Wanted

-

Some people bring you gifts; some bring you bricks to weigh you down

So they can swim a little higher while you drown.

Some people mean so well, their way was the best way that they found,

But any other way you choose is a brick that weighs you down.

So tell me, what do I do with this backpack full of bricks?

Of sticks and stones and words that stuck to me like ticks?

Let it go, let it be.

Brick by brick we can be free

Of all the words that we saved

till we were our own enemy.

Let it go, let it be

Brick by brick

We can believe in the person
God intended us to be.

Some people give themselves a brick, I know most people do

When we compare, we fall short somewhere, it's always true

If all we see is where we fall, we brick the prison wall.

Instead of trying to learn to fly, we're taught ourselves to crawl

- Let it Be; Superchic[k]

Wanted:

Infuriating

Malfoy walked between the two tall shelves stocked with books to the end of the aisle where Ginny sat. She had already gotten comfortable and had spread out her school things out around her. There was little room left on the small table.

Her mop of red hair had been left out and partially covered her face, her head bent in concentration; reading a book pulled from the shelves. On one side of her was a piece of parchment with shorthanded notes jotted down on them and her quail quill was poised over it, tip black with ink, ready to take down notes the moment she read them.

He reached out and pulled the chair across her out from under the table and eased himself into it. He set his bookbag down on the ground next to his chair leg. She did not object - she did not even look up. Turning the page with her free hand, she dropped the quill back into the well and folded her hands together, as if she was praying.

But Malfoy noticed her ghost white knuckles and red fingers as they clenched around each other, and how she bit her lip and her eyes flew back to the top of the page again. He smirked at her attempt to ignore him.

Ginny bit her lip and her eyes flew over the top of the page as she heard him sit down. 'Oh god, what the bloody hell is he doing?' she thought frantically, her hands slipping into her lap and migrating the table legs, clenching and unclenching them in her palm.

'This is bad. Horrible. Not only does he know about - about Tom, but he's a Malfoy! God, could I be in any deeper shit?!' She cursed her misfortune and decided that pretending he didn't exist was the best way to deal with her crisis.

'Why can't he just go away and leave me alone? God, of all people!'

But she knew that she didn't really mean that. Even though he was a Malfoy - Draco Malfoy - he was still the only one who knew her name. He was polite enough to her, not exactly complimenting her in a friendly manner, but definitely an improvement from the Ravenclaw girls. She was well aware that even though she should be purposely provoking him to leave her alone, she lapped up the attention, the presence of another knew of her existence. She was even grateful that he treated her like a human, with dignity and - sometimes, she even detected a hint of respect - hidden behind his sneers and comments.

"Where's that parchment?" he asked her casually, as if they were acquaintances, rather than sworn enemies.

'What could he possibly want with my report?' she thought, confused. 'It's past repair, now I'll have to stay up late to rewrite it.' She bit her lip. 'Not to mention, I have the Transfiguration exam, and I haven't been able to rid the top hat of all the rabbit fur yet! I don't have time for this!'

"Why?" she asked, irritated and unnerved by the calm, amused look in his rain cloud eyes. "Didn't quite catch the damage those Ravenclaws inflicted on it?" she jeered.

"Do you want to rewrite it, Weasley?" he asked, finishing abruptly as if he wanted to add something but thought better of it.

She scowled and grabbed two pieces of parchment, throwing them over to him. He caught them and tried to rearrange them in the small space in front of him. Frustrated that he could not, he took several of her books and library books and placed them on the floor in a stack with a loud 'THUMP'.

"What do you bloody want with it, anyway, Malfoy?" she asked as he placed the two pieces of parchment together in the larger open space he had created.

"I was going to fix it so you don't have to rewrite it," he said slowly, as if he was doing the younger classman a huge favor, which he was.

"Oh." She paused, closing the dusty old book she had been reading and placing it on the ground with respect to its age and condition. She sat up and looked at him. "Could you pass me 'The Goblin Uprising of 1532'?"

He bent down and took book off book, until he found the one she was asking for second to the bottom. It was an old book, preserved only by magic and Spellotape; that he passed to her. She did not say any thanks, and he had not expected any.

"But if you would rather rewrite it, that's fine with me," he said breezily. Ginny shot him a sharp look, which he smirked off.

"No, it's fine with me. Continue." She opened the book and trailed a long slender finger over the table of contents, and, upon finding her chapter, began to flip through the yellowing pages to the chapter she was looking for.

"Weren't you listening when I told you I could fix it?" he asked, knowing the answer. She scowled at him again, and he smirked slightly.

"No. I seemed to be a bit 'out of it'," she said scornfully, jerking her head so that her hair fanned out around her shoulders.

"What were you doing?" he asked; she glared at him and opened her mouth to speak. He cut her off. "No, reword that. You were doing nothing. What were you thinking?"

'Like I'd ever tell you that,' Ginny thought bitterly, the sounds of their empty and vicious laughter echoing faintly in her ear, which was beginning to redden.

"Plotting various ways to murder them all and make it look like an accident," she said smoothly, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong.

"Uh huh," he said, not bothering to disguise the disbelief in his voice. Ginny didn't feel like trying to convince him, partially because she wasn't convinced herself. She went back to reading about the goblin rebellion.

Malfoy looked down at the two pieces of parchment, reading what was written on each half.

In the Presence of Eternal Darkness

The Effects and Consequences of Long Term Occupancy with the Corrupted

By Virginia Weasley, Sixth year

"What is this?" he asked, noting the foot-long parchment filled with tiny, neat, closely spaced writing with raised eyebrows. It hurt his eyes to try to read it over the rip.

"Oh." Ginny looked up and blushed slightly. "It's - it's my report for Defense Against the Dark Arts over an - an aspect of the Dark side," she said stuttering.

'Oh God, I knew it was a bad idea to let him fix it!' she thought, horrified at having her beloved report in the hands of the enemy. 'Please, don't make fun of it; please, just fix it - don't read it!' she mentally begged.

"Really?" Malfoy asked, pretending not to be interested. "Sounds more like a testimonial if you ask me." He looked at her, expecting to hear 'Well, nobody asked you,' but was surprised by the small smile on her face and gratitude in her brown eyes. Her cheeks were red from embarrassment.

"It has some... personal experiences in it," she said. "I tried to keep it unbiased, but Professor Corran enthusiastically agreed to read some personal experiences and let me write about what it feels like. She said that it would show why some people succumb to the Dark and allow themselves to become corrupted like Lord Voldemolt has, and how it would appeal to them so much that they would allow themselves to do horrible, horrible things."

'Shut your bloody mouth, Ginny! Why don't you just tell him your entire life story while you're at it?' she thought angrily to herself.

Malfoy closed the rip between the two halves and tried to arrange them as best as he possibly could.

"Do you have a clean parchment?" he asked. She took one from a stack on the ground and handed it to him. Malfoy took it from her and fingered it with disdain, then bent down and took a piece of parchment from his bag, a thicker one that was more absorbent and refined, along with his wand.

Placing her parchment in his bag, he straightened his over the ripped one and muttered the spell. Instantly, the two parchments began to glow gold. Ink seeped onto the page as if forced through the surface of the thick parchment like black blood. Words began to form in the style of Ginny's neat writing, sentences so tiny and so close together that he had difficulty being able to distinguish where a paragraph ended and another began. He ran his eyes over the area in the middle, checking to make sure that the flow of words was not uneven, and that all the letters were there. He smiled, satisfied with the work, and how well the newly mastered charm had worked for him.

"Is this all there is to it?" he asked, looking at the bottom.

Ginny shook her head. "No, there's about three more pieces like that," she said, trying to conceal her pride.

The paper had been assigned in the third week of school: to write about any aspect of the Dark Arts. It had to be at least one standard parchment page long or one-and-a-half feet. She had started her paper almost immediately, immersing herself in her parchments. The library, in fact the very corner she was in now, had become her hideaway, her place to escape when the day had been too much to handle. She had researched other people throughout the ages who had been possessed like she had, not under spells or charms, but by the person themselves, and how they had made their mark in history.

She had been quite surprised to find that these people, when the story of their experience was told, were not shunned or treated cruelly, as she was, but were rather admired and looked upon for strength, leadership, and courage. To others, they lead, they were not images of those who had been weak and overtaken by darkness, but who had been strong and overcome the darkness.

Ginny supposed that because they had found the strength within themselves that they were able to hold their heads up high and walk with pride, even though their past was marred and their minds eternally scarred. She realized that instead of pitying themselves, as she found herself so often doing, that they had they had had the courage to look the world in the eye. They had found the strength to prove to those that may have imprudently scorned them that they were not to be persecuted for their experience. They viewed the Dark, though it was not easy, as an obstacle to overcome, and however difficult it may have been, they determined not to make it a permanent stop in their lives.

And so she resolved to become like these people.

So she began recording the emotions that she had experienced when she was in possession of the diary, the times when she couldn't remember what had happened, and how Tom had first appealed to her on any spare parchment she might have at any given time. She was afraid that if she did not write it down immediately, she would lose it forever.

Then, she wrote down how it felt when she realized what she had done, and how she had to cope living with her mistake. She wrote about how her family still loved her, forgave her, and accepted her as though she were no different than before. She wrote about the times that she felt so depressed and unnoticed that suicide seemed to be the only way out, and how, some days, she felt as if everyone hated her. She wrote how Tom's voice still tormented her, and she wrote how she was able to live through each day, if only with the hope the next one would be better.

She concluded how that small thought, the thought of a better tomorrow, was enough to motivate her to endure the sneers, taunts, and glares throughout the day, all of them demanding her to give up. She wrote about how trials and suffering like this made someone tap into their inner strength, refining them like alloy metal into steel.

And then she made a note at the bottom:

No human should ever have to endure this treatment, not only the presence with someone immersed in the Dark, but also the way others have treated that person because of it. Every person should be welcomed, accepted, wanted, and loved, simply because they are a person. In this thinking, we place ourselves equal with all other people, regardless of their past, their choices, their appearance, or their thinking. We open our minds to diversity when we forgive the faults that we find in each other and in ourselves, and we allow ourselves to experience what we might've never seen before through another's eyes.

Ginny valued these parchments more than her life. This was her story, the logic behind the reason. Even if her body passed away, her words were eternal, and they would speak for her when she could not. She hoped that this might be an eye-opener for some. It was not a plea for sympathy or a cry for help; she wanted it to be a tool for understanding and comprehension. She wanted others to see her as a girl who made a mistake, not as a freak or a queer or a mental case, but as a simple girl, who dreamed of living a simple life.

Because such was her small and simple wish, to be seen as a girl - maybe even be known as Ginny - and nothing more or less.

And she knew that it would take time for people to see her as a girl and not as a queer, maybe a long time. But she was willing to wait and patiently endure until she was.

"Here, Weasley," Malfoy said, handing back her parchment with the first page of her report on it. She looked up and took it out of his outstretched hand.

"Thanks," she said. He nodded his head slightly and flicked up his eyebrows in response.

"So..." she said, placing the parchment in her bag. "What happened to those girls?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to recall how many points he had taken away. Sixty - he had taken away sixty points in total.

"Did you let them go?" she asked, not explaining what she meant and not really needing to.

"Of course not," he said, almost offended. "I'm a prefect!"

"Damn good one you are," she said sarcastically.

"Thank you," he said, pleased, intentionally ignoring her sarcasm.

"What did you do, then? Pat them on the back for successfully making a Weasley choke?" She was getting more sarcastic by the moment, and the witty Ginny that he had met in the North Tower was beginning to take form. He smirked, preferring this Ginny to the spineless, mute one that had cowered before the Ravenclaw girls.

"Don't be daft!" he scolded her, to which she gave an amused look. "I took points away from them."

"Half a point for each girl then?" She smirked and closed her book. "For a grand total of two points?"

"Try sixty," he said evenly. Her mouth visibly dropped.

"Holy -" she broke off, smiling.

"And I said I'd talk to their Head of House," Malfoy said seriously, "They could get expelled for repeated abuse like that."

"It's called 'Peer Pressure', Malfoy," she corrected. He raised an eyebrow and leaned forward.

"It's not 'Peer Pressure'. 'Peer Pressure' is when you're urged to do something against your will because everyone else is doing it. 'Abuse' is uncalled for mistreatment and shouldn't be tolerated."

She smirked at him and his conviction, and he realized that he had just said too much. He felt his face pale, although not noticeably, and tried to keep his face expressionless.

"Since when have you been so righteous?" she asked, half-surprised and half-amused.

"Since I decided I wouldn't like being treated like that myself." The words came out so fast that they had not been thoroughly rationalized, rather, his words were an impulsive thought that was voiced before they had registered with his brain. And although he had to grimace at the brutal honesty in his words, he was not ashamed to have thought - and spoken - them, strangely. He wondered how he could ever endure the teasing and harassment that the Weasley girl was so accustomed to.

"It's ok to pity me, Malfoy, but don't lie," Ginny said, not wanting to believe what he had said. Her mind was racing, her heart beating like the bass line of Weird Sister song: loud and long. She swallowed nothing, but processed his surprising words slowly in her head.

'Oh god, he can't be serious, can he?' she mentally hissed. 'He couldn't be, he's an apathetic Malfoy! Tell me I'm dreaming, someone please!' she cried, confused and scared.

You know you love this. The sympathizing, the pity. You're feeding off of it, Ginny. You're a liar.

She looked up at him and found him staring intensely at her, like razor beams searching her face. She fidgeted under his gaze, but he did not move an inch. He was looking for anything that could distinguish this young woman from the other girls, any noticeable surface scar that he could see that made her vulnerable to other students and classmates.

I am not

.

Her brown eyes ran over his sharp face frantically, confused. They traveled to his nose, down to his thin pale lips that looked as if they belonged to someone else, then to his ear, to the other, and down to his neck, avoiding his gaze.

And you love that it's from someone so infamous as Malfoy, the son of the very man that cursed you with me. You're lapping this all up. You love the irony and wish for nothing else than for him to be wrapped around your finger.

Ginny's teeth clenched themselves, defining her jawline. She was nervous, unaccustomed to this kind of attention from this kind of a person. Was something wrong with her face? A honking pimple that had managed to wedge its way to the surface of her skin unnoticed or a piece of lettuce between her teeth?

That's not true, Tom. I don't want anything like that; quit saying such malicious things!

If not for her sad eyes and lack of a smile, he would have thought her to be almost pretty.

You didn't come out of that Chamber as innocent as you were when you went in. You know what power tastes like, how easy it is to manipulate others, even someone like Malfoy. You want your revenge, and he just might be able to achieve it for you. Face it, Ginny, you're lapping this all up.

Her appearance was so average that, if not for her bright and distinctive hair, she would completely disappear into the population of Hogwarts students and he might never see her again. For as much as he knew, she didn't talk much and she didn't have any friends. She had no reason to be hated and no excuse for tolerating it, as far as he knew. But, then again, he reasoned, what did he know?

I don't want anything like that, Tom - I'm not you. I can resist evil for a second time, even through your failure.

Nothing. He knew nothing, other than what he was learning from his two short encounters with her, and that had given him little insight to why she was preyed upon and how she was so goddamn strong. He did not know how she conducted herself in class or how smart she was. He didn't know how she acted when she ate, how she presented herself to other classmates. He didn't know much about her or her family, besides the obvious, he didn't know much about her dark past. He didn't know her birthday or her favorite color, or what sort of music she liked, if she listened to any at all. He didn't know her hobbies or pastimes, or anything that she might laugh at if he said. He didn't know her favorite board game or sport, if she even liked board games or sports, or what her favorite book was and why.

A loud sound of books thumping broke his reverie, and his eyes snapped back into focus. Ginny was across the table, standing up as she lifted books onto the table, sorting them. Her quills were thrown back into her bag and her parchment was stacked off to one side.

"What are you doing?"

"I need to leave," she said, quickly shoving books back onto the shelves. Her pace was quick; her steps were nothing short of frantic.

"Why?"

"I have to help Ron with something." That was a lie if Malfoy had ever heard one. Still, he did not question her; a plan of action of his own began to form in his head.

Ginny gathered all her things and hugged them close to her chest. She walked past Malfoy, who had just stood up and was grabbing his bag off from the ground. She waited until he was done pushing in his chair before clearing her throat. Malfoy's attention turned from the table to her, standing only but a foot and a half from him.

But he didn't have to see her to know that she was there. She had a scent that was so distinctly Ginny that he could have easily christened it 'Virginia'. She smelt faintly of chocolate and oranges and tangy spice. Cinnamon tied them all together, with an underlying scent of rose. It was scent that Malfoy had never smelt something so different, so wonderful, and he fought of the impulse to turn around, grab her by the shoulders, and snog the life out of her, she smelt so good.

She took in a sharp breath. He smelt so good, and his looks rivaled his smell. He smelt comforting, like a warm bed or flannel Pjs, and enticing and desirable. A disturbing image of her and Malfoy heatedly snogging popped into her mind and she hastily blushed, grimacing. However, It was a welcoming scent that made one want to engage in mature conversation over hot cocoa.

His cheeks were a wan red color from windburn and the area around his eyes was a bit pink from the heated library. His face was like wheat, a pale, pale flesh color and without any blemish, and his eyes the color of dull metal like the knights in armor that lined the halls of Hogwarts. His hair was white like the moon and he was tall, taller than she was.

He was very, very attractive, and painfully perfect. Not like her

"Thank you," she said professionally and curtly. "You really didn't have to." She turned around and walked away, her bag bouncing on her curvy hips and her long ponytail swinging from shoulder to shoulder with each step. Her back was straight and her head was high as if nothing, not Ravenclaw girls nor dogs nor demons could possibly stop her.

She really was very pretty.

"But I did," he murmured, "and you're welcome."

Then he turned and began to walk through the shelves that held the school record books. To understand Weasley, he reasoned, he would have to know whom, exactly, this Tom person was.

Even if he had to confront Ginny herself about it.