Learning to Breathe

Saturday morning brings with it a feeling of longing. She isn't sure what she's longing for, but she's sure it has to do with him. It always has to do with him. When she finally pulls herself out of bed, she sees that it is past time for breakfast. All of the other girls who share her room are gone; it is a Hogsmeade day, and she's sure that they've gone.

She takes a shower and dresses, then decides to take a walk. For some reason this morning, the tower feels stifling. She strolls slowly through the corridors, nodding when the portraits greet her.

She makes her way down to the hall where the entrance to the Slytherin common room is, and she heads towards the entrance. When she gets there, she is surprised to find the tapestry pulled aside, and the door to Slytherin house wide open. Curious, she ducks inside, and finds herself in the common room. A blazing fire is in the fireplace, and it casts an eerie light on the otherwise darkened room.

"I thought you'd be in Hogsmeade today," a soft voice drawls. She jumps in surprise.

"Where are you?"

"On the sofa." She moves around and finds him lying stretched out on his back, taking up the entire sofa. She picks his feet up and sits down, then places his feet on her lap.

"Fancy meeting you here."

"Indeed," he says quietly. "Why are you down here and not in Hogsmeade?"

"Are you kidding? And hang out with them all ruddy day? No thanks," she says, wrinkling her nose in distaste. He grins.

"All right, point taken. But why are you down in the dungeons?"

"I went for a walk. Besides, I've been trying to break into this place for months," she admits, looking around. "I've always been curious about what it looks like."

"Now you know," he murmurs, glancing around. "Are you less than impressed?"

"I'm a little disappointed," she admits. "No house elf heads hanging on the walls, no evil plots posted on bulletin boards." He laughs at this.

"Is that really what people thought of us?"

"I may be exaggerating a bit," she says, smiling. She begins to rub his shoeless feet without thinking about it, and she doesn't notice when he sucks in a sharp breath. "But I am wondering where all the telltale signs of evil are hiding."

"We took them in during the day," he manages. He struggles not to touch her; her fingers lightly massaging his feet is strangely erotic.

"Hey, come to think of it," she says, looking at him. "Why aren't you in Hogsmeade?"

"Please. I get enough people staring at me as it is. Besides, Zabini and his pet would have been there, and as you recall, I detest being a third wheel."

"Aw, and here I thought it was just because you wanted to spend time with me," she pouts playfully. He laughs again. How is it that she can lift his spirits at times when he feels so confused?

"Of course," he agrees. "You're the only person in this pit worth spending time with, anyway."

"You know, I might find that more flattering if we weren't the only two people in the pit right now," she points out.

"Smartass," he says.

"Don't I know it."

"So you couldn't stomach the terrific trio. Welcome to my world. What else do you have on the agenda today?"

"Sleep, if I can," she says.

"You are entirely boring without me around, do you realize that?"

"And I suppose you have a better idea - one that involves you?"

"Not really. Why don't we just sit here for a moment - something will come to me eventually."

She laughs. "Why don't you start with a tour?" she suggests. "Show me around Slytherin."

"All right," he agrees, standing up. He extends his hand to her and helps her off of the sofa, then turns toward a hallway. "Down here are the dormitories. To the right are the girls', and to the left are the boy's rooms."

"That's it? Aren't you going to take me inside one of them?"

"They're much like your own rooms," he shrugs, leading her in the direction of his old room. "I doubt you'll be impressed." He opens a door and she moves past him into the room. The bedroom looks as though it's simply waiting to welcome the students home - everything is clean and smells like fresh laundry. She thinks it's an odd combination; the scent of freshly laundered sheets and the dungeon setting.

"Was this your room?" she asks, turning to face him. He nods and indicates the bed nearest the door.

"That was my bed."

He watches as she sits down on it and bounces several times. "Your mattress is softer than mine," she comments. "Did you get to pick your bed?"

"Of course," he says, as though it is the most natural thing in the world. "I made Crabbe and Goyle take the beds over there, too, since they snored so loudly."

"Imagine that - you dictating to people where they should sleep," she teases. He grins.

"Well, you know me. I always get what I want." He frowns at this statement; it doesn't ring true anymore. After all, he wants her, and he doesn't have her. "At least, I used to."

"Don't you still?" she asks, lying back on his bed. He sighs. He wonders if she realizes how much pressure she is putting on him, lying on his old bed, stretched out like that.

"Sometimes."

"So," she says, glancing around at the other beds. "Did you make them leave when you snuck Pansy in?"

"Parkinson?" he coughs, almost choking on the name. "How do you know I snuck her in?"

"Please," she giggles. "Everyone knew about the two of you."

"Oh," he says flatly. For some reason, he doesn't like the idea of Ginny knowing about his past girlfriend. "Yes, I made them all leave, so I suppose it really wasn't sneaking her in."

"I guess not," she says, sitting up again.

"Did you sneak that Ravenclaw into your room?" he asks, sitting next to her on the edge of the bed. Her cheeks turn scarlet.

"No, I didn't."

"Did he sneak you into his room?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I never really wanted to take the relationship to that place," she says, shrugging. She stares down at the floor when she says this.

"Why? Was he hideously deformed, or something?"

"I hope not," she says, pulling a face at him. He grins. "I just didn't have enough feeling toward him to share a bed with him."

This strikes a chord in him. It is as good as an admission that she slept with him because she cared about him, even if she hasn't said it in so many words.

"And what about Thomas? I'm sure you had no trouble getting him into your room."

"Why are we even talking about this?" she asks, laughing.

"You brought it up, remember? If I'm forced to relive my horrible relationship with Parkinson, you have to relive your past relationships, too."

"That's not fair, though," she protests. "You only had one, and you're bringing up two of mine!"

"Good Gods, are you saying that there's more?"

"What if there was?"

"I was just asking."

"No, Dean never shared my bed, either. It wasn't for lack of trying, though. He managed to sneak into my room one night when everyone else was down in the common room, but I kicked him out."

He feels dizzy. If she never slept with either of those boys, then who had she slept with before him? He doesn't remember feeling any resistance their first night together, which would indicate that she'd been with a man before him.

Wouldn't it?

He wonders if there's a delicate way to ask her, and decides that there's not. "Why such interest?" she asks.

"I was just curious," he says.

"You're not telling me something," she accuses. "Whatever it is, you know you can tell me. It's all right."

He takes a deep breath. "I was just wondering who you slept with before me." She stares at him for a moment, then looks down at her hands in her lap.

"There wasn't anyone before you."

"How is that possible?" he asks, reeling from the revelation. He was her first?

"Let me guess, you're wondering why you didn't feel anything, or why there wasn't much pain for me?"

"Much pain?" he repeats, frowning. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she says quickly, shaking her head. "I didn't mean that! You didn't hurt me. You didn't feel anything because Charlie let me ride one of his dragons last summer, and when I fell off..." she lets her voice trail off, too embarrassed to finish the explanation. He understands, and nods.

"Oh. Why didn't you tell me, then? I wouldn't have tried anything if-"

"I know my own mind, Draco," she admonishes firmly, cutting his protests off. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to think that I was a fragile little girl who wasn't ready for it. I was ready, and I wanted to, so let's just forget about that, all right?"

"Why would you want to sleep with me, when you barely knew me, and you'd hated me for so long?" he asks curiously.

"Do we really have to do this?"

"Do what?"

"Dissect what happened?"

"I'm not trying to dissect it, Ginny. I'm just trying to understand it."

"Fine," she sighs, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I wanted to because I had feelings for you, and they weren't like the feelings I had for Dean or Michael, or even for Harry."

This surprises him, and he isn't sure what to say. Suddenly her words sink in, and he frowns at her.

"You had feelings for me? As in, past tense?"

"What?" she asks, surprised.

"You just said that you slept with me because you had feelings for me. Does that mean that you don't now?"

"Draco," she sighs, rolling her eyes. The thrill is still there when she speaks his name, and he is beginning to believe that it will never go away. "What does it matter? We're friends now, remember?"

"Do you or do you not have feelings for me?" he demands.

"You're like a spoilt child, do you know that?"

"Answer the question."

"No."

"No, you don't have feelings for me, or no, you won't answer the question?"

"No, as in I won't answer the question. I shouldn't have to!"

"I want to know."

"What about you?" she demands, turning his own question on him. "Do you still have feelings for me?"

"I told you how I felt, remember?" he points out. Her cheeks turn pink, but she doesn't look away.

"And? Feelings like that can fade or change."

"Like hell they can," he protests angrily.

"Are you saying that you still-?" She can't bring herself to say it, though her heart has jumped into her throat at the thought.

"What, that I still love you?" he asks, stressing the word. She looks down at her hands in her lap again, and this makes him mad. "What is it about that word that scares you so much?"

"It doesn't scare me," she says hotly, looking back up at him. "And you didn't answer the question."

"Well neither did you!"

"Merlin," she mutters, rubbing her eyes. "Why are we sitting here fighting about this? We're just friends, right? Since when do friends fight over this sort of thing?"

"You just don't want to tell me," he accuses, rising to his feet.

"Maybe I don't," she agrees, standing up as well. "Let's talk about something else. Are you hungry?"

"Don't try to change the subject on me just to avoid telling the truth," he says, fighting a smile. "That's very Slytherin of you, and since I'm the only Slytherin here, it's my job."

"But technically we're both in Slytherin right now," she says, following him down the hallway.

"Technicalities," he says, shaking his head. "And here I thought that I was the only one who paid attention to those."

"Are you hungry, or not?" She follows him out into the common room, where he slips his shoes back on.

"A little. Why, didn't you eat breakfast?"

"No. I didn't feel like going down there with Hermione." He turns and eyes her for a moment, and then a grin cracks his face.

"You didn't get up in time, more like."

She blushes and shrugs. "Fine, so I didn't get up in time for breakfast," she admits, following him out into the corridor. "Do you want to sneak something from the kitchens?"

"As long as I get to tickle the pear."