Her stomach flutters nervously all through potions, and all she can do is frown. She doesn’t know what to make of what’s happened, and what’s more, she isn’t sure that there’s even anything to make of it.

Perhaps he misses her. Maybe he just needed a snog. Maybe he’s just lonely, like she is. She doesn’t know, and she’s not sure that she wants to ask, either.

Her eyes remain focused on Snape, even though she’s not really seeing him. She can’t bloody well concentrate on anything, and it’s all Draco’s fault! She doesn’t take adequate notes and when she tries to mix her potion, she adds too much boomslang skin.

She knows that she needs to concentrate on her class, but she can’t very well do that with images of Draco assaulting her every time she closes her eyes! As she’s leaving the classroom, the strap on her bookbag rips, and her books and parchments scatter across the floor of the hallway.

With nothing else to lose, she begins to cry silently in frustration. All of the other students have gone to lunch, and she is in the hallway alone. She gathers her things and shoves them into her bag, not caring if her parchments and miscellaneous items are preserved or not – she just wants to get out of the dungeon.

Maybe if she leaves the dungeon, she won’t think so much about him.

She heads toward Gryffindor Tower, intent on skiving off her last two classes of the day. Her broken bag is clutched to her heaving chest as she moves, and she looks down at her feet as she walks. She doesn’t want to look anyone in the eyes; to give someone the opportunity to point out that she has been crying.

When she hears Harry and Hermione coming up behind her, she groans silently. Could this day get any worse? When Hermione falls into step beside her, she realizes that she shouldn’t have pressed her luck by wondering that.

“Hey, Ginny,” Hermione says, her voice bright and bubbly. “Are you coming to lunch with us?”

Ginny smirks to herself. Apparently they haven’t spoken to Ron yet.

“No, thanks.” She knows that she sounds detached and uninterested, but she can’t help it. What’s the use in pretending that she wants their company right now? There’s only one person she wants to be around, and he’s sending mixed signals as to whether or not he wants to see her, too.

“We’d like it if you did,” Harry adds. Ginny stops mid-step and turns to look at him. As usual, his hands are shoved into his pockets, and his hair is mussed up. She finds herself wondering why she ever thought it was attractive in the first place, and if Hermione is drawn to him for the same reasons that she used to be.

“Really?” she asks flatly. Harry blinks and shoots a sideways glance at Hermione. “Because none of you seemed to care so much about me before you found out that I was spending time with Draco.”

“Ginny, we just wanted you to eat with us,” Hermione says, holding her hands up in surrender. Ginny frowns at this. Her mannerisms are blending with those of her brother and Harry, and she’s beginning to think that they’re spending too much time together. In her mind’s eye, the lines between them always blur, and sometimes she even sees them as one entity instead of three. “We didn’t want to start a fight.”

“I don’t want to eat with you,” Ginny replies.

“Why not?” Harry asks quietly. “Is it because of him?”

“No, it isn’t,” Ginny snaps, exasperated. “Why is everyone set on annoying me today? Not everything that’s wrong has to do with Draco.” She isn’t sure that that’s true, though. Everything that’s wrong with her right now can be traced directly back to the blonde – though everything that’s been right with her in the last month can be traced directly back to him, as well.

“Has he been hassling you?” Hermione asks, her face reflecting the concern in her voice. It’s more than Ginny can take, and she opens her mouth to shout. She is surprised when her voice is replaced by a cold drawl.

“No one’s been hassling her,” Draco says, walking up behind Ginny. Harry’s expression goes cold before it closes off completely, and Hermione just clamps her mouth shut. “Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

Ginny marvels at how pleasant his tone is, until she realizes seconds later that he’s laughing at both of them. Their discomfort amuses him, and for some reason, it lifts her own mood. She feels naughty, and she wants them to leave her alone. The only sure way to do that is standing directly behind her.

She turns and savors the surprised look that passes across Draco’s features as she drops her bag and wraps her arms around his neck. “Oh, Draco,” she purrs, enjoying his uncertainty as much as theirs. “I never got to thank you for this morning.”

“No thanks necessary,” he says quickly, glancing at Harry and Hermione. They are too stunned to move.

“Oh, but I have to thank you,” she insists. “I was thinking about you all through potions because of it.” Without waiting for his response, she pulls him down and presses a kiss to his closed lips. He doesn’t yield, which makes disappointment and relief pool in her stomach at once. She pulls away and picks up her bag, then turns and heads toward the tower without looking back.

14 January

Why does everyone insist on tormenting me? I know I’m being dramatic, but they really are! This morning Draco kissed me after an argument, and Snape caught us. I’m glad I didn’t get detention, but it still cost points, and I’d be willing to bet that Draco didn’t lose any. Then again, since he really doesn’t have a house to speak of anymore, I don’t suppose it would matter if he did.

I couldn’t concentrate in class because of that stupid kiss. And what did it mean, anyway? Anything? Nothing? I don’t know. It feels like we’re playing games with each other. And I took my turn just now.

I ran into Harry and Hermione in the hall and really didn’t feel like dealing with them. Surprise, surprise, Draco magically appears behind me to defend me for the second time today! What on earth is going on with us? And now that I’ve kissed him, I still have to see him tonight for tutoring. I don’t know how I’m going to handle that… and worse yet, I don’t know how he will, either.

She enters the study room with no small amount of trepidation, and sits down at the table. He is already there, sitting with his elbows on the table and his hands clasped in front of his mouth. She pulls out all of her study materials and places them on the table top without looking at him.

She pulls out her quill and the essay she’s been working on, and begins to write. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly.

“I’m working on my essay,” she says, frowning down at her parchment. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“I didn’t mean right now,” he says, shaking his head and letting his arms drop to the table. She glances up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“What was that little show for the Wonder Twits earlier today?”

“Why do you care?” she asks. “It pissed Harry off, and it made Hermione uncomfortable. Isn’t that what you’re all about?”

“I don’t like being used,” he says angrily.

“Seemed like you liked it to me,” she replies loftily, looking back down at her paper.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Look,” she says, putting her quill down. “I’ve already tried talking to Dumbledore about this, and he says that we’re stuck with each other until the end of the year, when you graduate, so we’d better get used to it and make the best of it.”

“I don’t-“ he pauses for a moment. “Hang on a tic – you tried to get rid of me?”

“I don’t look at it as getting rid of you, so much as releasing you,” she explains, shrugging.

“Releasing me?” he snorts. “More like releasing yourself.”

“Why are you trying to turn this on me?” she demands. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“You snogged me in front of Potter and Granger just to piss them off!” he yells, his normally pale skin turning pink.

“So?” she asks, gesturing with her hands. “You never cared about pissing them off before!”

“I told you, I don’t like being used!”

She stares at him for a moment, then deflates. “What do you want from me, Draco? An apology?”

“I don’t want an apology,” he says, running his fingers through his hair.

“What do you want? Because I have an essay to write.”

“I want us to be friends again,” he blurts. She stares at him in silence for so long that he’s sure she’s going to just get up and leave, or that she’s going to remain silent until he decides to leave.

“You want us to be friends again,” she echoes in disbelief.

“Yes. I’m tired of fighting with you.”

“We’ve only had two fights.”

“In one day.”

“It’s still minimal, given the time that we’ve been close,” she says.

“If you’re counting the entire time we’ve been close, then we’ve had four fights.”

“We have not.”

“We have.”

“When?”

“When we were in your room, when you left me, this morning, and now,” he says, counting them off on his fingers as he speaks.

“When I left you?” she asks, her eyebrows raised. “You mean when you told me to leave.”

“Damn it!” he says, slapping the table with his palm. “You’re not making this easy for me! It’s not like I’m asking you to do something deplorable – I just want to be friends again!”

“Why?”

“Because I miss you.”

“You do?” she asks, her voice manifesting her surprise. He nods slowly. “Oh.”

“So can we stop fighting and just be friends again?”

“We can be friends if you can explain what happened in the hallway this morning,” she says softly.

His eyes widen. How can he explain that? How can he tell her that his mind refuses to think of anything else but her; that he even dreams about kissing her and touching her? “I just got mad, and it was the only way I knew to shut you up.” It is not a lie, but it’s not exactly the truth, either.

“I see.”

“Are we all right now?”

“Sure,” she says, shrugging.

“I need a gesture of goodwill to prove that we’re really going to be friends,” he says, arching an eyebrow. She gives him a cautious look.

“Like what?”

Less than a half an hour later, they are outside in the snow, mounting brooms. She watches as he kicks off, and wonders how she’s going to manage pretending to be his friend, when she knows that she wants more than that. She pushes off with her feet and soars into the air, squinting her eyes against the biting wind. He pulls up beside her and hovers, and she gives him a wry smile. She remembers the last time they did this, and she wonders if he remembers it, too.

“It’s really cold,” she says, pulling her cloak tight around her shoulders.

“Too cold for you?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Fine,” he says. For a moment, she thinks that he is angry and that he is going to give up on the friend idea. That thought disappears when he holds his arms out to her. “Get on with me, then.”

“What?” she laughs. “And what would I do with my broom?”

“Let it fall,” he says, shrugging.

“You’re serious,” she realizes out loud.

“Of course I am. Hop on.” The outstretched arms are too tempting, and in the end she climbs onto his broom. His arms go around her, and instantly she is warm. They watch as her broom plummets to the grass below, and then he takes off.

“Where are we going?” she calls back to him.

“Where do you want to go?” Her hair whips around his face as they fly, and his nostrils are assaulted by the familiar smell of her shampoo. He closes his eyes as he inhales deeply, and suddenly he knows where he wants to take her.

“We’re going to your tower?” she asks, surprised to see that they’re nearing his tower.

“We don’t have to,” he says. “I just thought we could sit on the roof and talk.”

“The roof?” she asks uncertainly.

“If you don’t want to-“

“No, that’s fine,” she says quickly. Silence reigns as they pull up to his tower and step off onto the top of the tower. He places the broom behind him so it won’t roll away.

“So,” he begins, glancing at her. “How are things going?”

“What’s next, the weather?” she asks acidly.

“Hey, I’m just trying to start conversation here.”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Okay,” he says, frowning. “Now why don’t you tell me how you really are.” She sighs at this, and rests her cheek on her hand.

“For the most part, everything’s just like it’s always been,” she says, shrugging.

“And how’s that?”

“Not good, not bad.”

“For the most part?” he asks, his brow furrowing. “What’s changed?”

“It’s just-“ she pauses, wondering if she should tell him what she’s been thinking about. She decides that he probably knows her frustration, so why shouldn’t she tell him? “It’s just that Harry, Hermione, and Ron are really getting to me lately. More than they used to, I mean.”

“How so?” he asks neutrally, moving to lie on his back. He folds his arms beneath his head and stares up at the sky.

“I used to be able to stomach being around them. I could block them out and ignore them when the three of them were together, but lately… well, I can’t even bring myself to look at Harry and Hermione half the time, and it’s getting worse with Ron, too. I don’t want to lose my brother because of them.”

“You’re close with him, aren’t you?” he observes. She shrugs.

“I used to be.”

“Is this rift because of them seeing us in Hogsmeade together?”

“I think that’s only a little bit of it,” she admits. “I think just the general idea of us being together in any way really scares them.”

“Why, do they think I’m going to corrupt you, or something?”

“Haven’t you already?” she asks, her eyes dancing. He grins at her amused tone.

“Well, then logically they have nothing to fear. I’ve already done the deed, so they can relax now. Although I think you’re giving me far too much credit; I think you were already corrupted by your brothers the pranksters.”

She laughs at this. “I think you’re right,” she says, mimicking his position and lying on her back beside him. Their elbows are touching, and she finds that even though it sends desire spiking through her veins, it is also comforting. “So how are things going with you? Are you and Blaise getting along again?”

“Sort of,” he says quietly. “He keeps trying to convince me to do things with him and his pet Hufflepuff, but I don’t fancy being a third wheel.”

“His pet Hufflepuff?” she echoes, giggling. “I think I like that.”

“Fine, then you can be my pet Gryffindor.”

“Are you my pet Slytherin?” she teases.

“I don’t know what I am anymore,” he says, frowning. She blinks. “I’m the only one in the entire school who still wears Slytherin robes. Zabini wears Gryffindor, Bulstrode wears Hufflepuff, and Davis wears Ravenclaw. I’m the only Slytherin left.”

“That can make a guy lonely,” she says softly. “Maybe Dumbledore would allow some students to switch houses to sort of rebuild Slytherin house.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, shaking his head. “Not that it really matters, because I like my tower better than I ever liked the dungeon. Besides, I don’t really mind wearing the Slytherin crest; I’d just like to know why he hasn’t seen fit to reintegrate me somewhere else.”

“I don’t think you belong with any of the other houses,” she says.

“Why not?”

“You were Slytherin for a reason, Draco. Even if you have elements from the other houses, I still think that you’re the embodiment of what Slytherin stands for.”

“Yeah?” he asks, turning his head to look at her. Her eyes are warm and inviting, and for a moment, he is overcome with the urge to hold her.

“You’re special,” she says, nodding. “Unique, I mean. Don’t try to blend, because it won’t work. You’re meant to stand out wherever you go.”