Just Look

Stop looking at me like that.

It was all she seemed to think anymore. Ginny was always conscious of it, that feeling in the pit of her stomach, the one that told her that he was watching. She felt like she had been branded; his mark burned into her.

He was always there. Every time she turned around, it seemed, he was standing at the edge of her vision. Staring at her coolly with those hooded silver eyes. She felt shivery whenever she caught his eye, turning away and blushing to the tips of her toes. It was a wonderfully pleasant feeling, but excruciatingly painful at the same time.

It had started, innocently enough, with a prefect round. Draco and Ginny had not originally been paired together, but Susan Bones had suddenly developed a bad bout of flu and Madam Pomfrey had insisted she rest. And so, despite Ginny's pleading, moaning and excessive threats that she was going to pay, Hermione refused to alter the schedule.

"I know you don't like him, Ginny," she had said with an annoyingly pitying air. "But just bear it for the sake of inter-house relations, okay?"

Fuck inter-house relations, Ginny had thought, but there was nothing for it.

It was astonishingly surprising to discover that they actually didn't hate each other's guts. It was hard to stay mad at someone you had to meet up with two times a week, for three hours. Of course they fought; long, hard and bitterly for the first three months, but when they realised that they were just going to be stuck together for the rest of the school term they had relented.

"But if he lays one hand on you..." Ron had glowered one night when they were all sitting in the Common Room. "One move and I'll-" There was his cue for vicious hand-across-throat movements.

Ginny simply rolled his eyes. "I can take care of myself, big brother," she had teased. "And anyway, it's not like Malfoy would ever do anything. I'm a horrible worthless Weasley, remember?"

It later occurred to Ginny how strikingly ironic that was; he never had noticed her as a horrible, worthless Weasley. She had fallen too hard, too fast, and by the time she had noticed there was no way of going back. She was stuck, and it was all she could do to stop herself from breaking it off.

Not that she hadn't tried. It had been after three months, three months of secrecy, three months of having to sneak around lying to her friends, three months of meeting up wherever they could; old disused classrooms, the prefect's bathrooms, hidden store cupboards. One night, breaking away reluctantly from his rough, hard kisses, she had sighed and said, "We have to stop."

His eyes, slightly hooded with lust, had barely registered the interruption. He reached for her again.

"No!" Ginny cried, backing a few steps. One touch, and she would be gone. "No. I can't do this anymore. We have to stop. We can't-we can't meet up anymore. Not like this."

He visibly stiffened, his shoulders tightening slightly. Then he relaxed, and staring her straight in the eye, calmly said, "Alright then."

"W-what?" Despite herself, Ginny was shocked. She had expected him to shout, yell, curse and hex her, but to actually agree? No, this is what you wanted him to say, she tried to convince herself. It's the right thing.

"I said, alright," he repeated, enunciating each syllable carefully. Picking up his robes, he left the classroom and Ginny was filled with the sinking feeling of disappointment. Where was that warm sense of rightness that always followed when you actually did something right? It definitely wasn't there. Ginny gathered her robes and walked slowly back to the Gryffindor Tower, tip-toeing up into her room and falling onto her bed. It was a long time before she finally fell asleep.

*

She had learned to cope without him, no longer falling asleep to the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin against her own, those soft full lips on hers. Four months had passed.

So why was he beginning to seek her out now? She could feel his eyes on her everywhere she went, following her as she went around her daily life and it was driving her crazy. Forget about him, she had constantly chanted to herself. Forget about him. Forget. Forget. Forget.

But she couldn't. After two weeks she had had enough.

She caught him on his way out of Charms-she had memorized his schedule when they had first started "meeting up", and although she hated herself for remembering, it certainly came in useful for such situations.

"Malfoy," she called.

He turned slowly on his heel, giving her a cool, appraising look. "Weaslette."

She ignored the infuriating nickname and walked up to him, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. Biting the bullet, she demanded, "What is the matter with you?"

His voice was calm, measured, thoughtful. "The matter with me? I wasn't aware that anything was the matter with me." He smirked.

She wanted to shake the annoying prat. "Well, apparently your awareness had deserted you and gone on a holiday. What is up with all this, this ... this staring?" she burst out savagely. "You're always staring at me and it's driving me up the wall!"

He was still smirking. "A pity I'm not driving you against a wall."

Ginny clenched her fists. Bastard! "Will you shut up with all your stupid sexual innuendos! I'm sick of them, sick, do you hear me? Leave me alone, and I mean it, Malfoy!"

He took a step towards her, and despite her anger Ginny felt a thrill of excitement run through her. She immediately chastised herself, and took a step back. "What are you doing?"

She hated the way her voice squeaked.

He stepped towards her again and this time she couldn't move, paralysed, stiff as a board. "Nothing," he whispered, and then his mouth closed on hers.

She could've broken free, punched him, hexed him to within an inch of his life or best of all; kneed him where it hurt. But instead, she returned the kiss with force, pressing against him, until he reached out a hand and pulled them into the nearest empty classroom.

*

After that Ginny just couldn't ignore him. Their meetings started again, and she couldn't get enough. Every time he caught her eye, she would turn away and busy herself with something else until it was safe to look up again. Every time he brushed by her, she started and ran, blushing like a mad thing.

She was in too deep, and it felt good. Draco Malfoy may not have been Ginny's original candidate for Prince Charming, and he still wasn't. But there was just something about Draco that told her that with him around, there would never be any need for a Prince Charming anyway.

Ron would just have to come to terms with that.