'You might,' Harry said. 'If she asked you to.'
The whiplash crack of the other boy's anger struck Harry like a blow, even though he had closed his mind off as best he could. He flinched back as Draco's inner voice cut into his thoughts, And would I lie if you asked me to? Is that what I do — lie at the behest of others? Have I so little will of my own?
'Don't.' Harry scrambled to his feet, his hands fisted at his sides.
I'm telling you what I saw! The girl he thought was Hermione, wasn't Hermione. I don't know who she was — 'Stop it!'
Draco nearly tipped off the trunk in exasperation. 'I'm telling you! I saw it for myself! Why can't you listen? Isn't this what you want to hear?'
'It's exactly what I want to hear!' Harry shouted back. 'That's why I can't listen!' He spun away from Draco, and faced the wall. There was a tightness in his chest, as if something was constricting his breathing. A yell of anger was pressing against the inside of his ribcage, choking him, struggling to get out. 'I don't trust this,' he said. 'I can't trust this. I don't trust anything any more.'
'She never lied to you — '
'He did, then.' Harry stayed where he was, staring at the wall. 'What about Ron?'
There was a long silence. When Draco spoke, finally, it was in a low voice.
'I'm sorry about that, Harry.'
Harry noted, vaguely, the use of his given name. He supposed it ought to make him feel more kindly towards Draco. It didn't. Rage was beginning to crash against the inside of his head, in rhythmic waves like the ocean crashing against the shore. 'You didn't really think about that, did you,'
Harry said in a hissing half-whisper. 'You never even tried to like him, or treat him kindly, not even for my sake. I bet all this makes you glad.' He spun around then, and glared at Draco, who had gone a chalky sort of color and looked appalled. 'How am I supposed to believe what you say, when you'd never let yourself believe she'd do that — not for a second.
Because you could stand to see her with me, but you could never stand to see her with Ron. Maybe you even like her being with me, because it's the closest you'll ever get to being with her yourself. But Ron, you've always hated him, you think he's beneath you — you always have — she'd be dirty if she let Ron touch her — admit it! Admit you felt that way! — and maybe if you didn't, maybe if I hadn't let you treat him like that, he wouldn't have felt like I wasn't his friend any more! Like I picked you over him! And I never picked you, Malfoy — I never picked you! Whatever there is between us, it was forced on me — I never wanted it!'
His voice broke on a half-shout, and cracked, although he was not crying.
He felt a bleak triumph. He had been hurt, and terribly. He wanted to hurt someone back. And judging from the way Draco had flinched away from him, he was succeeding in doing just that. 'I never got a choice,' he said again, harshly — and then broke off, staring at the other boy. Draco's eyes were huge in his white face, huge and startled. He looked very like a child who has reached for a parent's hand, only to be slapped away with no explanation. And Harry fell silent, realizing suddenly that he had hurt Draco nearly as much as he had been hurt himself. More, perhaps. The feeling of satisfaction vanished instantly. 'Malfoy, I — '
But Draco was on his feet, backing away from Harry's outstretched hand.
'Fuck you, then, Potter,' he said, his voice a serrated dagger of ice. 'You want me to leave you alone? Consider yourself left. Stay here and rot, for all I care. Ruin everyone's life. Ruin your own — ' He broke off, as if he couldn't stand to look at Harry any more — spun around on his heel, and stalked to the door and out of it, slamming it hard behind him.
'Ginny, I have to talk to you.'
She looked up from Passionate Trousers, and to her surprise saw Seamus, coming down the boys' staircase. He was wearing a dark cloak, thrown over a pair of red and white striped pajamas. His feet were bare.
She set her book down on the table beside her. 'Seamus…what are you doing awake?'
'Hey.' He sat down next to her, and in a very uncharacteristic gesture, put a hand on her wrist. She looked at him in surprise. His dark blue eyes held a troubled, anxious look. The firelight behind him turned the edges of his light hair to a fringe of pale gold: a faint halo. 'I went to your room, you know…woke up Elizabeth and Ashley. They said you were here, reading.'
'And here I am,' she said. 'What's going on, Seamus? You're scaring me.'
He told her.
Somewhere in the middle of the explanation, Passionate Trousers fell off her lap and hit the floor with a bang. Ginny stayed where she was, rooted to the spot, staring at Seamus with awful amazement. 'How…' she whispered finally. 'How do you know?'
'I bumped into Hermione in the hallway when I left,' he said. 'She explained…she asked me to explain it to you.' He bit his lip. 'Ginny….'
She wrenched her wrist out of his grasp. 'I can't believe this! I can't believe it! It's — it's — it's so unfair!'
Seamus looked at her in surprise. 'Unfair?'
'Everyone falls in love with Hermione! Everyone!' Ginny leapt up out of her chair, picked up the poker she'd been using to stir the fire, and flung it at the grate. It hit the metal with a clang, and bounced off. Seamus winced. 'First Harry, then Draco, now my own brother….' She whirled on Seamus, who was slumped down in the armchair, staring at her. 'Who's next? You?'
Seamus looked justifiably startled. 'I'm not in love with Hermione.'
Ginny put her hands on her hips. She realized she was being ridiculous, but didn't seem able to stop. 'Why not?'
'Why not?' Seamus looked even more startled. 'Because I'm not!'
'That's not an answer!' she snapped, and crossed her arms over her chest.
Seamus looked exasperated. 'I don't know, Ginny…she's Harry's girlfriend, isn't she?'
'Well, isn't she pretty?' Ginny demanded.
'Of course she's pretty.'
'Isn't she nice?'
'She is, at that,' Seamus replied, with a brief flash of a smile.
'And isn't she clever?'
'Of course she's clever…it's a bit intimidating, really.'
'Oh, so is that why you like me? Because I'm not that clever?' Ginny raged. 'Because I don't intimidate you?'
Seamus looked terrified. 'No, not at all — '
'Well, then what? Is there something wrong with her?'
Seamus cast a hunted look towards the stairs. 'I think I'll go back to the dorm,' he said. 'There may be glass flying around, but it's a bit more peaceful up there.'
Ginny stamped her foot. 'So what's the problem with her then? Not good enough for you?'
'What? Nothing's wrong with her, Ginny — '
'Why aren't you in love with her, then?'
Seamus, finally, lost his temper. 'Because!' he shouted. 'I'm in love with you!'
Ginny stared at him. He stared back, looking astonished, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just said. Neither could Ginny quite believe it. She'd dreamed of having a boy tell her that. What girl her age had not? But it had never been like this in her mind — the words had never been shouted -
— the eyes gazing into hers had never been blue. Blue was the color of her brothers' eyes: the color of steadiness and dependability and kindness, not of passion or romantic love. She thought suddenly and irrelevantly of Tom. She could no longer remember the color of his eyes, although she knew they had not been blue. They had been green…or was it that they had been gray, was that why she loved gray eyes, that bitter-cold color that said so little and hid so much?
