So Predictable

He used to understand her. She used to be so predictable. He could look at her and know exactly what she was thinking. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and he took pleasure in playing with it. But there was something new about her. Her emotions were hidden. Her face was blank, impassive, nothing to be given away. She now guarded her love with a new cautiousness. She concealed her soul. He had taken her for granted. Before he could have just said the word, and she would have given herself to him. But now, he'd look at her and she'd look away. He'd throw her his most charming smile and she'd just blink. It was different now. She sensed his frustration and she amused herself with greatening it.

"Ginny."

"Draco."

Their casual greetings stung him. It used to be that he would say her name and she would melt, stutter out some inaudible response. Everytime someone mentioned him her face would turn bright red, and he would laugh. He used to laugh at this unrequited love. He didn't see how she thought she knew him well enough to love him. He was a mystery to her. He liked to think he was a mystery to everyone.

"Do you want to patrol with me tonight, Draco?" She'd ask him. The little prefect Ginny Weasley, so infatuated, it amused him. He'd slowly agree and watch the smile spread across her freckled face and then walk away. They'd walk the corridors that night, and she would attempt to make a conversation, and he would give her abbreviated answers, never looking at her. Then he'd leave. He'd make up some excuse, saying that since he was Head Boy he had to patrol the Astronomy Tower alone or something stupid. She would always believe him. She never questioned the great Draco Malfoy. No one ever did. He was either loved or loathed. There was no space in between.

But now, all she seemed to feel towards him was indifference. He couldn't stand it. When they passed in the halls she wouldn't give him a second glance, though he stared at her as she kept walking, wondering if she even remembered seeing him.

"Hey, Malfoy, you played a great game today." Everytime he had a Quidditch match, she'd say the same thing. It never failed. Sometimes he responded, sometimes he didn't bother. But some days he shot her a dose of dry sarcasm that he saved just for a stupid little girl.

"Flattery doesn't get you into bed with me, Weasley. Try again tomorrow."

Those who revered their faith in people tended to believe that his sarcasm was a cover up for something deeper. They said he was simply trying to place a screen in front of his true feelings. But it wasn't like that. His sarcasm was his tool. It was his weapon against the people who just plain annoyed him.

She didn't say anything to his sarcasm now. She didn't cry, she didn't blush, and she didn't spend any energy on trying to discern a secret meaning. She took it without question so frequently that he just didn't bother anymore. He couldn't get anything out of her, so he decided to stop trying. He decided to carry on his obsession from afar.