Chapter Four

 

Ron had screamed and shouted and threatened to kill Malfoy; Harry and Hermione had given her their condolences like she had been sent to death; all the Gryffindors started looking at her with pity and all the girls in school began to see her with a mix of resentment and envy.

 

Draco, on the other hand, had only received the pity: all the Slytherins thought he was being punished for what he had done – and God knew what he had done, - while the girls in school saw him as a hero who was trying hard to save an innocent girl from death. He had to admit that he loved all that attention, and it hadn’t ruined his reputation as he thought it would. Well, but he could say it was thanks to him: he had managed to come up with a slightly-changed version of the story that favoured him in every way. And Ginny had been kind enough not to correct him so far.

 

They now sat under a tree beside the lake, a spot suggested by McGonagall, who was now showing her romantic side with this situation. Ginny had her books on her lap, and was trying to write her Potions essay, while Draco lay in her shadow with a book in his hands.

 

“You should relax, Weasel,” he said, realizing she wasn’t able to focus on her homework, and deciding to make her even more nervous. “We have to seize the moment, you know, forget about school problems. Maybe this is the day when I will fall in love with you…”

 

“I find it very hard to believe you will fall in love with me while you are still calling me ‘Weasel’, don’t you?” she said, putting her books aside and sitting closer to him.

 

“Alright, then, what do you want me to call you?” he asked, not moving an inch from his spot.

 

“What book are you reading?” she asked, ignoring his question.

 

He gave her the book with a careless movement and asked her again: “So, what do you want me to call you? Miss Weasley? Weasley? Ginny? Sweetheart?”

 

“You know my name and you know the possibilities. Just choose one.” She ignored the mockery, pretending to pay attention to his book.

 

“Alright, Virginia,” he said her name very slowly and deeply, sending shivers down her spine, “did you like my book so much you can’t give it back to me?”

 

She threw the book on his lap like it had burned her, which made him laugh. “I didn’t know you liked William Blake.”

 

“Oh… and did you know I like to read?”

 

“No, I didn’t.”

 

“And do you know who my favourite author is?”

 

“No, I don’t,” she was getting very annoyed with the inquiry.

 

“And do you know what my favourite food is?”

 

“What’s your point?” she asked, facing him for the first time.

 

“My point was to make you see that your comment was very stupid,” he said, his voice cold and his eyes directly on hers. “You know nothing about me.”

 

She swallowed hard and turned her face away, not daring to look at him again.

 

“So, do you know what you want to do tomorrow?” he asked, laying down again.

 

“Tomorrow?” she asked, uncertain of what he meant.

 

“Yes, Virginia, tomorrow. Did you forget that tomorrow is our first weekend free to go to Hogsmeade? You can say it’s our first date…” he smiled as she gasped at the word ‘date’.

 

“I’ll do whatever you think we should do…”

 

“Oh, no, you see… you choose what we do,” he said, sitting again and moving closer to her. “You are the one who is supposed to seduce me… It’s not my life in danger, you know.”

 

“But I…” she was terrified by the idea. “I have no idea what to do… I…”

 

“What? You’ve never been on a date before?”

 

She shook her head, too embarrassed to say anything.

 

“Well, there’s always a first time,” he sighed. “Alright, let me tell you what we can do: I’ll take you on a date tomorrow, so you don’t have to worry about doing anything wrong, which is probably what’s going on in your mind now.”

 

How did he know? Was he reading her mind?

 

“But it’s the first and last time. Don’t get used too it, or you will think I am trying to seduce you,” he laughed, “which I am not.”

 

She nodded, still too embarrassed to look at him.

 

“What?” he asked, realizing her discomfort.

 

“I’m not used to this,” she said, her voice failing. “I have no idea what to do, or what to say… I don’t think I’m ready.”

 

 “There’s always a first time,” he sighed. “And although it won’t be with the man of your dreams, look at the bright side…” She took a deep breath, wondering what he would say with that scornful tone. “…I won’t be talking about Quidditch all the time, and I’ll never mention Cho Chang…”

 

She shrieked, feeling hurt.

 

“What? I was just trying to make you see I can be better company than your precious Potter…”

 

“I’m not ready for this…” she cried.

 

“’There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom,’” he whispered in her ear, so close to her she could feel his chest on her back.

 

“What?” she asked, feeling dizzy.

 

“That’s Anaïs Nin,” he said, raising and heading toward the castle. “The answer to my second question.”

 

And with that, he turned his back to her and left her there, feeling scared and alone.

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