had cheered her up on days when she needed it. None of it sounded like Malfoy, and yet, all of it had been Malfoy.
It only left one option. Was Draco Malfoy not the person she thought he was?
She wanted to slam shut a door on that question as soon as she asked it, for it brought too many more questions forward. She had always viewed Malfoy as an enemy, evil, and bad. Maybe she had never thought of him as too evil, too worthy of concern, but she had always thought of him as separate from her and what she stood for. But he was not separate from her now. He was a real person, a person she had interacted with often, even if it was through one-sided notes.
He was real.
Ginny gasped and jumped up, stopping those thoughts cold. It was dangerous to think of Malfoy like that, dangerous to think of him at all. He was right. She needed to let it go. Ginny scooped up the letters and the note and pushed them to the bottom of her trunk, burying them under her other things. She would not think of them again. She scrubbed her hands against her uniform and shut the lid of the trunk and then she sat down on her bed and made herself relax. Her roommates would be back soon, and she could not look worried.
Ginny lay back on her bed and forced herself to control her breathing and her thoughts. She had figured out where she knew the handwriting, and now it was over. She kept telling herself it was over, repeating it to make herself believe. She could not waste her time thinking of Malfoy, would not be suckered into this game he was playing. He was Draco Malfoy, on the bad side, not a friend of hers. He was Draco Malfoy. He was Malfoy.
Ginny tried to convince herself, and in the end, mostly succeeded. When her roommates entered, she was calmly laying on her back. They teased her about ditching class and daydreaming, and Ginny smiled and teased them back. She acted normal.
But still. The image of Draco Malfoy from earlier in the library stayed in the back of her mind.
Ginny Weasley was ignoring him. Draco was sure of it. This was the seventh day of Dark Arts, in a row, that she had refused to look at him. Even before he had missed the detention, she had looked back at him. A glance every once in a while, out of the corner of her eye. She had always frowned when she caught him staring, and it had always almost made him smile. It had been amusing to know she knew he was staring and to know it bothered her.
But Draco was not amused now.
He fidgeted again. She refused to look at him, but not only that, she was actively avoiding him. Draco used to pass her in the halls every once in a while, but he did not anymore. In fact, he was confident he would not see her at all was he not the student who oversaw this class.
Ginny Weasley was avoiding him.
It was what he wanted, Draco argued with himself. It was safer if she ignored him, and it was no different, really, than their previous years at school together. She had never actively avoided him before, but their interactions had been scarce, at least as far as she knew. It should not matter at all that she was avoiding him. In fact, he should be glad.
But he was not.
Draco could not lie to himself anymore. He was upset that she was avoiding him, and he was desperate to know if she had figured it out. He suspected she had and that was why she was avoiding him, and that made it worse.
Those notes had been a stupid idea from the beginning. He had sat for hours in the library, watching the youngest Weasley struggle with homework and become more and more frustrated. He had already been watching her by then, had started watching her as soon as his third year began. He was uneasy because of her, unsettled by what he knew about her now. He had felt unbalanced, not so different from what he felt now.
So when she had finally gotten up and stormed off down an aisle, Draco had slipped from his seat and sidled over to glance at her homework. It could only have been fate that made it Potions. Draco was rather good at Potions, and he had been unable to help rolling his eyes at her frustration. The work was so easy, he had thought. She only needed to look at a couple of charts. And then it had happened. Draco hadn't even really thought about it, but before he knew it, his hand had been tearing a scrap of parchment and he had been scribbling the instructions down and placing it where she would see it. He had stared at the scrap of paper for a moment afterward, in shock, but then he had heard her coming back and had bolted, the scrap left there. He had watched from behind a bookcase as she read it and then flipped to the pages. And then her mouth had broken into the most innocent smile, and he had watched as she searched for the culprit. Even after it was obvious that no one was coming forward, Ginny Weasley had simply sat and done the homework and then left, still smiling.
It was the smile that had done it. Draco had absolved to never do it again, trying to convince himself that his debt to her was repaid, but then he had seen her in the library again. He had been unable to help it, watching the way she walked away, glancing back and biting her lip, blushing because she knew she looked foolish. Draco had had to leave a note.
And so it had continued. He was in the library as often as he could manage, looking for her. He left notes as frequently as he could. At first they had always been about the homework, but then one day he had seen her in the hallway, looking angry as she faced off against ruddy Michael Corner. Draco had never liked the boy, thought he was rather dull, and could not imagine why Ginny Weasley was wasting her time. When he had seen her in the library that night, it had just happened. He had left the note telling her to dump him and when she had returned to see it, and then smiled, he had smiled. He tried not to leave too many personal notes, knowing it was crossing the line, even for him, but he had continued to leave notes as often as he could.
Even during his last year, that last hellish year. He had almost depended on the notes then, desperate to see that he was still capable of some good. He needed to know he could make someone smile. Draco couldn't explain it, but he had become reliant on those notes, as much as Ginny Weasley ever had been.
And now she was ignoring him.
Draco wanted to smash his head into the desk in front of him out of frustration, but he did not want to draw the attention of the Carrow dimwit. It was torture sitting in this class day after day and wondering what she was thinking while she avoided looking at him. Was she afraid? What did she think? Did she hate him? Draco couldn't stop the parade of questions, and he knew that he had crossed that line. That invisible line between honor and betrayal.
Blaise had been right, and Draco knew it. He had strayed too far and now something had happened. He cared about the Weasley girl.
The very idea made him smash his teeth together to keep from screaming. It was absurd, but it was true. He should have realized when his stomach had dropped at the idea of torturing her. He should have known when he willingly put himself in danger by skipping detention. He should have backed off when Blaise had caught him calling her Ginny. But now here he was.
He cared for the Weasley bint and there was nothing he could do about it, other than sit here in silent fury and force himself to leave her alone. He wanted to march up to her and demand to know what she thought. He wanted to explain himself. He wanted to know that she understood. But he couldn't do any of that.
Interacting with her more was a danger to them both, and Draco still needed to protect her. He had to protect her, to help her as much as he could. That was why he had started the notes in the first place and that was why he had missed the detention. Draco had to help the littlest Weasley because he owed her. He would always owe her and she had no idea.