This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Draco had come up to their accustomed perch
overlooking the pitch.
“So, Weasley, Potter away on business this weekend?”
“Yes, he was.
What’s it to you?” Ginny asked rather absently.
“Poor little Weasley, shopping her little heart out
all by her lonesome. Snowflakes
catching on her eyelashes, a sad quirk to her mouth, I could almost hear the
violins…”
“That’s quite the detailed observation. I don’t even remember seeing you at Hogsmead. Why Draco, how sweet, I’ve always wanted my
very own stalker,” her words had come out in evenly measured tones but Draco
noticed that Ginny’s cheeks were turning a very subtle pink. He observed how the color started as two
small dots on her cheeks and gradually covered her face. It was just heading for parts unknown when
the crinkle of cellophane distracted him.
“What’s that?”
“A peppermint humbug, for my hot
chocolate. It’s rather chilly up here
after all.”
Draco abruptly rose and left as a
strangled sort of noise emerged from his throat. Ginny looked down at the pitch, expecting to see hoards of angry
fathers or some other such site but her gaze was met only by the expected
stretch of snow. She watched the
practice for several more minutes and then wandered down herself. Quidditch practice was beginning to lose
it’s thrill. As a method of bonding
with one’s boyfriend it lacked a certain something.
* * *
The next week Draco inexplicably didn’t appear when
the Gryffindor team began practicing. He had missed none of the Monday practices before but Ginny
supposed that there was always a first time and pulled out her Transfiguration
text. She was having a horrible time
with it, as usual, and needed all the time for revising she could find. There was a rumor that there would be a
surprise quiz in the next 2 sessions and Ginny couldn’t take one more howler
from her mother or overly bracing note from Charlie.
* * *
The following week Ginny sat for several minutes
waiting for Draco before deciding he again wouldn’t come to watch
practice. She felt oddly let down but
quickly squashed it down. After all she
was here to be with Harry wasn’t she.
Draco was simply to be tolerated.
And certainly she was helping Harry by distracting Draco during the key
bits of practice. She looked across the
pitch as Harry kicked off and felt a wrenching inside her as something besides
Harry’s wink and a nod caught her eye.
She saw Draco’s now familiar profile.
A girl whom she could recognize even from the back was just
leaving.
Ginny sprang up and dashed down one
set of stairs and up another one.
“Draco Malfoy what sort of sick git
are you? A fourth year? And Annie at that! She was in my room my room last night talking about how she hoped
her first kiss would be special. She’s
a sweet girl and shan’t take being used lightly! What sort of game are you playing at?”
“Well, I can at least vouch for her first kiss being
good.”
This time she did more than slap him. Ginny recalled every bit of advice Charlie had
given her. At the time it was intended
to be used on “unwanted suitors” as her mother would put it. Ginny felt her knuckles connect soundly with
his jaw. At diner that night Ginny
noticed that Draco was conspicuously absent.
* * *
Draco didn’t know what had possessed
him. Ginny was right, she was entirely
too young, vulnerable, and naďve. It
would feel akin to kicking a kitten if he followed his usual habits, not that he
had followed his usual habits so far anyway.
He couldn’t see what he could possibly tell his father. He was sure to get wind of the
relationship. Dalliances with people
“beneath his station” were all well and good but an actual relationship would
be frowned on. He was well aware of his
origins and his father studiously guarded against his son following his path in
that one instance. He didn’t wish the
consequences of his relationship on his mother but couldn’t seem to resist the
chit either.
Ever since the Quidditch practice a fortnight ago
his mood had ranged from irritable to moody to incensed and he had no idea
why. He had seen Annie coming down the
hall the previous week and for the first time he felt the desire to well, smile
would be a stretch, but at least smirk.
She was smiling and walking slightly behind a small group of
Gryffindors, her red hair falling gently about her shoulders. She must have come from some sort of extra
herbology lab judging from the dirt on her robes. She turned to the right, toward the side hall that would take her
back to her common room.
Over the last several years Crabbe and Goyle had
become accustomed to Draco dismissing them with a curt not of his head and
headed on to supper, continuing to “talk” together in their indecipherable
grunts and growls. Draco yet again
briefly wondered if they had troll somewhere deep in their bloodline. By that time Draco had followed her a short
distance until they were safely into a side hall. Draco could see a weak spot in her bag and muttered a quick
charm. There were times that being of
age was a very good thing…
“Oh drat! I thought I had finally managed to fix that.” She bent down and began to pick up the
mishmash of books, quills, and errata that collected in a carry all.
“Allow me to help.”
“Ummm,” she responded nervously, obviously
having heard of his reputation.
Depending on whom she had heard about it from she could be nervous for
several different reasons.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the honor of
learning your name,” from her expression it was apparent that she had not learned
of reasons to be nervous from some of his companions at the Quidditch pitch.
“Annie.” She turned and looked as if she would bolt down the hallway, if
only she could actually hold all the items in her hands. He didn’t often foray into the realm of
pursuer and thought carefully about how best to handle the situation.
“And my name is Draco Malfoy. You seem to need a bit of help you’re your
bag. May I?” She handed the bag over wordlessly obviously still wondering
where this Draco had come from. She had
heard giggling exchanges by some of the older girls about some of his “talents”
but had never seen any evidence of this side of him. Draco efficiently cast the mending charm. He motioned to her to proceed down the
hall. They walked in silence the rest
of the way to the steps leading to the portrait, Annie shooting nervous,
sideways glances, Draco looking as if walking with a 4th year,
Gryffindor was the most natural thing in the world. He handed her the carry all.
“That should hold. Do let me know if it doesn’t. Until we meet again then…”
At breakfast the next morning he
caught her eye as she came in. She gave
him a small smile and quickly looked away, blushing. He resolved to try that maneuver again. By Wednesday’s breakfast she was seeking his eye out.
* * *
On Friday he noticed a small commotion
at the Gryffindor table. She had just
received his present- a small rose charmed to root if placed in soil. He hadn’t included any indicator that it was
from him but her bright hazel eyes searched him out. He nodded his head slightly, stood and left.
* * *
On Sunday he decided the time was
ripe. She was quietly running her
finger along the book spines, absently muttering under her breath. He doubted she would notice if Snape began
dancing a jig and singing “Loch Lomand” at the moment. He felt a twinge of jealousy that she had
the privilege of such unguarded moments.
Hoping to alert her to his presence with some of the finesse he had
gained a bit of notoriety for, he muttered a soft spell. A butterfly fluttered down and landed on top
of a nearby book. He heard her let out
a soft sigh.
“Annie…” She whirled about to face him, the corners of her mouth turning
up into a hesitant smile.
“I was wondering if you would like to
meet me for tea tomorrow afternoon?”
Draco could tell she had heard about his “teas.” She began to worry her lower lip and she
lowered her head.
“Draco, I…” He began speaking, having a suspicion he knew what would come
next.
“Am I as bad as all that?”
“Well, no, but I just, look, um, I,
I’m sorry, I need to go,” as her voice faded she grabbed a book and she began
to turn. He reached out and touched her
shoulder, she stopped, but didn’t turn back toward him.
“Oh, hang it all. Look, I know what you’ve heard and I won’t
deny any of it. But I am capable of
eating with an attractive, young, lady without expecting certain, well,
considerations, in return. I would
appreciate it if you would join me for tea and just tea. I’ll be on the pitch at 3 for my practice, it
should be over by 4 and I usually take tea in the stands then, while I wait for
the Gryffindors to begin. I’ll hope to
see you there. Good luck with your
studying.”
When he went to see the house elves
that evening he requested enough for two.
He had a suspicion that he would be seeing Annie tomorrow afternoon,
even if she didn’t know it yet.
* * *
She stood to leave. They could both hear the shouts of her
housemates approaching the pitch.
“Thank you, this was lovely. Perhaps we could, that is…” He couldn’t
quite stand to hear her sounding so uncertain and stopped her in the one way he
knew would both answer her question and halt her, admittedly endearing,
stammering. Sadly, it only raised
questions for him it felt vaguely wrong, as if someone was playing a C7 cord
instead of simply a C. Judging from her
breathless goodbye, she didn’t share his sentiments.