Hurt Loves

Aravaeya

This is just a little something that I wrote while I was bored this afternoon. This does not mean that I don’t like it though. I really do like it, so please review it.

No, I own none of this.

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I am not close to the other girls in my dormitory. It’s past curfew and here we all are, sleeping the night away. Well, everyone except for me. I can never get to sleep very easily. I envy the other girls in here who can. I’m here, sitting in my snug four poster bed, snuggled in among the pillows and feather comforters, and completely relaxed, but still, I’m wide awake. I feel that sleep will not come to me tonight.

Ingrid and Lena Halstrom have the two beds to my immediate left, and they drifted off about fifteen minutes ago, after whispering half of the night away. They’re twins who moved to Britain from Sweden the year before they began at Hogwarts, and they are, undoubtedly, the most popular sixth years attending Hogwarts. Everyone loves them, including the Slytherin boys, who generally avoid loving Gryffindor girls if they can possibly help it. I’ve never felt that I was good enough to be with them. They’re  5’8” with long, waist length golden blonde hair and blue eyes. My hair is waist length, and I guess that is very fine and silky, but, as my brothers always point out, it is red. Actually, I’ve decided that it’s sort of an auburn, coppery color, but it’s still red, and I hate it. No one likes red hair. And I’m only 5’4”, which is short compared to the rest of the girls in the sixth year. Ingrid and Lena are nice to me, but we’ve never been close because they have an air about them that warns me to stay away. They are very proud. And very rich.

Brieanon Bennet, who is currently sleeping in the bed immediately to my right, is 5’7”, has shoulder length black hair, and decidedly perfect breasts if the rumors are anything to go by. Boys love her. However, they love anyone who will sleep with them on command as Brieanon will. It’s rumored that she’s even gotten that seventh year Slytherin, Draco Malfoy, to spend a night in her bed, but I, for one, want proof before I believe it. Draco looks at no girl except Hermione Granger, and even then, it’s only because he hates her, and loves to push her in the hallways and call her “Potter’s filthy mudblood”. I saw his eyes once when he looked at her during one of their squabbles, and the hatred seemed to pour out of them. There is some serious bad blood between them. I seriously doubt that Brieanon’s ever even talked to Malfoy, much less slept with him. I generally try to avoid talking to Brieanon, and as she seems to despise talking to me, I’m pretty successful at it.

The last girl in my room, who sleeps in the bed on the other side of Brieanon’s, and next to the door, is named Francesca Johnson. She’s Angelina Johnson’s younger sister, and a damn good Quidditch player. She’s a carbon copy of her sister, and, she’s my brother Ron’s girlfriend. I was so surprised when  he asked her out at the end of last year. She was delighted, as she’s been in love with Ron since our second year, but I had been convinced that Ron liked Hermione. I was so wrong, which is unusual, and I found out what was really going on when I spent last summer with Ron and Hermione and Harry. Hermione is my best friend, and I knew that she liked Harry, but I never asked her about it. She’s really private when it comes to boys and her feelings for Ron and Harry. However, when I caught them snogging in my old treehouse I realized that there was something else going on, and I talked to Ron about it. He laughed and said that they’d been together since that previous Christmas but hadn’t told anyone because they were in the spotlight enough as it was. I guess I agree with their decision, but it sure was a surprise, and Ron told me that he’d had a crush on Francesca ever since Fred’s girlfriend had come to a family picnic in the summer after fifth year and had had to bring Francesca along. I wonder why I didn’t see it coming. They were hopelessly flirting the entire time, Francesca completely ignoring me. She is a very sweet girl, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we end up being sisters-in-law, but we’ve never been all that close. Her side of the conversation is always about Ron, and I generally like to talk about things other than my brother. But, as I said, she is a nice girl, and she is the one that I am closest to out of all of the girls in this room.

I look once more at all of the sleeping girls, and then I look at the door which is directly in front of my bed, the middle bed. It is so tempting, but it is after curfew. But then again, when have I ever obeyed rules in this place? Besides, if they had wanted me to follow rules and stay inside the Gryffindor tower after curfew, then why did they make Hermione Head Girl? It’s just inviting me to break the rules. They really should know better.

I smile to myself and jump out of bed. I’ll go to Hermione’s room.  She’ll still be up, and if Harry’s there, I’ll shoe him out. He can sleep in his own room for once. I grab a change of clothes, sneak up into the boys dormitory. Harry’s in bed. I am quite shocked. This is, however, the break of luck that I was hoping for. I can use his invisibility cloak. I quietly rummage through his trunk until I find it lying at the bottom. I swing it over my small form and exit the dormitory and then the tower.

This castle is so quiet and peaceful at night. This is my favorite time to roam the halls, and when I get the chance to use Harry’s cloak, I do. It’s amazing the interesting things that you see when no one thinks that you are looking. I laugh to myself as memories come flooding into my head, and then quickly stifle it because I know that Mrs. Norris is bound to hear everything in this castle. She positively loves to prowl around the Gryffindor Tower. She is prejudiced against us, I am sure of it.

The Head Boy’s Room is behind the painting of Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin that I am passing, and I know from instinct, not the power of sight in this darkened hall, that the girls room, located behind a painting of Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff is not for ahead.

I hear a noise behind me and freeze. I slowly turn to see if Mrs. Norris is following me. I am stunned to see Head Boy Draco Malfoy limping towards the portrait of the two Hogwarts founders that were male as fast as he can. As he gets closer, I can see that he is also clutching his arm, and his face is stained with tears and contorted in a grimace of pain. I feel a pang of sympathy rush through my body despite my feelings for the boy, and gasp in shock as his right leg gives out and he collapses to the ground with a sharp cry of pain.

I hear Mrs. Norris mewing from around the corner of this hallway, obviously coming to inspect, and Draco’s head shoots up - in fear of getting caught, I suppose - and he tries desperately to scramble towards the portrait and not make any noise.

“Shit,” he whispers. I can see that he is making no progress whatsoever. I find myself moving in his direction despite myself, and I cover him with the cloak as I kneel beside him. His face is a mask of complete and utter surprise, and he whispers “shit, Ginny!” I smile and make the no noise sign as Mrs. Norris rounds the corner, followed by Filch. He glances around, and they advance towards us. I hold my breath as they pass perilously close to us, and my insides shake with relief as Filch’s foot passes within a centimeter of Draco’s bad leg, missing it. We wait in silence as the duo passes around the corner, and then I back away from Draco before he asks any questions, desperate to get to Hermione’s room, and avoid any confrontations. He looks very confused as the cloak falls to surround just me as I back away from him, and he even looks a little sad. I turn to leave and see him grabbing the air as I move away.

“Ginny.” I freeze at the sound of my name. The way he said it. He’s asking for help. I can tell that he has seldom been in this position. I lower the cloak to my shoulders so that my head and neck are visible. He looks relieved that he is no longer talking to air, but in my own opinion, I think that it’s weirder to talk to a head than it is to talk to no one.

“Please, Ginny, help me into my room?” He is obviously not acquainted with the task of asking people for help, and now I’m wondering, should I really help him? After all of the teasing and tormenting? After his father used me to help bring Lord Voldemort, - no, I am not afraid to say his name - back to power? Why should I help a Malfoy?

“Why?” I voice my thoughts in the quiet hallway. “Why should I help you, of all people, Draco?”

He’s silent for a moment, and I suspect that he’s searching his brain for an answer. I can tell from the still silence that none is readily available. When his eyes meet mine again, they are hard with pain. “Shit, Ginny, I can’t move. Can you please just help me into my room? I promise you that you’ll never have to help me again.”

I consider his offer, and, like before, I am moving towards his side before I even know what is happening. I procure my wand, and mutter the levitation spell, guiding him gently up into the air and through the hallway toward the portrait.

“Buttercup,” he murmurs to the portrait, glancing at me in embarrassment. Buttercup? Buttercup?

“Malfoy, the password is buttercup?” I think that I might fly apart from the laughter spilling out of me. He shoots me a glare that would normally freeze my insides, but tonight does not have the same effect.

“McGonagall made it up, and I haven’t figured out how to change it yet.” He looks angry, but I guess I would too if I were in his position.

The portrait is now open, and I guide him up and inside. I lead him to the bed, and gently lay him down, my heart squeezing unexplainably as I see him grimace and bite down hard at the pain. He lays still and I’m just looking at him, not sure what to do. I don’t want to leave anymore, not with him in the state that he is in.

After a minute of silence, I gently touch the side of his face, moving it so that he is facing me, and I ask, “Draco, what happened?”

He remains silent, just looking back at me. I return the hard stare, but he does not give me an answer to my question. I sigh, and enter the bathroom that is connected to his very large and well-appointed bedroom. I rummage through the medicine cupboards and find the potions and poultices that I need to help him, and I think to myself how bizarre this all is.

I unbutton his black dress shirt gently, so that I don’t aggravate what I think are a couple of broken ribs. I have done much study in medicine and the art of healing. I would very much like to become either and auror or a healer when I graduate.

Draco continues to stare at me while I remove his shirt and slip it out from beneath him. It is really unnerving, I must say. I examine the salve closest to me on the nightstand, and find that it is the one that I need. I gently rub some into his skin, and the corners of my mouth turn up slightly in a weak and strained smile as he seems to relax just a little. I set to work administering the medication to the rest of his bruises, and as I remove his pants, shoes, and socks, I find that there are many more than I expected to find. I wrack my brain, trying desperately to find an explanation for his injuries. How does someone acquire so many? It takes me about an hour to finish applying the salve to every bruise, and then I set to the task of realigning and mending his broken collarbone, wrist, and leg. This takes me about 20 minutes, and by the time that I am finished wrapping and dressing his wounds, the clock on the mantelpiece reads 1:49. I am starting to feel tired now, and I am sure that Hermione will no longer be awake. I glance up at Draco, who is still studying me with that calculating look in his eyes. It makes me even more tired, and I do not fell like I have the strength for the fifteen minute trudge back up to Gryffindor tower.

“You can stay here till the morning.” I glance up, surprised. These are the first words that I’ve heard from him since his plea for help earlier this evening. I do not question him. I not only do not have the energy for leaving left in me, but I think that it would be wise for Draco not to be left alone tonight. I move over towards the soft, inviting leather couch that sits facing the crackling fire.

“Take the bed,” he whispers. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

I send him the “Um, yeah, whatever” look. “Stay right where you are. I’ve worked hard to get you all wrapped up, and I’m not going to have you undo all of my work.”

He looks quite surprised that I have not done his bidding for a moment, but then settles back onto the bed leaving me to situate myself on the couch. I drift off to sleep to the sound of his quiet and even breathing around 2:30.

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I wake up early, and look at the clock, 5:30. Damn, only 3 hours of sleep. I am barely going to be able to function today. However, it is Saturday, something for which I silently rejoice. I slowly sit up, stretching out my tired muscles and they protest their lack of rest. My eyes drift over towards the bed, and I see Draco lying asleep, in exactly the same position that he was in when I laid him there earlier this morning. He shivers slightly in his sleep, and I lift the duvet that I have been sleeping under off of the couch and move it onto the bed, covering him and cocooning him into a nest of warmth.

My bag of clothes sits next to the dresser and I tiptoe over to it, picking it up and making my way into the bathroom. I’ll shower, dress, and then tickle the pear down the hallway to collect some food for my patient and myself. I still can’t believe that I’m doing this. I can’t believe that I’m helping a Malfoy. My mind protests but my heart does not. This feels right. If I did not help him it would be going against my nature even though helping someone of his background and reputation goes against my better judgment.

I’m already in the shower before I realize that this might be against the rules. Draco’s rules. But then again, I spent two hours of my time tending to his injuries, he can’t stop me from using his shower if I need it. The girls in my dormitory won’t even notice that I didn’t spend the night. It is customary for me to be up, showered, dressed, and out of the dorm before the even crack an eyelid at 6:30 in the morning. They will naturally assume that I’m just following my normal morning routine.

I finish showering and pull on my clothes and robes. New clothes and robes, courtesy of my now very well off twin brothers, Fred and George Weasley. They helped to buy me an entirely new wardrobe last summer, and so I now have clothes that are actually stylish and fit my steadily growing form. Mum has even begun to forgive them for the spectacle that they caused at school last year because of their massive success. They’ve made major differences to our Burrow, and it’s almost starting to look like a normal home. Actually, it’s starting to look like a rather nice home. Nothing to Malfoy Manner, I’m sure, but I think that it’s beautiful never-the-less.

Draco is still sleeping when I leave the bathroom, thankfully, so I quickly exit his suite of rooms and make my way down the deserted hall towards the portrait that disguises the secret entrance to the kitchens. I tickle the pear and make my way into the massive kitchen chamber. About 100 house elves rush towards me, arms full of offerings of food, and after I take my pick, say thank you, and after I exit the chamber, I make my way back to the portrait that guards Draco’s rooms.

“Buttercup,” I whisper, and the portrait immediately swings open to give me entrance. I carefully lay the food out on the small dark cherry round table that sits to one side of the main room, and make my way to the bathroom once more. I noticed a large bathtub in there earlier, and I turn the water on, pouring a little potion for muscle relaxation and rejuvenation into the water once it is about a quarter of an inch deep.

I hear a noise from the other room, and peek my head out of the door to see that Draco is beginning to return to the world of the living. I collect a terry dressing gown and make my way over to the side of the bed, shaking him gently to finish the process of rousing him. When his eyes open and take survey of the room, he does not seem in the least bit surprised to see me there, and silently lets me help him move off of the bed to one of the elegant chairs that is placed around the table that I laid the food on. He silently refuses the dressing gown that I offer him, so I lay it onto his bed. I sit in the other chair, located directly across from him, and help him fill a plate with some of the offerings available.

I am not unaware of the fact that we do not speak once throughout the entire time that we are eating, and I am certainly not unaware of the fact that he is sitting before me clothed in just his green silk boxer shorts while I am fully dressed. He has a seekers body. I am not to preoccupied with his injuries to not notice this, I just choose not to dwell on it at the present time. Bruises are scattered across every visible part of his body, except for his face, making him a veritable collage of blues, yellows, purples, and greens. My heart goes out to him, despite myself, but still, I say nothing.

He picks at his food, and I give him a remonstrative look, so he reluctantly eats the slices of mango that I have prepared, as well as the croissant with butter and strawberry jam. When I am satisfied that he has eaten as much as he will, I rise from my place opposite him and help him put his good arm around my shoulder, leading him to the bathroom, where I turn off the taps in the tub that I have been carefully surveying for the past ten minutes. I am lucky that it is a big tub, or it would have overflowed halfway through our breakfast. He sits down on the side of the tub and I exit the room, making to close the door behind me, but, catching the small noise of protest that he makes in his throat, I do not, and make my way over to his dresser. I slowly manage to compile an outfit for him to wear, taking much time to find what I am looking for in the many dresser drawers, as I am unfamiliar with the way he arranges his clothing. He is surprisingly neat for a boy of seventeen.

I locate the drawer where he keeps his under things and choose another pair of boxers – black silk ones – and an undershirt to start the outfit. I rummage through the two drawers where he keeps his shirts and pick out silky silver button up one with a slight shimmer to it that looks incredibly comfortable to wear and add it to the pile. A pair of black dress cords that I find in one of his three pants drawers completes the outfit, and I walk into the bathroom to deliver the clothing to him without a second thought as to what I’m doing.

He is situated in the bathtub when I enter, and smiles weakly up at me as I lay that neat pile of clothes on top of the closed toilet. I suspect that he is to weak to be angry or snarky to me. I must admit that it is a nice change to be sure.

“Do you need any help?” I ask quietly, keeping my eyes on his upper half as I settle myself against the side of the sink. With any other person, under any circumstances, this could be a very awkward and embarrassing situation, but I find that there is no discomfort between us.

“I, uh, I can’t-” he stammered and hesitated, his face wrought with unease. He tries in vain to lift his arms higher, and I see the pain unfold across his face in waves. He doesn’t finish his question.

I know what he’s asking, for some reason; it just comes to me, and I know. I move over to his side and reach behind to grab the shampoo. He glances up at me surprised, but I offer no explanation as I begin to massage his scalp gently, letting the silky strands of platinum hair flow through my fingers. His steely gray eyes watch me, studying me again, as I continue my task, but it does not bother me. I am intent upon the chore before me. I cup my hand and gently pick up handful after handful of water to rinse his hair until it is clean, and then I move back to my place on the edge of the sink.

He says nothing, which does not surprise me as he has not said thank-you once since I began helping him. I know that it is not in his upbringing to thank the people who serve him. He sits still, and I sense that he is finished, so I grab a thick and fluffy towel, the kind that I used to dream about having, and set it on the side of the bath.

“Put your boxers on,” I instruct him, “and then call me, and I’ll reapply the bandages and salves.”

He nods, and I leave the bathroom. My eyes automatically wander to the messy bed, so I move over to it, and make it, and for the first time I notice the rich brocade work on the feather duvet that was mine earlier. I straighten out the green satin sheets and fluff the matching pillows before covering the bed with the duvet. It too is green, and the brocade work on it is in silver. I tie back the thick green velvet curtains which were hanging loose last night when we entered, and I stare at the inviting bed. It would be nice to sleep in that bed. I can’t help but appreciate the beauty and obvious level of comfort that the bed offers as I survey it. It is a king size bed, very much like the one in Hermione’s room, but his entire room is done is this dark, rich cherry wood  and deep forest greens and light silvers that is so much more appealing to my eyes and senses than the light willow and scarlet and yellow that Hermione’s is done in.

I glance at the clock. Seven. I still have time to finish here before I go to meet with Hermione at 9:30. It’s a Hogsmeade day today, and I have promised, like always, to accompany Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Francesca. I always dread accompanying these four because I feel like the odd one out. I am the odd one out. Harry and Hermione take advantage of the temporary absence from school to devote their attentions entirely to one another, and Ron and Francesca are just as bad. I follow around like a silly little school girl seeking for attention from Famous Harry Potter, Head Girl Hermione, Big Brother Ron, and Best Beater Francesca Johnson. I must seem pathetic to everyone who sees me. The only decent part of this day will be the fact that it is the Grand Opening of the Hogsmeade branch of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, and Fred and George, the only brother’s in this country that actually take notice of me, will be there. They are legend at this school, mainly because the defied horrible Professor Umbridge and escaped the castle, and every person at this school has been going on about how their shop will be the most amazing thing ever. I have seen so many things with the Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes logo on the back lying around school this year. I’m happy for my brothers. They are finally getting to something that they love without having to deal with our mother’s censure.

I feel a tap on my arm, and jump, surprised at being brought back from my musings. Draco is standing next to me, in his boxer shorts as I told him to be, his skin glistening from the remnants of the water that he had bathed in. He smells musky, and I try desperately to concentrate on the task that I know lays before me.

“I’m ready,” he says, and I motion for him to sit on the bed, and I slowly begin to perform the same procedures that I engaged in the night before. He seems a bit more lucid this time around though, and he gasps and grimaces when I touch particularly large bruises, whereas last night he was completely silent.

“Draco, what happened?” I ask casually, hoping that he will not see how desperate I am to know this information. I glance up at his face as I finish wrapping his wrist, and see that once again, he has no intention of answering my question. I sigh softly, aggravated, and apply healing salve to the last bruise, one that disappears below his boxer line slightly. I rearrange his boxers and sit back, looking at him intently.

Where do we go from here? I have finished everything that needed to be done. I’ve attended to his wounds, I’ve put him to bed, I’ve fed him, bathed him, and attended to his wounds again, and now there is nothing left. Is this the last time that I’ll see him? Will we never speak of this again? A wave of sadness floods through me as what the consequences of that would be. We’ve formed sort of an unspoken connection over the past eight hours since I covered him in that hallway.

“Are you going to Hogsmeade today?” he asks. I look up, surprised to hear the sound of his voice.

I nod, reluctantly. I would rather not go now even though Fred and George will be there. “Yeah, with Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Francesca.” I roll my eyes to let him know exactly how I feel. He says nothing at the mention of the Wonder Trio’s names.

“I hear that your brother’s are opening up a shop in Hogsmeade today.” There is no emotion behind his voice, and I can read none in his face. I nod. He speaks once more. “They seem to be doing extremely well. I visited their store when I was in Diagon Alley last time.”

I am thoroughly shocked. A Malfoy setting foot in a Weasley’s shop? Will wonders never cease? He notices my surprise, and laughs softly until he realizes that with his broken ribs it hurts tremendously.

“Father was not with me,” he offers as way of an explanation. The look on his face when he says the word ‘father’ is one of immense dislike and dissatisfaction, and for the first time since I met Draco, I do not associate him as being ‘one with his father’. “I’m not going to go to Hogsmeade today.”

“I should hope not!” I exclaim, and he looks a little shocked at my outburst. I relax and speak once more. “You are very badly injured and it will take until the end of the day for your broken wrist and leg to completely heal. I have worked very hard to make sure that you are okay, and there is no way that I am letting you out of this room to go scampering about the countryside.”

He looks at me with wonder in his eyes, but says nothing. I think that I might have been the first person to ever tell him exactly what was on my mind. I check the clock once more, and it reads nine. I make my mind up on the decision that I have been pondering for the last half an hour. “I would appreciate it if you stayed in your room today and tried not to move to much. I will return tonight around ten to redress your wounds. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and find a place where I can get ready for going to Hogsmeade.”

I rise from the bed before he can argue, but stop when I feel his hand gently touch my wrist. “You can use my bathroom, Ginny.”

I glance at him and nod as he motions towards it. I grab my clothing bag once more, and retrieve the small toiletries bag that I stowed in there the night before. I enter the bathroom and spread my makeup on the counter. Using my wand, I wave my hair. Wands are useful for this kind of thing. You can change the style of your hair, making it straight, wavy, curly, whatever you feel like, but it doesn’t change the type of hair that you have. Luckily, I have silky hair, as I was reflecting upon last night. I usually wear it straight, but I feel that waves would do nicely today. I consider changing the color, but those spells are risky, and don’t always work. Besides, the one time that I managed to change my hair to blonde, it looked horrible. With my complexion and freckles, red is the only color that works. I take a little butterfly barrette out of my makeup kit and, after parting my hair in a zigzag part off to the side, I clip the top half of it back, leaving long wisps of wavy hair to surround my face. Satisfied as I can be with my hair, I dust a light layer of shimmery green eye shadow on my eyelids which brings out the green in my eyes, and swipe some lip gloss on my lips called ‘Pink Pout”. It’s a very natural look, but one that I favor. I study myself in the mirror. The classy, silky black dress pants that flare slightly at the bottom are not tight, a style that I despise, and they are held up by a simple silver belt. On my top half I am wearing a simple long sleeved black V-neck top that does not draw attention to my chest, but flatters my upper body. I do not like to dress flashily, and most of my new wardrobe consists of outfits like this one. I favor black, and I love long, flowy pants.

As I finish studying myself in the mirror, I notice in the reflection that he is also studying me. The expression on his face is unreadable, so I quickly look away and pack up my supplies, but on impulse, I leave them on the back corner of the counter instead of putting them back in my satchel. I collect my jet black with the Gryffindor emblem on it that I had deposited on the back of the couch earlier and turn towards the door.

I am just about to open it when his voice calls out my name. I turn and look at him expectantly.

“I’ll be waiting,” he mumbles. I smile slightly and leave the room, my grin growing wider when I am no longer facing him, knowing that this promise is more of a thanks than I could ever have received from a Malfoy.

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“Ginny,” Hermione calls happily as I spot her and Harry waiting for me in the entrance hall. I smile involuntarily as I see my best friend rushing towards me, her boyfriend following fast behind her. She sweeps me into a hug, and I feel all of my conflicting feelings disappear in the glow of her happiness. I was a little late getting down here because I returned Harry’s invisibility cloak to his trunk before I met my friends. Harry winks at me, and I know that my secret romps of the castle are safe with him. He’s not going to tell anyone. “You look gorgeous, sweetheart, I love your hair wavy like that.”

“I thought that I’d try it like this for once,” I reply to Hermione, fingering the end of a chunk of my long hair. I can’t deny to myself the fact that I was unnaturally pleased with my appearance earlier this morning.

“I’m going to see if I can find Ron and Francesca,” Hermione says, glancing quickly around the fast emptying entrance hall. “I bet that they’re in that empty classroom again. Harry, stay her with Gin, while I go.” Before Harry and I can reply, she has disappeared down a connecting hallway, and I am left standing companionably with Harry, who has his arm slung around my shoulder. I am so grateful that my crush on him ended a couple of years ago. He his my big brother now, and I love him dearly. To still have a crush on him when he and my best friend will probably announcing their engagement or something any day now would be so awkward and embarrassing.

He sniffs my hair, and looks at me askance.  “You smell like cologne, Gin-bug.”

I chuckle at his use of the nickname that he made up for me last year. He is the only person that I allow to use it. “Must be because I spend so much time around you.” I slip my arms around his waist and hug him, making silly kissy lips. He laughs, but gives me a look that clearly states that I am not getting out of the conversation that easily.

I am saved from more interrogation by the return of Hermione. She looks slightly pink and embarrassed and slips under Harry’s other arm. “I don’t think that they’re coming with us.”

Harry sticks out his tongue in disgust, and I laugh along with Hermione as we move towards the door.

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Please Review. This is my first Draco/Ginny fic, and, like any other author, reviews are what make it all worth it!