Learning to Breathe

Draco walks slightly behind Ginny as they make their way to the Great Hall to eat. He isn't doing it purposely, and even though she notices and finds it a bit disconcerting, she doesn't say anything about it.

When they reach the tall oak doors, she turns to him. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"Absolutely," he says without hesitation.

As long as she is with him, his fear is minimal. Even if every person in the Great Hall stares at him through the entire meal, he will have her by his side; on his side. She saw what happened and she knows the truth, and that is all he needs right now.

She pushes the doors open and waits for him to enter first, and then follows very closely behind. Their entrance is greeted with a profound silence; there is only one table in the middle of the room that seats staff and students alike, and they are staring at Draco.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron are sitting on one side of the table, facing Blaise and Susan; the other students (which are scant - there are perhaps twenty of them) are scattered around the table. When Draco looks up, he meets Dumbledore's eyes. The old man smiles and inclines his head slightly towards Draco before going back to his conversation with Professor Flitwick.

When Draco sits down and Ginny takes the only chair next to him, Ron starts to stand up. Hermione puts a hand on his arm to restrain him and shakes her head at him. Harry shoots a glare in Draco's direction before going back to his food.

"This is going well," Ginny whispers, sniggering softly. Draco cannot help the grin that spreads across his face, and he arches an eyebrow at her.

"Smashing," he agrees, reaching for his glass of pumpkin juice. She reaches for her glass at the same time, and their fingers brush together. She blushes and he smirks at her, both of them oblivious to the fact that they're being so closely watched.

Blaise and Susan are trying not to stare, but it's proving to be an impossible task. For years they have been hiding their relationship; for so long, they hid it from Draco, in particular. Now, to see him sitting next to a woman (and a Weasley at that) is enough to stun them into speechlessness.

They, like the rest of the student body, had thought Draco dead, but it is clear that the blonde sitting at the end of the table is undeniably him. His smirk is unique, and the Malfoy characteristics are present. No other family in all of the wizarding world has ever had that white-blonde hair, and no one that Blaise has ever seen before has had the silver-grey eyes that are the Malfoy family trademark.

Blaise has known Draco since they were infants, and he has never seen his friend so open with someone of the opposite sex. Draco is obviously besotted with the redhead; his attention is focused solely on her. Blaise understands this change - he went through it when he met Susan. He knows how one person can become your entire reason for living.

He just never thought he'd see the day when it would happen to Draco Malfoy.

It becomes very clear to Blaise that Ron is having a hard go of restraining himself, and he strongly suspects that if Hermione wasn't present, the redhead would have already tried to hex Draco into oblivion. The tension at the end of the table goes unnoticed by Ginny and Draco, however, and they continue to talk and laugh as though they are alone.

Hermione watches them, noting how fluidly they move together. She is surprised at the consideration that they show each other; when Draco's goblet is empty, Ginny refills it for him, and when Ginny accidentally spills some juice on her leg, Draco dabs at it with his napkin. The action causes her to giggle, and he whispers something that makes her blush.

"He's disgusting," Ron mutters under his breath.

"Ron, not now," Hermione warns, frowning at him. Harry gives her an odd look, and she wonders if he sees what she does. When Ron leaves the table in a huff and storms out of the Great Hall, Hermione turns to Harry.

"He seems different," Harry whispers. Hermione nods. "He hasn't given me any dirty looks or insulted either of us."

"He hasn't made any nasty comments to anyone," she points out.

"He hasn't spoken to anyone but Ginny," Harry adds.

"And she hasn't spoken to anyone but him."

They turn and watch as Ginny giggles at something Draco has said. The couple finish their meal and rise from their chairs, heading towards the doors. Once they are in the hallway, they begin to head toward Draco's tower. Before they can get too far away, though, Blaise and Susan approach them.

"Draco," Blaise calls. Draco and Ginny stop walking and turn around, and Draco gives Blaise a curt nod.

"Zabini." He turns and looks at Susan, who moves slightly behind Blaise. "Bones." Susan's eyes widen slightly at being so casually addressed by someone who, for all intents and purposes, has hated her since they met.

"It's good to see you back," Blaise says honestly. Draco eyes him carefully for a moment, and Ginny wonders if he will believe his old friend.

"Thanks," Draco says, giving Blaise a small - but genuine - smile.

"Are you two dating?" Susan blurts. Blaise shrugs and gives Draco an embarrassed look, as if to apologize for his girlfriend's behavior. Draco turns and looks at Ginny, who is biting her bottom lip in an effort to hide her own smile.

"What do you think, Ginny?" he asks her. She composes herself and looks Susan in the eyes when she answers. "Are we dating?"

"We're not dating," she says seriously. Draco looks slightly surprised until she says, "We're just shagging, and there's a difference."

Susan gasps and Blaise's jaw drops as Draco begins laughing. Ginny raises her eyebrows at the looks that she's getting from the couple. "It was a joke," she explains. Immediately Susan melts into nervous giggles and Blaise closes his mouth.

"Right," Blaise breathes, relieved. "So does this mean that we'll be seeing you around more often?"

"Perish the thought," Ginny teases. Draco arches his eyebrow at her and shakes his head before turning back to Blaise.

"Does Susan give you this much trouble?"

"Of course," Blaise answers, grinning. Susan smacks his shoulder lightly and pretends to look offended. Draco turns and starts walking in Ginny's direction. "Draco?"

Draco stops beside Ginny and turns to look at his friend.

"Do you guys wanna hang out sometime? Maybe go on a double date, or something?"

"Maybe," Draco shrugs noncommittally. Blaise nods.

"We'll see you around, then." Draco nods at him, and then follows Ginny back to the tower. When they're safely back inside, Ginny throws herself across the bed on her stomach, laughing.

"What is so funny?" he demands, grinning.

"Did you see their faces when I said that we were just shagging? Unbelievable!"

"You never did answer their question," he points out, sitting down beside her.

"They asked you, not me," she says, sitting up.

"They did, didn't they?" he agrees. He doesn't want to admit that it caught him off guard. "Why didn't you answer them?"

"I didn't know what to say," she admits. He is humbled by her honesty; he was thinking the same thing, but was reluctant to admit it. "What would you have liked me to say?"

"I think," he says, reaching for her. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close, and she clasps her hands behind his neck. Their faces are inches apart now. "That I would have liked you to say yes."

"As in, yes, we are dating?" she breathes, her lips tickling his as she speaks.

"As in, yes, we are dating," he confirms. She meets his eyes before pressing her lips against his. He teases her lips apart with his tongue, deepening the kiss. After a moment, they pull apart and he drops tiny kisses on each of her cheeks, then her forehead, and each of her closed eyelids.

"If you think my brother is mad now, wait until he finds out that we're more than friends."

"I think he already knows, pet," he says, closing his eyes as she hugs him. "He saw your knickers on my floor, remember?"

"I wish I didn't," she moans, shaking her head. She pulls away and looks at him. "I think I need you to Obliviate that memory."

He laughs and rests his forehead against hers. "How did he know they were yours, anyway?"

"I don't know," she says, grimacing. "And I don't want to know, either. I hope he was only guessing."

"So," he says, changing the subject. "What shall we do today?"

"You mean, now that everyone knows you're alive?" she points out, smiling.

"Everyone doesn't know," he disagrees. "Some people know."

"What do you want to do?" she asks. He thinks about this for a minute, turning over the possibilities in his mind. They could go outside for a walk, but they'd risk running into her brother or the entire trio. They could fly, but they could run into others on the pitch, as well. They could go into Hogsmeade again, but all of the people around them... his thoughts stop turning to going out. He doesn't want to go out; he has a week left with her, and he doesn't particularly feel like having other people gawk at them - especially since he knows that he'll attract plenty of stares once the term begins again.

"Why don't we stay up here all day," he suggests silkily. She laughs softly at this.

"You know that they're going to come looking for me again if I do that," she says.

"And?"

"You're right. I don't want to be around anyone else today," she agrees. "But why don't you want to be around them? I imagined that when you made your presence known, you'd like to go and taunt them for thinking you were dead, or something."

"If I went, you'd go with me, wouldn't you?"

"Of course."

"Well, I've never been very good at sharing my things, and I don't intend to start now, either. They can all sod off, for all I care."

"You don't want to be around anyone else because you don't want to share me with them?" she asks breathlessly.

"I think that sums it up nicely," he agrees, nodding. To his surprise, her eyes fill with tears.

"That's the most wonderful thing I think I've ever heard," she whispers, the tears spilling down her cheeks. He lifts a finger and gently brushes the moisture away. He's always been uncomfortable around women who cry, but he finds that this time is somehow different. Maybe it's because he knows that her crying isn't caused by sadness or anger, or perhaps it's because he knows that she's crying over him. Whatever the reason, his is mildly surprised at his feeling of flattery over it.

He doesn't tell her not to cry. He doesn't tell her that he thinks she's stupid for crying. And best of all, he's giving her that look; the one that she thinks would melt icebergs, if he had a mind to do it. She closes her eyes and presses herself against him as she touches her lips to his, trying to communicate all of her emotions through a kiss.

When he feels her tongue touch his lips in an attempt to part them, it is all he can do to refrain himself from throwing her down on the bed. He likes that she can be soft and yielding when he needs that from her, but he also likes that she can be demanding and self-serving when it suits her.

Pansy used to be only compliant, doing whatever he wanted, when he wanted it. He believes that this is part of the reason why he became bored with her as quickly as he did. Ginny is not like that; he knows that she will not just tell him what he wants to hear, or do what he wants her to do without question. She will speak her mind, and if it's warranted, she will discuss it with him.

He knows how stubborn she is already, otherwise she would never have kept returning for the tutoring. He wonders what she saw in him that made her want to come back, and what she sees in him now that makes her stay. Whatever it is, he is grateful for it. He is grateful for her.

Her kisses are intense, and he knows that there is a driving emotion behind them. He just wishes that he knew exactly what it was. Is it simple happiness, or could it be gratitude? Or is it perhaps something bigger than that, more complex? Could it be love?

At this thought, he throws himself into the kiss, holding nothing back. He is in love with her, and if there is even the slightest chance that she might return even a fraction of what he feels, then he wants to know. He crushes her to him, holding her so tightly that he isn't sure anymore where he ends and she begins.

Her hands sift through his hair as his hands roam freely over her back. She wants to be free of the barrier of their clothes, but she doesn't want him to think that she only wants physicality from him. She wants so much more than that - even more clear than ever before, she realizes that what she felt for Harry wasn't love. What she felt for Harry, for Michael, for Dean - all of these combined pale in comparison to what she feels for the man in her arms.

His lips move from her mouth to her neck, sucking gently on every new patch of skin that his mouth discovers. When he feels her fingers digging into his shoulders, he stops to gather his breath. She takes his pause as permission to start her own explorations, and maneuvers them both so that she is nuzzling his ears. She catches the flesh of his earlobe gently between her teeth, and he shivers from the feel of her breath in his ear.

When her lips seek out the sensitive flesh of his own neck, he gasps. Her tongue traces tiny circles on his skin as she works, causing gooseflesh to rise on his arms. When she reaches down to pull his shirt off, he doesn't protest. He raises his arms to allow her to tug his shirt over his head, and she drops it on the floor. She continues to kiss him, moving her focus to his shoulders.

When he feels her nip gently at his left shoulder, he groans. Her hands explore his bare chest, memorizing every square inch of it. Finally he can take no more, and his fingers fumble with the buttons on her the front of her shirt. When he pulls it open, she stops kissing him and shrugs it off.

[Several paragraphs edited out for adult content]

"Ginny," he moans. She begins to shudder. His face is buried in the space between her neck and shoulder as he speaks. "Gods, I love you."

He wonders if she's heard him. He isn't even sure if he's said it aloud, or if he simply thought it with so much force that it felt like he was saying it. When her shudders have stopped, she is still trembling. He pulls away slightly, his chest flooding with fear as he meets her eyes.

"You - did you say - " Her eyes are wide and filled with wonder. He swallows down the lump in his throat with difficulty.

"Did I say what?" he asks cautiously. He is fully prepared to deny voicing the sentiment if he suspects that it will frighten or anger her.

"Did you say that you love me?" Her legs are still wrapped around him, preventing him from reacting to his body's flight response. He hesitates before licking his lips and meeting her eyes again.

"I did."

"Did you mean it, or was it just something you said in the moment?"

"I am not in the habit of saying things that I don't mean," he says, frowning. A smile like the sunrise bursts across her face, and she pulls him down for a kiss that steals his breath away. When she releases him, she is still smiling.

"You love me," she says, lifting her hand to caress the side of his face.

"I think we've already established that fact," he says, awash in disappointment. She has not returned the sentiment, and he's not sure how to take that. It's a bitter pill to swallow; to finally fall in love with a woman and tell her, only to have her not reciprocate.

He withdraws and sits on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair to smooth it down. When she sits up and approaches him, he pulls away and gathers his clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.

She stares after him for a moment, wondering why he seems so cold all of a sudden. If he didn't want her to know how he felt, why did he tell her? She doesn't like the seed of doubt that is planting itself inside her mind. No man has ever told her that he loves her before, and she finds that she is having mixed reactions to it.

She is flattered, she is flabbergasted, and she is curious - but most of all, she is warm. It's the only way she knows how to describe the sensations that are reverberating inside her chest. She is overwhelmed with love for him, and she isn't quite sure how to handle that feeling. Her affections feel as though they are going to bubble up and out of her, and she doesn't want that to happen. She doesn't want to become a blubbering mess in front of him.

She retrieves her clothes and pulls them on slowly, facing the fireplace as she dresses. She hears the bathroom door open when he comes out, and even though her back is to him, she can feel his eyes on her. She buttons up her shirt with trembling fingers, and then sits on the edge of the bed as she pulls her socks on.

Draco watches all of this with a level of detachment that he hasn't felt since before she started spending time with him. He knows that he is being cool towards her, but he doesn't know how else to react. She hasn't told him that she loves him too, and he wonders now what this time together with him has meant to her.

He doesn't know how to deal with the hurt and disappointment that he feels; the enormity of it makes his chest ache so much that it feels like it will cave in at any given moment. He half expected her to throw herself at him when he emerged from the loo, but she has remained carefully distant from him.

When she finally turns to face him, he can see the confusion rippling in her eyes, and it pierces him like a sword. She is hurt, too, he can tell - but he doesn't understand why. After all, he was the one who made the declaration of feeling, not her.

"I think we need to talk," she says softly.

"I think we've said enough," he says decisively. She stares at him for a moment, and then her arms drop to her sides in defeat.

"Do you want me to go?"

He doesn't want her to leave - leaving him after such a confession would make him feel deserted and unwanted, and he doesn't want to be alone and feel that way. He needs her to stay; needs her laughter and her touches to sustain him.

But he can't, and won't, beg her for her love in return.

"I think you should."

She nods slowly in acceptance, and he watches with a heavy heart as she gathers all of her belongings and shoves them into her duffel bag. She heaves the bag over her shoulder and heads toward the door. When she reaches it, she pauses, and he wonders briefly if she's waiting for him to stop her, or if she's going to say something. When she shakes her head and disappears through the door, he exhales slowly.

The sound of her footsteps descending the stairs away from his tower chips away at him, and before he understands what's happening, he can feel the wetness on his cheeks. He has never let anyone go before, although he knows that that is what's just transpired. He didn't force her away and she didn't leave of her own volition - he's let her go.

And it's already killing him.