A Night the Stars Didn't Shine

Her brow was furrowed in deep concentration over a Potions essay when he looked back up from his page. The view of the young sixteen-year-old was that of a vision of undefiled beauty, like a heavenly manifestation of an angel.

He had been sketching her for more than an hour now, and was no where near finishing it. A pair of eyes, a nose, and now two eyebrows were in the middle of a once blank page in a book filled with the finest quality sketch paper that money could buy. He studied Ginny again, and, when he was satisfied with what he saw on the sheet, he began sketch her lips.

He had started sketching Ginny a while ago, maybe a month - maybe two, when he realized that she came to the library on a regular basis. He came too, to sketch this vision of human perfection. Her features were soft and delicate, her amber eyes were warm and caring, her hair was lush and bright. It was humanistic and godliness in a beautiful combination, and it was all Draco´s to admire and to illustrate.

*****

He had begun sketching almost two years ago, over the summer vacation. Whenever he felt insecure, or unsure, or especially lonely, he took to his sketchbook. At first, he drew simple, non-moving things, like a desk or a schoolbook of his. As he progressed into his withdrawal and obsession even more, he drew harder things, like the scenic countryside outside his window for its light and shadows, or his robes for texture, or animals to test his speed and accuracy.

*****

She subconsciously pushed some straight shoulder length red hair behind her ear and glanced up at him. She looked at him for a moment, studying him quizzically, then brushed him off and went back to her essay. Draco breathed a sigh of relief and picked up his pencil again.

He shaded in her lips. They were pursed in frustration in his picture, with ripples and lines where hers had creased. Draco momentarily wondered what it would be like to feel those lips, to kiss them, but he quickly shook off that ridiculous idea. He was a Malfoy, and, as beautiful and as tempting as she may be, she was a Weasley. Some things never changed.

Unfortunately, this was one of those that never would.

So he left his thoughts of kissing her behind and began to draw her face. He started with a light and rough sketch of a heart, because Ginny´s was heart shaped. Then he added her cheeks and smoothed out the chin and forehead. Draco erased some at the top on account of it made her look like it was made of corn. Then he started on her freckles. The cinnamon kisses on her cheeks and nose added an innocent aura around her, a sort of childish dependency.

He finished the face and drew her neck, long and slender and freckled, then her shoulders, and then her undone robe and sweater. When that was sufficient, he drew her hair, strand by strand, making sure that he drew where the light caught it and where it folded over her shoulder and onto her back. About twenty minutes later, he looked over his finished drawing with a critical eye, looking at the `vibes´ that it conveyed, the mood that it set. He arched the right eyebrow a little more, to give her a helpless, frustrated look about her.

Finally, he was completely and totally satisfied with his drawing. He´d come back again tomorrow to draw, and maybe this time, color a little, if he could find the time. And he would; Ginny Weasley was something that should not remain white and graphite pencil. Especially with that hair.

He sighed as he packed his belongings that he had scattered in search of the leather-bound book when he had first arrived, almost two hours ago. It was pathetic that he had this silly, juvenile obsession with this girl, that he would lay waste hours upon hours just sketching her. He laughed weakly at the irony of it; the Malfoy fawning over the Weasley. If it had not been him, he might even find this situation extremely amusing.

But, no, it was he that was obsessed and this was how it would stay. Him drawing her as she sat in the library until he was married off to Pansy, then he would never see her again after that. `The sad reality of our destinies´, he thought wistfully as he picked up his bag and swung it over his shoulder. Draco grabbed his sketchbook that lay on the table and held it tightly in his hand.

Pushing his chair in like a gentleman with his other one, he walked to the door, which happened to be in the direction of Ginny´s table. She was packing up her books, quills, parchment, and her almost empty inkwell. As he passed her, she unexpectedly spun around and began to walk. Right into Draco. They both stepped back a little ways, and Draco found himself bumping right into a wooden bookshelf. Momentum threw his arm back and his elbow made contact with the wood. In pain, his hand flew open and the book flew from his grasp. It landed at Ginny´s feet.

Draco glared at her from his steely gray eyes and said as roughly as he could muster at loss of his book, "Well, Weasley, aren´t you going to pick up my things for me?" She flinched at the name `Weasley´, but recovered quickly. Dropping her stuff onto the ground, she bent down to pick up the only thing that had fallen: a leather-bound book filled with textured white paper. Draco´s sketchbook lay at Ginny´s feet.

The book, at the possible worst time ever, opened in her hand as she carefully held it by spine. She had seen this brand of books and Art Supplies and More in Diagon Alley when she had gone to buy acrylics and canvases, and it ran for more than most of their new textbooks did. It surprised Ginny slightly that it had never struck her as Draco being the artsy type of person, but of course, Draco had to be good at everything.

The page that the book parted to was the drawing that Draco had just done. The crease that he had created to hold the pages down now revealed his most embarrassing obsession and secret.

Ginny groped around for words as she studied her detailed drawing. Draco, however, turned around and began to repeatedly hit his head on the bookcase, making loud thumping sounds.

"Mal - Malfoy, is this me?" The words were barely audible, but he somehow heard them between the thumps and the groans. She turned the page back to see a sketch of her scribbling down something. Ginny ran a finger of the image at the bottom; the graphic smeared. She looked at her finger and wiped it on the side of her black robe. He turned around, his forehead red from the bookcase, and looked her in the eye. He was taller than her by 3 inches, at the least. He held out his hand, flat and open. "Give that back," he said menacingly, trying to keep the fear out of his shaky voice.

She ignored his order, but stared intensely at the sketch. "This is me, isn´t it, Malfoy?" she asked. "Why are you sketching me?"

"Give. Me. The. Damn. Book," he ordered through clenched teeth. She looked up at him through slitted eyes. "Here, take it, you stalker!" she said forcefully, throwing the book at his chest. It hit him and bounced off into his arm, where he gripped it tightly.

She shoved him to the side as she and her bag ran out of the library. Ginny didn´t even slow down when Madam Pince told her to slow down, and she slammed the library door shut.

Malfoy leaned on the bookcase, eyes closed and shoulders slumped in defeat. He momentarily mused over his predicament, and the Ginny problem that he had created. Then, when musing became boring, he grabbed his bag that lay on the ground and walked out of the library.

He thought of going back to his dormitory and rot there, but he was too hungry to even give it a second thought. He would eat a big dinner and then go back and rot in his dormitory.

Seating himself at the edge of the Slytherin table, he lay his book and bag on the floor under his seat and began to pile his plate. He automatically looked at the Gryffindor table, across the hall, to get a peek at Ginny. He was greeted by her staring hatefully at him. She, too, had sat alone at the edge of the table, away from her brother and Harry, and away from the throng of Gryffindors of various years. She simply glared at him, eyes not moving. He could not help but stare back at her, into her chocolate eyes. `Yes,´ he thought, `If I ever sketch her again, I will most definitely bring color´.

He felt something inside him gather up, then fade away. It was hope for a future together, he knew. Much as he´d like to know this mystery better, he couldn´t let himself. Their destiny had already been set; there was no going back.

In the end, he was the broke the eye contact. He broke away to calmly take a bite of mashed potatoes.

Draco thought profoundly about Ginny. She was something else; higher than the crowd. She stood alone and unmoving, dependable and everlasting. She was higher than the chattering pupils, she was in the heavens and she was in the sky.

She stood alone, and she stood above the crowd.