there was a notable difference in tone when he was referring to her than when he was referring to her brother.
'I don?t know where he is,' she wailed.
'I?m sure you can find him,' said Draco, and walked past her, taking the stairs up to the front door two at a time, the moonlight flashing off the silver embroidery on his cloak. She wondered if he were going after Ginny. Ginny hadn?t looked like she wanted to be gone after. Still, with those two, you never knew.
Ginny was halfway up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower when she heard his voice behind her. 'Weasley. Wait.'
Despite herself, she turned around. Draco stood at the foot of the stairs, wrapped in his black cloak. The snow in his hair had melted and made little rivulets down the sides of his face, running into his collar. Behind him, through the window, she could see the night sky printed with a thousand silver stars the color of his eyes.
She said, 'What do you want?'
'I think it would be best if you didn?t mention tonight to anyone,' he said. 'At least in regards to Harry.'
Ginny narrowed her eyes. 'I already promised along with everyone else that I wouldn?t mention that you two were friends.'
'I know,' Draco said. The unspoken comment hung between them: But that was before. 'I meant about his drinking too much. The teachers won?t like it and it could affect whether they let him play. Hes had trouble already with his marks this year. You know that.'
'Do you care about anyone besides Harry?' She heard the ice in her own voice, and was surprised. Where did I learn to talk like that? The answer was immediate: From him, of course. 'And Hermione, I suppose. But then, we agreed not to talk about that.'
'I?m not asking you to promise anything for me,' Draco said. 'But Harry is your friend as well.'
Ginny felt the muscles in her shoulders and back tighten. 'You don?t keep your promises,' she said in a low voice. 'Why should I?'
'I never promised you anything,' said Draco. His voice was calm. He pushed his hair back from his forehead and the torchlight caught on the seal ring he wore, and glittered.
'You implied that — '
'You chose to read an implication into my behavior,' said Draco. His eyes were narrowed slits of silver light. 'Thats not my fault.'
Ginny felt a painful band of cold tighten around her heart. She knew this was not true. Draco had not pretended his feelings for her. But they had already had this conversation, and it was no use trying to get him to say anything different or new. But when she thought back to Harrys birthday party, Dracos hand on her hand as they descended the stairs, and his eyes when he looked at her, and all the letters she had written him over the summer, rage boiled up in her, so violent and so tragic that it was almost pain.
'You?re a bastard,' she spat, without thinking. 'Just like your father.'
Draco stiffened. A brief flicker of emotion darkened his eyes: it could have been hurt or rage, or simple surprise. Then it was gone. 'Actually,' he said, and his voice was bitter, 'I?m a bastard in a way thats entirely my own.'
Ginny had nothing to say to that. She turned around and went up the stairs, and Draco did not follow her.
It was near dawn, and the room had begun to fill with light. 'The sun's coming up,' she said, rolling over in the darkness until her bare shoulder touched his. 'We should be getting back.'
'No.' His voice was distant, sleepy. 'Lets stay here. Let them find us. Who cares?'
'Oh, Ron.' She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him.
He lay with the sheets tangled around him, red hair pasted against his forehead with sweat. This room was one of the few at Hogwarts that wasn't drafty in the winter. In the pale gray dawn light that streamed through the high window, the mark on Rons forehead where Rowena Ravenclaw had kissed him stood out pale and silver. 'You know we can?t do that.'
'I know.' He pulled her down so that she lay crosswise on top of him, and kissed her mouth.
'Nobody can know about this,' she said urgently. 'About us.'
'Yeah. I know that too.' His lips found her throat. 'I don?t like the lying, though.'
'Its just for now,' she said, her voice a little hoarse. Her resolve had begun to weaken and she found herself leaning into his kisses. When he stopped she made a disappointed noise and looked down at him beseechingly.
His blue eyes laughed up at hers. 'I thought we had to get back?' he said.
'Well,' she whispered, 'maybe not quite yet,' and she let him pull her down into his arms.
Author notes: NB: Elizabeth Thomas is named in honor of our beloved Ebony. Malcolm Baddock, Milicent Bulstrode, Blaise Zabini, and Graham Pritchard are all Slytherins in canon, and Dex Flint is obviously Marcus? younger brother. The unpleasant Tess Hammond is a creature of my own imagination.
References:
'I don?t know,' said Harry, his voice dripping acid. 'I?m afraid I accidentally got in line for 'shred of moral decencyinstead.' Buffy.
Fortunately I cleverly used my spine to break our fall.' Blackadder.
The night is young and we have umbrellas in our drinks.' The Tick.
?Where to start? 'Get me a present.? 'Take me to Hogsmeade.? 'Buy me that bracelet.? 'Make love to me right here on the floor.? 'No, not like that, like this.? 'Stop wasting time and get your trousers off?.?'
'Which do you want me to do first?' Blackadder.
'You think too much, such men are dangerous.' Julius Caesar, Shakespeare.
Draco sat in the embrasure of the window in his small bedroom, watching the sun rise over the Forbidden Forest. The sky was a pale wash of mother-of-pearl, scorched with fire just over the treetops; the crystalline winter air was without any clouds. Dawn light poured in through the arch-shaped window, the shade of blood and roses, touching his pale face with a color it would otherwise not have had.
It was light enough now to read without a torch or candle lit. In his hand was the parchment that Rhysenn had delivered to him the night before. It was a sheet of clean white parchment bearing a single word in stark black unfamiliar writing.
Venio.
Slowly he let the letter fall from his hands, and as it fell it burst into flames, so only ashes landed on the bare stone floor, and settled into the gaps between the stones. In a few moments, the letter might never have existed at all.
Hermione jerked awake with a start. Her lids felt heavy and her eyes were dry with exhaustion. She turned over, careful not to wake Harry, who was asleep beside her on top of the coverlet. He had fallen asleep with his red cloak wrapped around him and she had given up trying to get him to loosen his death grip on it: she figured it was warm enough in the room, he wouldn't freeze.
She turned so that she was lying on her side, and looked at him. He was sleeping, a heavy drugged sort of sleep. One arm was flung wide, the hand resting on her pillow and half-open, the fingers curled in. It made her think of a baby sleeping: a trusting, undefended sort of gesture. His other arm was curled in against his stomach, his fist shut tight over the lightning scar that bisected his right palm. His black hair rayed out over her pillow; the
