Harry loves Ginny and hates Draco, Draco is with Ginny but doesn't love her, and Ginny is with Draco but can't love him because she loves Harry. Very convoluted and slightly teen-angsty.
Chapter 01
Posted:
05/29/2003
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Author's Note:
It's rather convoluted - I wrote most of this when I was under the influence of sedatives (the ones that aid in the curative process of the common cold), and it is GLARINGLY OBVIOUS, I must say. However! - if you review, I will reward you with extended loving. Perhaps forever. Gasp!
"Please, Harry," she whispers, and she really has become lovely over the years, although Harry thinks idly that her appearance is possibly an effect of her wandlight. It wavers uncertainly between them, highlighting the flecks of gold in her hair and the pleading in her eyes. "Please," she says again, and the word isn't forceful but he feels compelled to say Yes, all right as he watches her mouth open; her lips part like the petals of a flower, her skin is flushed in fear.
"Harry," she says again, and he can hardly keep from gasping when she says his name and maybe she knows and that's why she does it, to break down his resolve. "Professor Dumbledore says - "
"I know what he says," Harry says-snaps-bites-growls, angrily grinding the words out. He is surprised at how harsh his voice sounds but he can't really help it, after all, even though it isn't her fault, it could be his fault, but it's always been his fault.
Ginny flinches away from him and wraps her arms around herself, and Harry knows she wishes it was someone else's arms enveloping her, comforting her. Ginny has never been shy, she is just afraid - she's fire, and she's burning and raging away even now, but she'd never lash out at Harry because she'd never lash out at anyone because she is afraid.
"I can't," he says, and his voice is softer now, because even though he has the strength to be angry with her, that power is sapped so quickly. Harry has never been very good at being angry - he has never been angry, he is just stubborn; that is why he fights with Ron (he has always fought with Ron, they argue even now when there are so many other things they should be doing).
"Why?" she asks, and she sounds so small and afraid and her arms are still clenched tightly around herself, and her waist bends slightly as if she is pain, and Harry realises she probably is. "It's your job, Harry." He sucks in a short breath because there is his name again, moving slowly off her lips, and he wants to lean down and kiss her and open her mouth with his and make her say it again; he wants to make her breathless in the small corridor where they stand, and he wants to cry because when she says his name it doesn't sound like it should. Sometimes it is smooth and nearly the way he wants to hear her say it (although he wouldn't say "no" to a little breathy sigh at the end) but now it is full of scorn, as if she is scolding a child.
"All the professors agree with him," she says, and she shoves the knuckle of her first finger into her mouth because that is her helpless gesture, that is what she does when she is afraid. Ginny has never taken to nervous habits, but she gnaws on her knuckles when she is close to tears. It kills Harry - he wants to reach out and take that much-abused hand in his and kiss it and kiss her (and hear her say his name with that content little sigh), but he knows his chance has passed. "All of them," she says, and Harry has been concentrating solely on her finger for moments-seconds-minutes-months-years, he doesn't know, and he doesn't know how long she has been talking or if they have been standing in silence with her staring at him and him staring at the hand that is still jammed in her mouth.
Harry looks at her, really looks at her, and he feels guilty because now she's started silently crying and her breath is catching in her chest and it's his fault for once, not his fault like he always thought. I love you, he thinks at her, unable to say it. I love you and I can't tell you because you wouldn't accept it and you wouldn't understand.
Her lower lip is trembling now and Harry still wants to kiss her.
"Let him help you, please, Harry," she whispers-begs-pleads-cries, and that's the last straw, that's all he can stand, but she continues anyway. "He isn't all bad, Harry, let him help you. Dumbledore says if Draco doesn't come with you then - then you'll be killed on the spot. You need an operative to come with you."
Ginny looks at Harry who resembles Tom so much in the dim light of her wand. He has the same olive skin and dark hair and full lips and somewhat sleepy eyes that are so dark now because he's so angry, so angry with her. She wants to grab him and shake him and tell him she's sorry and to please, please forgive her and she wants to reach up behind the back of his neck and pull his face down to meet hers. She'd like to say, Won't you kiss me? and not give him any time to answer, but he would laugh at her. She can't see it any other way.
Ginny has never been able to see it any other way.
"Yes," Harry says, "all right." For you, he thinks at her.
He moves his hand and she flinches away because she almost thinks he's going to strike her; but he just brushes his fingertips along her cheekbone and down to her chin. I love you, she thinks, wishing that he could hear her or that she could say the words out loud. I love you and I can't tell you because you wouldn't accept it and you wouldn't understand. His thumb moves down and touches the base of her neck and remains there just long enough for her to realise that's where his hand is now, and it's Harry's fingertips on her skin instead of Draco's (for once).
Then his hand is gone - well, it isn't gone, but it isn't in contact with her anymore so really it could as well be nonexistent - and he moves out of the corridor. The last thing she sees before he turns away from her is how dark his eyes are. He's still angry with her, she knows.
The palm of Harry's hand (the same hand that was so recently on Ginny's throat) scrapes against the banister as he climbs the flights of stairs that lead up to Gryffindor Tower.
Harry has danced with Ginny before, just as he has danced with all the other girls close to his age that are in Gryffindor. He has danced with Ginny, but he still does not feel that he touched her on any of those occasions. Now is hand is on fire because he's just touched Ginny for the first time, and he'll never recover.
He bounds up the stairs and passes through the Common Room, ignoring all the same pleasant greetings he hears every night; and he moves up the last staircase and lies down and draws the curtains around his bed. He won't sleep, though, because he never sleeps (because he never has). He wonders where Ginny is.
She is, of course, stepping quietly down into the dungeons (the bowels of the castle); she is looking for Draco. When she finds him, he sees her cheeks still wet with tears and her eyes still puffy from weeping and her lips closed tightly in the sad, sweet smile she reserves for him. He wants to kiss her, and the difference between Draco and Harry is that Draco does kiss her, because he can. His lips touch the base of her neck before moving to her lips, because he never kisses her mouth first; he never has. Draco has never been the romantic type - he tends to move backwards, he starts at the end of things and moves to the beginning.
She yields for just a moment, but then she moves away. "Draco," she says, and there is no sigh to accompany his name. Draco is still looking at her, for once seeing how gaunt she looks in the combined light of their wands.
Sometimes he thinks he loves her, but usually she is an accessory, a tool; and even though they both know what the other is doing, neither can stop because that would be breaking the silent agreement that stands between them. On some base level, they still need each other. Ginny needs Harry more than she needs Draco (because Harry could love her), and Draco needs himself more than he needs Ginny (because no one will ever love Draco except himself).
Now, however, is one of those times where he imagines he loves her, and he reaches out in the half-dark to stroke her cheek with the cold fingertips of his right hand. She leans into his touch because she always has, because when she is with Draco she cannot find herself thinking that he is Harry. Draco is cold and pale and just a little too tall, whereas Harry is warm and smooth and dark and the perfect height for her to stand next to; he is exactly three and three-fourths inches taller than she is. She knows because she has stood near him so often and she has measured the distance with her eyes until she was certain that if she took out a ruler and measured it for herself, she would be correct.
"Harry says he'll help," she says as she turns to whisper in his ear. Draco has always said he likes her whisper, and he has always said he hates Harry's name; so she couples love and hate. Ginny has always held a talent for that - proof lies in the fact that she and Draco have kept up this facade for so long. She knows Draco hates her because she loves Harry and he hates him, just as she hates Draco because she loves Harry but is forced to settle for less.
Draco does not answer because he feels he does not need to, because he never has thought responding was a vital thing.
For just a moment-second-minute-month-year, she considers turning away and walking back up to Gryffindor Tower, back up to Harry; but she stops and slips her hand up behind the back of Draco's neck and pulls his face down to meet hers. It's agonising but this is what she always does because, really, it's all she can do. "Won't you kiss me?" she whispers (because Draco still likes her whisper), and she is burning so brightly that she fears she'll be scarred and that she'll boil on the inside; she'll be unfulfilled and lonely (because she's out of love instead of in it).
It's bittersweet.
Harry has never been angry at her. He is stubborn, still, but he is only angry at himself.