A/N: Hehe…I know this took forever, but please don’t hurt me! :::runs away from angry mob::: I’ve only been able to write on the weekends because of my enormous amount of homework! I think I know how Ginny feels now… So I’m afraid the chapters will be coming more slowly now than they did during the summer, but unfortunately there’s nothing I can do about that. Anyway, once again I had to split one chapter into two because it got too long! So this was actually done a while ago, I just didn’t know it was its own chappie yet.
Oh and just a heads up: Draco is the Slytherin Quidditch Captain in my fic. I know that’s not how it was in HBP, but this is my story and I make the rules. ^_^
And lastly, a million hugs and kisses to my reviewers! Love ya!
Enjoy!
The next day, Ginny awoke reluctantly to the shrill screams of her alarm clock. Squeezing her eyes shut to shield them from the piercing beams of sunlight escaping from behind her curtains, she reached out to silence the noisy contraption.
After several attempts (during which she managed to bruise her knuckles quite painfully against her bedside table), her fingers found the right buttons and silence greeted her grateful ears. Pulling her arm back under the warm covers, she buried herself face-first into her pillow and groaned miserably.
It had taken her late into the night to finish her paper for Professor McGonagall, and even so, she was sure it would be deemed a weak excuse for an essay. If she kept up at this rate, she would end up with less O.W.L.s than Fred and George, a notion her mother had nagged her about on countless occasions.
Turning her head onto its side and spitting out a mouthful of tangled red hair, Ginny seriously considered staying in bed. Missing a few classes seemed like a small price to pay for a day of pure, uninterrupted rest and an opportunity to catch up on her lost sleep. She was even willing to deal with the double homework that would be lying in wait, ready to smother her as soon as she reentered the waking world.
Yes, slipping back into a peaceful doze beneath her downy comforter was definitely worth all that. She probably would have gone ahead with it, too, if it weren’t for the Quidditch game.
Against Slytherin.
Today.
Sighing in defeat, Ginny dragged her head off of her pillow and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her movements were slow and lethargic, which admittedly was quite typical of her on any given morning, but today’s drowsiness seemed to run deeper. She felt as if her blood had curdled overnight, leaving it thick and syrupy inside her veins, and her eyelids seemed to be weighed down with blocks of concrete.
Getting weakly to her feet, she managed to peel away the heavy curtains shielding the window beside her bed. Thin beams of light were poking through clouds that were neither light enough to allow a glare from the sun, nor heavy enough to suggest rain. Her eyes roved over to survey the Forbidden Forest, where the dense foliage was twitching gently in an almost non-existent breeze.
All in all, it was the epitome of perfect Quidditch conditions.
Cheered by this stroke of good fortune, Ginny felt some of her usual perky attitude return from its seemingly endless absence. Another sigh blew past her lips, but it was a contented sigh, and the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile as she drew the curtains closed.
She opened one of the drawers in her dresser and started sifting through a pile of clothes for something to change into, pausing when she glimpsed a flash of Gryffindor colors out of the corner of her eye.
Her scarf lay sprawled on top of the dresser, where she had left it last night in her hurry to get into bed. It suddenly occurred to her, though she was stunned that it had taken her so long to realize, that she would be playing against Malfoy in the upcoming match.
She didn’t know why it mattered, really, but for some inexplicable reason she felt strangely disoriented. Having already accepted the idea of Draco Malfoy as an ally (no matter how bizarre a concept it may be), she was sure it would feel odd to be on opposite sides once again. While the two of them were certainly not friends, and probably never would be, they had…something. There really were no words that fit.
‘Mental disorders’ came rather close, though.
Ginny snorted to herself. ‘That would definitely explain a lot,’ she mused, pulling a skirt and matching blouse out of her drawer and starting to dress. She almost wished insanity was the reason for her recent behavior. At least then she would have an excuse.
Finishing the last button on her shirt, she grabbed a brush and began working the knots out of her hair. When it had been restored to its usual silky state, falling loosely around her face, Ginny stuffed her arms through the sleeves of her robes and left the dormitory.
She caught a glimpse of the Quidditch pitch through a window as she walked down to breakfast, and felt excitement bubble up inside of her, despite any misgivings she had about the match against Slytherin. There was really no point in letting them put a damper on her spirits in the first place, let alone linger in the depths of her mind, leaving nothing but disquiet and apprehension in their wake.
Strolling into the Great Hall, Ginny filled her lungs with the inviting smells and made her way to the Gryffindor table.
“Morning all,” she chirped, settling herself next to Harry and Ron, who had been conversing energetically over forgotten bowls of cereal.
“Good morning, Ginny.” Hermione smiled at her from across the table. “Thank Merlin you’re here. These two Quidditch addicts have been putting me to sleep with all their talk about tactics and touchdowns and whatnot.”
“Goals, ‘Mione, not touchdowns,” Ginny corrected gently, while choosing an orange from the basket in the middle of the table.
Hermione waved her hand impatiently. “Goals, touchdowns, either way it’s far too uncivilized for my liking.”
“Oh, really?” Ginny said, an impish grin appearing on her face. “I seem to recall that there are some aspects of Quidditch that are very much to your liking. For instance, the Gryffindor Keep””
She was interrupted by a harsh hacking sound as Hermione promptly choked on a bite of toast, glaring furiously at Ginny between coughs.
The youngest Weasley suppressed a laugh with difficulty as she watched her friend’s face flush scarlet. She knew it was wicked of her to bring up such a topic in front of Ron, but as he and Harry were still deeply involved in their conversation, she reckoned it was a chance worth taking. Besides, she hadn’t been lying when she told Hermione that the two of them were perfect for each other. They were living proof that opposites did, indeed, attract.
Now if they could only get past the secret crush stage and onto more interesting encounters.
Resurfacing from her fit of coughing, Hermione opened her mouth to speak, and Ginny bit her lip in anticipation of her wrath. She wasn’t exactly worried, as she knew the bushy-haired girl wouldn’t stay cross for long, but it seemed wise at this point to at least fake a look of repentance. Nevertheless, she didn’t have to pretend for more than a few seconds, as Harry and Ron had finally halted their conversation (to catch their rapidly fleeing breath, no doubt) and noticed the latest addition to their table.
“Ginny!” Harry said, a startled look materializing on his face as he turned towards her. “When did you get here? Wait, never mind that. Are you ready for the match today? I scheduled a team meeting after classes, so we can go over our strategy. Katie and Demelza have got some new maneuvers they want to try out, but I told them to talk it over with you first to make sure you’re all on the same page. Make absolutely sure you’re there, alright?”
“I will be, Harry,” Ginny told him. “No need to give yourself a heart attack!”
He was obviously in full Quidditch-mode, and she shuddered to think what would have befallen her if she had opted for staying in bed rather than going to the match. Most likely, her bespectacled captain would have ended up in Azkaban for committing an exceedingly violent murder. Still, even his intense and occasionally worrisome fervor was a step up from the awkward tension that had recently existed between the two of them. It was a shame that once the match was over, she would be forced to continue avoiding him like the plague.
“You’re going to come watch the game, right Hermione?” Ron asked suddenly, a poorly concealed air of hope in his voice.
Ginny ducked her head and busied herself with peeling her orange, failing to hold back a grin. She supposed it was for the best that Hermione was completely oblivious to her brother’s affections, as his attempt at sounding offhand was truly abysmal.
“Yes, I think I will,” Hermione said, doing a far better job of containing herself. “I’ve only just finished my essay on the archeological findings of 1659 for Ancient Runes, so I should have plenty of spare time to go to the match.”
“Anyway,” Harry interrupted their conversation impatiently, throwing a stern glance at Ron. “It won’t matter who shows up in the stands if we let Slytherin flatten us. As much as it kills me to admit it, they’ve got a stronger line-up than ever, and it’s going to take more than luck to take them out of the running. Right now our only concern should be winning the Cup, and that’s not going to happen unless I get one hundred percent effort and concentration from each and every player on the team!”
He stared at the three of them, breathing heavily, with a fiercely determined gleam in his eyes.
They blinked owlishly at him for several seconds, until Ginny let a muffled giggle escape into the air. Within moments they were rolling in their seats with laughter, as Harry’s firm gaze faded into a grin, and he joined them in their mirth.
Ginny wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, the forgotten, half-peeled orange still clutched in her palm. “I’m sorry,” she gasped through lingering chuckles. “It’s just…the look on your face! You…should have…seen yourself!” And she lapsed back into gales of laughter.
“She’s right, mate,” teased Ron. “You looked like a four-eyed version of Oliver Wood.”
A mock look of seriousness appeared on Harry’s face. “You two had better watch it,” he said, in an uncannily accurate impression of his former captain. “An attitude like that will get you kicked off the team faster than you can say ‘deranged Quidditch fanatic.’”
“Which is exactly what you are, Harry James Potter,” Hermione chastised playfully, to another round of chuckles.
In the midst of their lighthearted laughter, Ginny was suddenly aware of a strange prickling at the back of her neck that crept slowly and secretively down the bones of her spine. The idea that she was being watched arose in her mind, and she turned her head ever so slightly to the left, peeking over her shoulder for the culprit.
Not surprisingly, a pale, pointed face was directed at her from the Slytherin table.
She thought to send him a questioning look (because, really, what reason could Malfoy possibly have for staring at her during breakfast?), but no sooner had she let her ginger brows contract into a frown than he had blinked, hiding his shadowy eyes momentarily from her gaze. When he unsheathed them from their lids, they had ceased to rest on her face and were looking through her with cold indifference, as if she were simply a part of the tapestry-covered wall behind her.
Not sure what to think, Ginny turned back around and stared fixedly at her plate of orange peels, as if it could somehow give solutions to the myriad of questions that were floating unanswered in her mind. It made no sense for him to be watching her in the first place, let alone deciding that she didn’t exist a second later. And what’s more, she had almost felt disappointed when he had refused to acknowledge her, a fact that weighed on her mind more than all of her other worries put together. She should be glad he was ignoring her. Merlin knew she would have rejoiced at the thought mere days ago.
Lost in thought and still frowning at the leathery bits of peel in front of her, it was several moments before Ginny noticed the significant change in atmosphere at the Gryffindor table.
Her friends’ ringing laughter had died away into silence, leaving the three of them to stare wordlessly at her downcast expression through curious eyes.
“What’s up with you?” Ron inquired, not very kindly to say the least.
Harry scowled and elbowed him in the ribs. “Is something wrong?” he asked her, his expression softening.
“Oh no, Harry,” she said quickly. Cursing herself silently for letting her recent habit of spacing out rear its ugly head, she shook her worries out of her mind. “Just thinking about the match, that’s all. There are a few maneuvers I’ve been practicing, and I just can’t wait to try them out on the field.”
It was becoming quite alarming lately, the speed at which she could whip up a lie. Even so, from the looks on her friends’ faces, she hadn’t even been able to fool Ron.
Which was quite a disappointment, considering his level of intuition was usually lower than that of Neville’s toad.
“Well,” Hermione broke the silence following Ginny’s attempt at deception, a falsely cheery tone forced into her voice. “That’s good isn’t it? One hundred percent concentration and all that, right Harry?”
“I suppose…” Harry replied, not taking his eyes off the younger girl’s face. He didn’t press the subject further, however, and Ginny took this as her cue to avoid explaining herself, at least for the time being.
Shooting a grateful look at Hermione (for she had obviously been trying to do Ginny a favor by pretending to believe her weak story), she grabbed a piece of toast and made to stand up from the table.
“You know, guys, I’d better get going. I left my bag up in the dorms, and I’d hate to be late to class and end up with a detention on the day of the big game!”
“But”,” Harry started, glancing up at her from his seat.
“I know, I know.” She waved a hand carelessly in the air, nearly hitting him in the face with her toast. “’Don’t forget the meeting,’ right? I know this lecture back and front! See you then!”
She flashed a smile at the three of them and turned on her heel before they could answer. Weaving between the tables, she resisted the nagging urge to glance sideways at the group of students sitting beneath the Slytherin banner, and left the clatter of the Great Hall behind her.
Stabbing moodily at a plateful of eggs with his fork, Draco heard the doors of the Great Hall bang shut after a blur of fiery red hair. What had once been a healthy morning appetite had vanished, leaving a knot of angry snakes to writhe uncomfortably in his stomach.
Regrettably, they had nothing to do with pre-match jitters.
The Gryffindor table had drawn his attention on this particular morning, for reasons he would rather leave unexplored, and his findings left him with an assortment of tumultuous feelings. The shrieks of laughter bubbling up from the Weaslette and her Golden Trio were certainly not uncommon, and had never before caused anything other than annoyance to him. It was merely another cause to resent them, on a long, long list of other various reasons.
But seeing her laugh with them today…it was somehow more than he cared to deal with. When she was around her friends, the weary ambience that had shrouded her the day before seemed to melt away, letting a more radiant mood shine through the gloom. Absentmindedly, he found himself wishing that he could bring about such a change in her; that she would ever laugh at something he had said, not sarcastically, but a genuine laugh. She had looked almost beautiful, the way her eyes had lit up with a warm glow, reflecting the sunshine from the sky-like ceiling.
Draco suddenly froze with his fork paused in midair, as his common sense caught up to his thoughts.
It was impossible for a Weasley to be (he shuddered at the thought of the other word he had used to describe her) pleasant-looking. Decent, maybe, but not”that. It was wholly unthinkable, and yet, he had thought it. The unwanted emotions that were currently racing through his system like hundreds of crazed third-graders on roller skates must have affected his eyesight somehow.
Not to mention his entire semblance of self.
It was bad enough to be having hallucinations of attractive redheads, but he was actually starting to feel jealous of a group of saintly wanna-be-sleuths! It was true that most of his life had been spent in solitude, but he had never before felt anything resembling loneliness in the slightest. It just wasn’t the Malfoy way to trust anyone other than themselves.
Lately though, a sad sort of longing had crept into his chest, and the obvious friendship between the Gryffindors only succeeded in making it twinge painfully inside of him. He had friends too, of course, but they were really better described as loyal subjects, eager to please but never willing to go out of their way to get to know someone. Not like her at all. None of them knew what was really going on in his life, and the one person who did was too busy giggling at Potter’s pathetic attempts at humor to pay any attention. Several times during breakfast he had been on the verge of storming across the Great Hall and dragging her kicking and screaming away from them, maybe to lock her in a broom closet some place where they’d never find her.
To put it simply, he hated it. He hated seeing her with anyone else, no matter who they were. He hated stupid Gryffindor and stupid Potter with his stupid, stupid scar and unfailing ability to always catch the Snitch in the nick of time, leaving Draco to drag his defeated team back to the changing rooms and contemplate drowning himself in the showers.
He sighed angrily and dropped his fork onto the table, giving up on breakfast entirely. The other Slytherins, accustomed to his moodiness, were unfazed by this outburst and ignored the deathly glares he had taken to shooting around the table. Running a hand through his hair, he snarled at nobody in particular and shoved his chair backwards.
He was beginning to disgust himself. Getting jealous of Gryffindors? Thinking sugar-coated thoughts about a Weasley? It was just too sad.
But even as he stood from his chair and swept dramatically out of the Great Hall, he couldn’t shut out the image of the laughing red-haired girl that burned furiously behind his eyes.
A/N: I love Reviews! :::hint hint:::