Love Hurts

Draco's fingernails pierced into my skin. It felt like a dog biting my arm. I had lived with older brothers too long to cry out. It was a simple game of endurance. Who would hold out the longest? Which of us was stronger?

"Ginny, don't leave yet." His quiet tone betrayed the hurt he usually kept so carefully hidden.

It was such a strange combination of the tenderness in his voice and the steadily increasing pain in my arm. His voice showed his weakness. I was stronger this time, so he tightened his grip on me, taking back what strength he could.

I pulled him close, giving in at last. It was nearly unbearable to see him hurting because of me. It reminded me of the night when this all started, except the roles were reversed. Back then he had been the stronger one, and I had been hurt.

I was tailing Draco under Harry's orders. He suspected that Lucius Malfoy was running some sort of Death Eater recruitment program at the school. Draco, of course, would be the middleman. So Harry made sure someone kept tabs on him at all times. That's how I wound up skulking along behind Draco through the dark corridors one evening.

When he turned abruptly up the stairs to the Owlery, I quickened my pace to follow. I rounded the corner and almost walked right into Draco's back. He whipped around, arm outstretched, catching me across the face in an almighty slap. I flew backwards, slamming into the wall. Then I crumpled to the floor and clutched my throbbing head.

"Weasley!" I heard him yell.

I squinted, expecting to see his lean form towering over me. Instead I got a straight-on view of his face as he kneeled next to me.

"I thought it was Potter or maybe your brother following me! I didn't think they'd send you!...Ginny, your face is even more red than usual. I didn't hurt you too badly, did I?"

I've never been able to accurately describe the way his voice changed when he said my name. I mean, when he called me by first name, instead of the usual last name business. It was one part irritation, the other part disbelief at having just slapped me across the face. But there I was, writhing on the floor in front of him.

"I'll be all right," I mumbled, but my voice revealed oncoming tears.

"Let me see," he said. I felt his touch on my wrist, cold but gentle. It didn't make me flinch, although I half expected it to. Instead I let him move my hand from where he had struck me. He said a quick healing spell under his breath. I could feel the swelling go down almost immediately, and the throbbing pain lessened as well.

Draco's hand brushed my cheek for a split second. I couldn't tell if it had been intentional. Either way it sent an inexplicable shiver down my back.

"There you are," he said briskly, straightening up again. "All patched up, for the most part anyway." He smiled, but not his usual sneer. It was more of a tight-lipped, almost awkward smile.

"You didn't have to do that," I said as I struggled to stand.

He took hold of my arm and pulled me up the rest of the way. "Well, I didn't want to bring you to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey probably wouldn't understand that it was a bit of a mistake."

I met his gaze, surprising in its intensity, and nodded. Then we went our separate ways. I never really thanked him for helping me. Then again, he never really apologized either.

Even now as we embraced, I could still feel the spots around my wrist where his nails had bit into my skin just moments before. I ached somewhere, but it was impossible to tell whether it was my arm or my heart. That was the strangest feeling.

When Draco kissed me, it reminded me of the next time we met in an empty corridor. I hadn't told anyone about him hitting me. My reasons were unclear even to myself, so I tried not to think about it. I ended up tailing him again a few nights later.

I had only been following him for ten minutes or so when I noticed we were headed for the Owlery again. He turned up the infamous staircase, and I followed more cautiously this time. It was a good thing too, because there he was, apparently waiting for me to come along.

"Well, well, Weasley. I didn't think you would be at this again," he said conversationally.

"You thought one little slap would stop me?" I shot back with sarcastic defiance.

He scowled at the mention of our last meeting. "Do you do everything Potter and Big Brother Weasley tell you to do? I'm sure they're the ones having you follow me."

"I do what I can to help because I hate the Dark Arts. That's the reason, plain and simple," I stated.

He leaned against the wall, watching me constantly as if I were very entertaining. "Let me tell you, little Weasley, you don't know the first thing about the Dark Arts. For that matter, you don't know much about dark wizards either. They're not such a bad lot." He chuckled slightly at this.

This snapped me back to reality. Draco was almost certainly a dark wizard, and it wasn't too bright to hang around deserted corridors with him. Yet a nagging sense in the back of my brain said he wouldn't hurt me. Whether it was because he didn't dare or didn't want to, I couldn't say.

"I wouldn't stake much on what you think I do and do not know," I said.

Draco seemed to be examining me, sizing me up. "Hmmmmm. Maybe not," he said almost to himself.

We both heard the footsteps at the same time. Someone else was roaming the school. At that time of night, it had to be a prefect of an adult. Draco didn't seem to like either of those options. He grasped my hand and pulled me roughly through the nearest unlocked door, closing it behind him.

The room was completely dark, except for the sliver of light shining under the door. I felt Draco very close by, his breathing ragged. Then I noticed he was still holding on to my hand. He probably didn't even realize it, I told myself. His touch was almost accidentally gentle, like the time his hand brushed my cheek.

Meanwhile, the footsteps came closer and closer, until the person was right outside the door. I held my breath. But the footsteps didn't even pause. They kept right on walking past our hiding place. We remained there, frozen, long after the person could no longer be heard.

"Ginny," he whispered, barely audible. I became very aware of how close we stood in the dark and that his grip on my hand had tightened.

Despite this, I was caught completely off guard when his lips came forward to meet mine. The experience was so odd that I couldn't even think logically about it. It was hard to think when I couldn't see Draco's face. He was just a boy who was kissing me, and that part certainly felt fine.

I was the first to leave that night. I made myself pull away after only a few minutes. Then I was stronger. I could still leave him. Now I wasn't as strong. I stayed with him, secretly hoping for something to remind me of the first time he touched my cheek. I tried to ignore the things that reminded me of the first time he hit me.

How had I gotten myself into this? It all happened so fast. Each meeting built on the one before it, until it seemed our situation was beyond my control. I still followed Draco every few nights, and he always waited for me around that same corner. I never told anyone.

The next few times we had just talked. He would antagonize me, always searching for a fight, and I would do the same to him. Our banter came easily. I enjoyed it, although I would never admit it. He was smarter than I thought, and rebellious. He wanted to form his own opinions about everything.

Then the night came when we heard someone coming again. We hid in that same room, and, of course, Draco kissed me. After that, we always ended up in that room, alternately talking and snogging. I grew to love that time spent there arguing about everything from politics to Quidditch, all the while sitting by the wall with his arm around my shoulders.

Yet sometimes I was scared by Draco's intensity. He was always very physical, punching my arm in what was supposed to be a playful way or elbowing me hard in the ribs. I tried not to take it too seriously, but some things were hard to ignore, especially when I tried to leave. He hated being left alone. I always wondered why.

And there I was, unable to leave him again.

"Why can't you come more often?" he whispered into my hair.

I sighed quietly. "I can only follow you on my assigned nights. Otherwise someone is sure to find out about us."

"Who cares if someone finds out?" he said, tightening his hold on me. "We could be the rebel couple, and piss off to lot of them."

"I can't do that, Draco. It would hurt too many people."

"Of course you can do it. You love me, Ginny," he insisted.

I was elated, scared, and angry all at once. But I didn't like being told what I felt. "No, I can't love you," I said.

Draco recoiled, pushing me away from him. "What do you want from me, Ginny? I don't care that you're a Weasley, and you don't care that I'm a Malfoy! We love each other! Can't you feel it?" Then he reached out and grabbed both my wrists. His face was contorted with frustration.

His fingers found the place he had bruised before, and pain shot up my arm. I ripped myself away from him, cradling my wrist against me. There were two scratches from his fingernails that shone faintly red. We both stared at my wounds in shock. He had never drawn blood before.

"Ask me again why I can't love you!" I yelled, thrusting out my arm. He just stared at it wordlessly.

Finding the strength he had slowly taken from me, I left. He held out the longest, but I won the game. I never let him hurt me again.