So how did I go from updating every two days to updating every two weeks (give or take a few days)? Hmm, interesting. Anyways, thanks everyone for putting up with me and sticking with the story. Yall are awesome!

Thanks SevaraJasminePotter for the follow :)

samanjajo for the favorite!

roni2010 for all your wonderful reviews. You're amazing :D

Homerunhitter for the review. Sorry it took me so long lol. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.

I'm so sorry if I left anyone out. You know who you are, so thank you sooo much! :)


"So when Ron woke up the next morning, his entire room was full of dungbombs. Mum blamed Fred and George, of course."

"Yes, from what I remember of them, they would have been the most likely suspects."

Grinning over at Draco, Ginny was startled to see a quiet glimmer of admiration in his pale, flickering eyes. It was a reluctant admiration, but admiration nonetheless. The irony of her discovery did not escape the Gryffindor's notice.

How interesting, she mused to herself, the corners of her mouth fluttering upwards.

"So did she ever find out that it was you who did it?" Draco asked in absent curiosity, swatting aside a stray branch in his search for more Wiggenbushes to stuff in his basket.

Being this close to the Forbidden Forest had his senses on high alert, more than ready to flee at any hint of danger. He had learned his lesson in his first year with that idiot Potter and Longbottom. Really, what kind of professor was that oaf of a half-giant to force innocent first years to enter the Forbidden Forest? It was off-limits for a reason, after all.

The Gryffindor lifted her head, eyes wide with innocence. "Whoever said I did it? I just said Mum told Fred and George off for it," she replied slyly, giving him a quick wink.

Rocking back on his heels, the blond blinked rapidly and tried to ignore the strange new sensation creeping up on him. The afternoon had started off normal enough, with him being his usual cold, distant self. Not even his own promise to ask her about her actions the day before was enough to make him open his mouth. Simply put, he refused to indulge her idiotic—not to mention infuriating—need for conversation.

Nevertheless, the annoyingly irresistible chatter of Ginny soon lured him from his self-induced isolation. As soon as he was aware of the bewitching effect she was having on his tongue, he clammed up again, resorting to shooting dark glares her way every time he was tempted to speak.

Stupid Weasleys, the Slytherin mused glumly. Don't they ever shut up?

Eventually—and unfortunately, he added with a forlorn sigh—, he found himself joining in on the tale again, making a query here and there about a matter he was unsure of. Often times he would make a dry, only half thought-out remark about her or her brothers and would be rewarded with a startlingly genuine chuckle from the redhead.

Every time she let out one of those warm, hearty laughs, he would shake his head in sincere confusion. He was not trying to be funny. He was merely stating the truth, he argued. However, the Gryffindor would not accept his protests.

"That's what makes it so hilarious, Malfoy," Ginny would retort with a smirk. She was becoming frighteningly good at them. In fact, he was sure that if seen side by side with his, half the school would faint in terror. "I've finally found someone who agrees with me that my brothers are definitely not human. I've been trying to convince Mum and Dad of that for years!"

The borrowed handkerchief laid forgotten deep within Draco's pocket the entire time. He made no move to draw it out, for he was sure that as soon as he did, reality would come rushing back. It was a foolish presumption, but he stubbornly clung to it anyway.

If she had the handkerchief to remind her of the previous day and how he had acted, she would question him on it, and then he would be forced to say something he would regret later. It was not that he wanted to push her away (though the cowardly part of him still argued that he did want to—very badly, in fact), but that he was content with laughing and talking to her as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Nothing could be farther from the truth. Never in his wildest dreams would he have suspected that one day he would be sitting here beside the youngest Weasley, chatting away as if they were the best of friends. It was just not normal. But for the moment at least, he was determined to enjoy the sight of her sparkling brown eyes and the feeling of peace that stemmed from them.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Draco glanced at Ginny out of the corner of his eye. What had they been talking about again? Oh yes, her supposed "innocence." The mischief lurking beneath that layer of laughter in her eyes betrayed her, however, and he inwardly smiled—another unfortunate effect of talking to her. Now that his face had discovered the muscles required for the act, it that seemed that he could not stop using those muscles.

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps the fact that I've seen your handiwork before and know that you would not have let the Weasel get away with ripping your Gwenog Jones poster," Draco replied with a wry smirk.

Families had always interested him, especially ones with many children. Being an only child himself, he had no experience fighting with siblings. The fact did not set well with him for some reason.

Why would I want a brother or sister? he asked himself in disgust. The only good thing about having siblings is that you have someone to beat into the dirt during Quidditch matches, and I had Crabbe and Goyle for that.

His chest tightened imperceptibly at the thought of his old companion. Crabbe...

The Slytherin had not thought of him in some time—or at least he had tried not to. Even though the boy had been a stupid dolt with a bottomless stomach, Crabbe had always been there beside Draco in a way others had not. They grew up together, played Quidditch together, bullied idiotic Gryffindors together. And then to suddenly lose that constant presence? It was unnerving to realize that he was alone for the first time in his life. Even during his sixth year, he had known that Goyle and Crabbe would be there if he ever needed them. But then when they turned on him, outright defied him even, well...

It had not been the most pleasant experience by far.

Only the sensation of a sturdy hand on his shoulder pulled him away from his thoughts, and he blinked up at the slim figure blocking the light. Her eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, her lips turned downward. But what really caused his stomach to clench was the sympathetic warmth in her eyes as she nodded slowly at him.

"It's okay. We were all hurt that day. It's okay," she repeated gently, her gaze never wavering from his startled one. It had taken her so long to speak up, but when she did, she was glad she had taken that step off the cliff. Even if he rejected her, she would know that he heard her and realized what she wanted him to know.

You're not alone...

He did not even wonder at how she instinctively knew what he was thinking, how she was able to switch gears so smoothly. She just did, and that was all that mattered.

Heat blossomed across his chest as he leaned towards her unconsciously. The moment he realized what he was going, he jerked back in horror, yanking his shoulder away from her hand in the process.

Too much, his brain screamed, too soon. Run away and don't look back. Never look back. It was an instinct ingrained in him from his life first as a Malfoy and then again as a Death Eater. If you can't beat them, run before they beat you. And oh, how he wanted to run.

"I don't need your sympathy, Weasley," Draco retorted quickly, throat threatening to close up on him at any moment. Too close!

There was one second, one brief second when he thought he saw a faint flash of hurt in her eyes. Time seemed to slow down and emphasize the raw emotion displayed on her all too perfect face. That one second was enough to make him want to snatch his words back from the very air itself.

Why was it so difficult to say such things? To make her hurt like he made others hurt? Why did he feel as if he had stolen all the wonder and brightness from the world with just six simple words?

It was so tragic and so poetic that he wished he could have stopped time just long enough to describe the scene on parchment. The sunlight striking her fiery hair, turning it into a blaze of deep reds and auburns; her forehead creased in the half-moment of confusion, and the way it smoothed over as she understood what he was doing. Her lips were a vivid slash against her pale white skin dotted with sparse freckles, the tips turned ever downward. Innocently big brown eyes once so full of foreign warmth now seemed dull compared to how they had looked at him mere seconds ago.

She's beautiful, he realized with a start, inhaling sharply.

How could one person manage to look so cold and so warm at the same time? Loathing, or what appeared to be loathing to him, sparked in her eyes now and showered the ground with ice-fire. Draco had come to realize it was her trademark, a sort of hot-cold fire that burned like no other. It was so oddly mystifying that he was tempted to learn more about it—about her if he was being completely honest—but something within himself held up a cautionary hand to ward off any attempts.

It wouldn't matter, the hand told him cunningly. It would only complicate things more than they already are. She'll never look at you with anything other than hatred and revulsion, so why try? You'll only end up hurting yourself.

Why bother at all?

Ginny spun around and stomped over to her forgotten basket crossly. Nostrils flared and jaw clamped tight, she heaped accusation upon accusation on her own head. It felt good to release some of the pent-up emotions steaming inside her mind, even if it did make her feel like even more of an idiot.

What was I thinking? Trying to comfort him? When has he ever done a single act of kindness for me? Or anyone for that matter? I'm so stupid! Agh!

Hands trembling in fury—partly at Malfoy, but mainly at herself—, the young woman cast her eyes down at the ground, refusing to look over at the still form kneeling mere feet away from her. There remained, however, a certain discomfort, a pulling at her mind that said, "There he is. Talk to him. Don't let him block you out."

It was fortunate—for him, that is—that she did not turn around, for if she had, she would have caught the look of sad regret that flashed across Draco's face. If she had seen it, she might have understood why he was doing it.

She would have seen the coward he truly was.

"Why do I always have to mess things up?" he sighed to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. They popped right back open, however, at the sound of a quietly firm, "I don't sympathize with you, Malfoy, not anymore. Now I just pity you."

And then it was his turn to look away.


Just so ya'll know, this is day two of their detention (Tuesday). They've still got 4-5 more days left. I haven't decided whether or not to let them off detention the seventh day (the next Tuesday).

I'm experimenting with a new style of writing kind of, more an angsty light romance. What do yall think? Do yall like how I'm doing it or do you think it's too melodramatic?