Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

Ginny Weasley rounded the corner, bumping shoulders with someone coming in the opposite direction. She sighed impatiently as the book she held in her hands fell to the floor. The other person didn't even turn around.

"Am I invisible to _everyone_ around here?" Ginny muttered to herself.

Lately, people seemed to be ignoring her. Of course, she expected it from some people - Harry for one. He just never noticed her, as usual, and she was beginning to think he never would. And even her brothers were starting to ignore her too. Again, she half expected this; she was the youngest of the family, and she was a girl. Two things that would set her apart from them all. But she always used to get special attention from Bill and Charlie because she was their baby sister, and Fred and George used to play jokes on her especially, which was irritating, but only their unique way of saying they cared.

Now everyone seemed to be too busy with their own lives to pay her much attention. After all, how important was she, compared to You-Know-Who and the Order? Thinking that made her feel very insignificant, like she didn't matter, like she had nothing to give.

She sighed. Her thoughts seemed to be going off in this same vein a lot lately, and it never made any sense no matter how much she tried to figure it out. Surely it wasn't that much to ask, to be noticed? Clearly she was the only one that thought so.

Ginny shrugged and carried on to the Library; maybe Luna would be there to take her mind off things. Even if Luna was a bit strange, Ginny never minded her company.

Luna was there, reading the _Quibbler_ upside down, her wand stuck behind her ear as usual. Ginny set her book down on the table, letting her heavy bag fall from her shoulder onto the Library floor. She sank into a chair, exhaling and closing her eyes. Luna looked up absent-mindedly.

"Oh hello, Ginny," she said dreamily, her slightly protuberant eyes lighting with a vacant smile.

"Hi Luna," Ginny replied dully, resting her chin on her hands. "What's that you're reading?"

The Ravenclaw girl seemed to awaken from her absent-minded daze. "Just another article about that Pogrebin found in Yugoslavia. They're only native to Russia, you know, so that's why it's so - what's the matter, Ginny? You look upset."

Luna gazed at her with something close to concern. Ginny looked away, and shrugged again.

"Nothing, I'm just - actually Luna, can I ask you something?" she said, sitting up.

"Of course you can."

"Do you ever get the feeling that people are ... ignoring you?" Ginny said.

"People often pretend not to see me," Luna replied with unflinching honesty, "They know I'm there, they just don't want to talk to me."

Ginny looked at her, at the girl who had it much, much worse than she did. The saddest thing was that Luna knew about all the horrible things people said about her. Worse still, they didn't even seem to bother her.

"Er ... right," Ginny muttered.

Luna smiled inanely; her eyes expressionless and her innocence more pronounced than ever.

"See you later, Luna," Ginny said, standing up.

"Bye Ginny. Hope you feel better," Luna said, going back to the _Quibbler_ as Ginny walked out of the Library, waving a hand over her shoulder.

Ginny shook her head as she entered the corridor. _Poor Luna,_ she thought sadly, and felt a stab of sympathy for the Ravenclaw girl.

In the common room that night, an argument had broken out; Ron was bickering with Hermione - as he so often did - and Harry was watching from the sidelines, concentrating on not getting involved.

Ginny spent more time watching Harry than she did on her Charms essay, resulting in a half-finished assignment, and undoubtedly a detention from Flitwick tomorrow. If she didn't spend so much time wishing Harry would notice her, then she'd never have another detention in her life.

She hadn't expected anything to change over night, but change it did. When she woke the next morning, she had no idea that by the end of the week she'd have a foolproof way of attracting _everyone's_ attention.

It started out pretty normal; get up, get dressed, go down to breakfast, then spend the whole day learning - supposedly - important stuff. Mind-numbingly boring; as usual, but then, she wasn't really expecting anything different.

But just as dinner had finished, she was on her way to the common room - to while away the further two hours of tedious monotony that would inevitably follow such a dull day - when she saw Malfoy coming in the opposite direction.

She wasn't afraid of Malfoy, but she did try to steer clear of him, owing to the fact that he could make someone's life miserable just by _breathing_. That, and he was the most obnoxious, poisonous little git ever to exist. Or something.

It was inevitable that they would cross paths, and at least Malfoy wasn't followed by his usual band of Slytherins. Ginny was sure, that, without them, he wouldn't even deign to bother her. At least, she hoped he wouldn't.

When he was so close he couldn't pretend she wasn't there, he threw that damn arrogant sneer in her direction and continued on his way. Ginny shrugged at the pointlessness of it all, and carried on walking to the Gryffindor tower.

All that week, though, she had the idea that Malfoy kept popping up whenever she was on her own. And when she sat down at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, and glanced over at Malfoy with the Slytherins, he would always be staring at her intently. Then she would turn away, feeling that those cold grey eyes were plotting something decidedly evil. By Sunday evening, she was more than slightly worried and was considering telling Harry and Ron, so they could do something about it, when she was dragged unceremoniously into an empty classroom and thrown against the wall.

She rubbed her elbow where it had collided with stone and glared up into Malfoy's sneering face.

"What was that for, you prat?" she asked angrily.

Malfoy sniffed "Weasley, shut up. I think I might have an offer you can't refuse."

"Right," Ginny scoffed. "Next you'll be saying you're a reformed character, and you really actually like Muggle-borns."

A muscle twitched in Malfoy's jaw. "I'm going to pretend you just said something worthwhile," he said through gritted teeth.

Unimpressed, Ginny folded her arms across her chest. "Yeah, you do that. Now what do you want?" She glared at him steadily.

"Doesn't it ever bother you?" Malfoy asked her suddenly, his face uncharacteristically sincere.

"Doesn't _what_ bother me?"

"The fact that you've never been noticed? The fact that you're still waiting for Potter to turn and realise that you're the one he wants, now and forever?"

It was the last thing she'd expected, and Ginny was so astonished that her mouth fell open and she couldn't think of a single thing to counter his rather verbose statement.

Malfoy laughed at her reaction. "You think I don't notice the little things, Ginevra Molly Weasley?"

"H-how d'you know that? My full name?" Ginny gaped at him. "Even my friends don't know that."

"Merlin, I know almost everything about you!" Malfoy's eyes glimmered.

"But _how_?"

"I watched you," he replied simply. "And it helps, of course, that I am privy to information from certain sources." He grinned again. "But mostly, it was my own observations."

"And why, in the name of Merlin, would you "observe" me?" Ginny asked, suspicion settling in her mind. "I would imagine I'm not a very interesting subject."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, nice humility, Weasel," he drawled.

"I'm sorry, did your point get lost amongst your witty retorts?" she shot back, irritated that Malfoy was taunting her, and that she was _letting _it get to her.

"My _point _is this: if you want people to notice you - and I know you'd love it if Potter suddenly couldn't take his eyes off you - then you have to take charge. Make them sit up and _take_ notice of you. Don't sit around waiting for them - act now and think later."

Ginny suddenly suspected Malfoy was having her on, playing an obviously very amusing joke to pass the time, so that, eventually, she'd end up looking like a fool, and everyone could have a good little chuckle about the time that Ginny Weasley fell for Malfoy's twisted little charade.

"You," she said, mustering up all her previously abated anger, "are sick."

Malfoy goggled at her, although perhaps "goggled" was too ungainly an adjective to describe someone with that grace and stature. And why on earth was she staring at his considerable physique, just barely disguised by his school robes, when she was burning with fury and couldn't stand the thought of being in the same room as him a moment longer?

"What the hell are you talking about, Weasley?" he snapped.

"This is way beyond joking, isn't it, Malfoy?" she spat. "You want to get me back for whatever heinous crime I've committed against you in a past life, or something, right?"

"Actually," Malfoy said, glaring at her through narrowed eyes, "no, I'm not joking. Does this face look like that of someone who jokes on a regular basis?"

Well, at least she had a reason to stare at the angles and contours of his face now, though of course, she was giving him the evil-eye as opposed to giving him an admiring look, because that would go against everything Ginny thought of Malfoy. It was very, very wrong of her to think of Malfoy as anything other than The Enemy - and anything this hostile definitely needed the capitalisation. Now that she thought about it, though, there were several tiny laugh lines around his eyes and mouth, so maybe he didn't joke all the time, but he did smile, which was somewhat reassuring.

"No, I s'pose not," Ginny shrugged. "But this still is some kind of plot to make me a laughing stock, isn't it?"

"The only thing this is, is a plot to get people's attention, alright?"

"But - why? Why are _you_ trying to help _me?_"

Malfoy sighed with irritation. "Because it would make things a lot simpler," he hissed, and suddenly he was back to his old, abrasive self. "Pansy seems to think that no amount of rejection is too much when it comes to chasing me. In fact, I would say she borders on obsessive these days. So I help you get what you want, helping myself in the process. Either way it's win-win. For me, anyway."

Malfoy had finally cracked, Ginny decided, somewhat worried by the decidedly sinister look on the Slytherin's face. She knew he'd have to be at least a little unbalanced to subscribe to all that pureblood supremacy nonsense, but she'd honestly never thought he'd be this off his head. He was trying to help her out ... but only because it was of benefit to him. Malfoy clearly didn't know the meaning of charity.

So she looked up at Malfoy and asked, "What does this so-called _help_ entail?"

And here his smirk widened until it gave him a very ominous air. He chuckled softly and for some reason, he still looked amused even after he'd explained what he wanted.

"You have to pretend to go out -" he paused for dramatic effect, his eyes shining, "- with _me_."

"Oh no," Ginny said immediately. "No, no, _no_. I'm sorry, but I refuse. What will everyone think of me then?"

"That you have good taste," Malfoy smirked.

"Don't be stupid!" she snapped. "I'll be considered a traitor to Gryffindor, not to mention Harry and the others!"

"The whole point of this is to get people's attention, am I right?"

"Well - yes ... but I -"

"And I know how much you want Potter to sweep you into his arms and fall madly in love with you," he went in a bored voice.

"How would you know?" Ginny shot back spitefully. She was getting pretty fed up of Malfoy pretending he had the answer to all her problems.

"Because, I know _you,_ Ginny," Malfoy said superciliously.

"No, you don't!" she said fiercely, clenching her fists together.

"Oh really? Let me prove it then; ask me any question, the first thing that comes to your mind, and I bet you ten ..." He glanced down at her, smirked nastily, before continuing with, "Sorry, _one_ Galleon that I get it right."

Wanting to wipe that smug smirk of his face, Ginny complied and said, "You're on." She thought for a moment. "What's my favourite colour?" she asked.

"Lilac," Malfoy said promptly.

_Damn_, she thought, but out loud she said, "When's my birthday?"

"Eleventh of August." She could see the gleam in his grey eyes and knew that he was well beyond pleased with himself.

"Okay, what colour are my eyes?" She snapped her eyes shut quickly.

"Brown. That was easy. You'll have to think harder, Gin," Malfoy mocked.

"Fine, how many brothers do I have?" He was sure to get this one; everyone knew how many Weasley offspring there were.

"Six."

"How many _sisters_ do I have?"

"Oh, come on, how stupid do you think I am?" Malfoy asked, insulted now. "You don't _have_ any sisters."

Ginny was annoyed now; she wanted to give Malfoy a question so hard that he'd never get it.

"What underwear was I wearing last Thursday?" She smirked with satisfaction; even she couldn't remember what underwear she'd worn last week.

"Black lace ones. Very kinky, I might add." He grinned slyly at the rising blush in her cheeks. She'd thought for sure he'd _never _get that one right ...

"How on earth d'you know that?" she asked in astonishment, wondering if she should be worried that this was slightly stalker-esque of him.

"I already _told_ you; it's because I know you. Better than most people do, I would imagine."

"You were behind that highly amusing scene in the corridors last week, weren't you?" Ginny accused him, recalling the previous week's embarrassment. She'd been on her way to Charms when a blast of spell-driven wind had gusted through the corridor and lifted her robes, not to mention the robes of the various other students nearby. It had been a singularly humiliating experience, but she'd perfected her skills with the Bat-Bogey Hex that day.

Malfoy affected a look of total innocence, but even he couldn't perjure himself that much. "Of course not," he said, in a very unconvincing tone. "Well, alright, I might have walked around the corner at that precise moment, but would _I_ do something so ... don't say it!" he finished wryly, seeing that she was about to reply with an emphatic _yes._

Ginny gave an explosive sigh. "Look, Malfoy, I don't care about your problems with Parkinson, and I really _don't_ fancy having you as a boyfriend just so she'll bugger off. You'll have to do that one on your own, I'm afraid."

"Well, that's your trouble, right there," Malfoy said suddenly, eyes glittering with malice. "_You're afraid_. You're worried that it won't work and things will stay just as they are. You're scared that you might be in love with a boy who doesn't even know you exist."

"I am _not_ scared, you stupid great wanker!"

"Oh, yeah? Prove it!"

And since she couldn't, since she knew, deep down, that Malfoy was right, Ginny turned sharply on her heel and ran all the way to Gryffindor Tower, refusing to let go of the tears that threatened to fall all the while.

Draco Malfoy watched Ginny go, his smirk slipping when she'd rounded the corner. His eyes held no trace of amusement, though there was as malevolent spark in them as he realised that this little rendezvous with the Weasel had proved effective in his overall plan to get revenge on the people who deserved it most.

Just months ago, his father had been placed in Azkaban, and previously before that, the Malfoy name had been dragged through the mud because that sanctimonious bastard, Potter, had seen fit to announce several of the Dark Lord's followers by name. So now, instead of receiving gratuitous praise and admiration from the other Slytherins, the whole house had shunted him aside, and were now leaving him out of their plans to get the Gryffindors.

Draco's fists clenched and unclenched by his sides, grounding his teeth so loudly he was surprised no one could hear him.

It was a good thing he could be charming to people when he wanted something, and it was even better that Ginny Weasley was suffering from being ignored too long. The two things combined would make sure that Potter and his friends would get what was coming to them after all.

It was a shame though, that Ginny - er, that'd be _Weasel_, then? - was so gullible as to believe he really only wanted to help her and rid himself of Pansy's unwanted advances. The way things were going back in the dungeons, he'd be lucky to exchange eye contact alone with Pansy, never mind any thing sexual.

But still, whatever he did to Weasley's little sister would be nothing compared to what he had in store for Potter and his smug supporters. Draco wasn't entirely sure what it was he was going to do, but Potter had ruined Lucius's image and the family name, so this ...

This was his revenge.

When Ginny woke up early the next morning, she decided to push the conversation with Malfoy out of her head and concentrate on more important things, like ... well, like Quidditch, and homework. Yeah.

The other four girls who shared the dormitory had already gone by the time Ginny emerged from the bathroom, with her hair brushed haphazardly into a ponytail. Taking a long time in front of the mirror was just a petty distraction from the thoughts buzzing around in her head; she really didn't want to dwell on Malfoy's words, but found she couldn't think about anything else in their place.

She accidentally went the long way to breakfast, so lost in thought was she that she took the wrong turning on the fourth floor. So she was mightily surprised that, when she came back to reality, she was not, as she'd thought, on the ground floor, but actually wandering somewhere on the first.

Uttering a curse under her breath, Ginny swung around and started off for the marble staircase that lead down into the Entrance Hall. Halfway there, an unfortunately familiar voice could be heard down a side passage, and she stopped to listen.

"- just can't help it. I haven't been able to sleep for days." Cho Chang's voice was unusually breathy and she sounded somewhat mournful.

"Er, well I - I'm sorry about that, but -" Harry's voice echoed along the passageway next. Ginny stopped dead in her tracks, heard pounding madly.

"No, let me finish. I had plenty of time to think about things over the holidays, and I realised I treated you unfairly," Cho said, her voice now clear and firm. "I was trying to come to terms with Cedric's death, and I used you as a distraction so I didn't _have_ to think about him. I should never have done that, and I'm sorry."

There was a long silence. Ginny waited with bated breath for Harry to reply, but when he did, that same breath was crushed out of her lungs with devastating force.

"You really mean that?" he said gently, and there was a small murmur of assent from Cho. "Oh, God, you can't imagine -"

His words were cut off, and Ginny, who unfortunately had a very good imagination, chanced a look down the passage and felt her world come crashing down with some spectacular sound effects.

Harry had his arms wrapped around Cho's waist and she had her lips planted on his, and it had to be real because Ginny knew she would never imagine something like _this_ in a million years. Before she could gasp, or scream, or do anything that alerted the couple in front of her of her presence, she staggered backwards out of sight, breath coming in harsh pants that had nothing to do with the mad dash she'd made back into the main corridor.

On legs that suddenly seemed dangerously unsteady, Ginny eventually made it back to Gryffindor Tower. A vague pang of hunger reminded her that she'd been on her way to breakfast, but another, more insistent twinge, somewhere in the vicinity of her heart, urged her on to her dormitory. Once inside the reassuringly familiar red and gold surroundings, she collapsed onto her bed, wrenching the hangings shut and rolling over onto her back.

She couldn't get the image out of her head; Harry and Cho, entwined like no tomorrow, kept popping up in her mind, and she couldn't seem to stop thinking about them. It hadn't even occurred to her to worry that Cho might try and worm her way back into Harry's good graces, and Ginny cursed herself for this oversight. If she had thought about it, of course, she probably would have relied on Harry telling the Ravenclaw to take a running jump into the lake, or something. Ginny hadn't factored in Harry's humongous crush on Cho, thinking rejection might be enough to stem his infatuation.

Obviously there wasn't enough rejection in the world for _that_ to happen. Something Harry had in common with Pansy Parkinson, if Malfoy was to be believed, although why this occurred to Ginny right at that moment, she wasn't entirely sure.

_Wait a minute ..._ Malfoy! That was it!

He'd offered her a foolproof way of getting Harry to notice her, and damn it but she was going to accept it. And while it wasn't the smartest thing, getting involved with a Slytherin like Malfoy, it was the best idea Ginny could think of. Harry couldn't want Cho back - he just _couldn't _- and Ginny was going to make him realise that.

Just as soon as she found Malfoy and let him know that she'd accepted his proposal.

He wasn't in the Great Hall when she went in there, nor was he hanging around outside the Potions dungeon, even though he had a lesson there in five minutes - and she only knew this because she'd memorised Harry's timetable, and she knew Gryffindor sixth-years had Potions with the Slytherins of the same.

At lunch, and at dinner, she searched the table furthest from her own for a gleam of silver-blond, but, to her frustration, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen until dinner was nearly over. Even then he was surrounded by his usual gang, and desperate as she was, Ginny had no desire to talk to Malfoy when the likes of Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Nott and Millicent Bulstrode were hanging around.

She got her chance, though, when he casually brushed his friends off and strolled out of the Great Hall, presumably on his way down to the dungeons and Slytherin common room. Without stopping to think, she jumped out from behind a suit of armour, grabbed Malfoy's arm and dragged him into a nearby broom cupboard.

Surprisingly, he didn't protest, and when she'd closed the door behind them, he lit his wand and smirked.

"Couldn't keep away, eh?" he said cockily, and despite the fact that she needed his help, Ginny felt like slapping the grin right off his face.

"Don't be such a prat," she bit out instead.

He held up his arms in mock surrender. "Alright, what can I do for you, Weasel?"

"I've decided to - to reconsider your offer," Ginny said, going for loftiness and instead getting a stammer. "People are ignoring me, and I'm sick of it. So ... do we have a deal?" She took a deep, calming breath and stuck out her hand.

Malfoy glanced down at it, and for a minute, Ginny thought he'd pull a revolted face and back away as though she was contagious. After a few seconds, in which he stared at her hand and said nothing, she lowered it and folded her arms nervously instead.

"Malfoy?" she prompted.

He blinked, and then a slow sneer stretched over his face. "I don't know, Weasley. You turned down my generous offer once ... why should I give you the opportunity again?"

She rolled her eyes. "Because I just couldn't resist your warm and caring nature," she said sarcastically. "Why d'you think? I saw Harry with Cho this morning and ... well, I decided you might have a point."

Again, she tried to act indifferent, but didn't quite manage to pull it off. Malfoy grinned at her like he knew what was bothering her so much. Ginny clenched her hands into fists; if he asked what she'd seen Harry doing this morning ...

"Okay, Weasley," he said eventually. "I think we have a deal."

When he held out his hand, Ginny took it without thinking twice. She was half expecting a clap of thunder or a bolt of lightning to strike as she did so, but there was nothing but a disappointing lack of sound. Malfoy quickly wrenched his hand away and gave it a theatrical wipe on his robes; Ginny's fists clenched again.

"You're such a wanker, Malfoy," she said in disgust.

"An unfortunate truth, Weasel," he replied, laughing at the blush rising in her cheeks.

"Shove off," she muttered, and pushed the cupboard door open with her shoulder, checking to see if anyone was hanging around.

The Entrance Hall was mercifully empty, though, and Ginny stepped out of the cupboard with a relieved sigh and started for the marble staircase. Behind her, Malfoy coughed, and she turned.

"_What_, Malfoy?"

"There's a small antechamber next to classroom eleven; meet me there at half-past eight tomorrow morning."

And with so much as a goodbye - though Ginny hadn't seriously been expecting one, and would have been extremely surprised if there had been - Malfoy stalked off in the direction of the dungeons. Blinking at his abrupt departure, Ginny stayed where she was for a few seconds, thinking deeply; then she shrugged and made her way to Gryffindor tower.


	2. Chapter 2

Ginny was decidedly nervous about meeting Malfoy that morning. She wondered what they could possibly have to discuss, and why it had to be done in such secrecy. After all, she'd only known about the small chamber beside classroom eleven for a little over six months, why would Malfoy want to meet her there of all places?

Thankfully, she didn't get lost on her way there; though she was once again deep in thought, some part of her kept an eye out as she left Gryffindor Tower and she managed all the way to the Entrance Hall without any incidents like that of the previous day. It was with some relief that she stepped off the last marble stair, swinging left towards the room next to classroom eleven.

Malfoy wasn't there; a quick glance at her watch told Ginny she was a few minutes early yet. There were a few chairs over in the corner, and after brushing the dust off one, she sat down to wait.

_He's late_, she thought five minutes later, feeling slightly resentful because this had all been his idea and he could've at least had the decency to get there on time. _I'm giving him one more minute …_

She gave him a minute. And another, and another, and_ another_ … until it was nearly nine 'o' clock and time for History of Magic. She hefted her bag onto her shoulder, cursing Malfoy under her breath, and strode out of the chamber.

An hour and a half later, after listening to Binns drone on about the goblin revolt of 1673, Ginny was on her way to Herbology when she saw Malfoy further along the corridor, heading straight towards her. Trying her very best to ignore him - even though her hand was itching for her wand and a hex incantation was on the tip of her tongue - she shifted her bag to the other shoulder and ploughed on towards the stairs.

Malfoy didn't look at her, didn't so much as blink in her direction, but Ginny nevertheless had the feeling that he was watching her. She gritted her teeth, sneaked a quick glance at him, and could have sworn he'd made a quick, jerky movement with his arm. Then she hurriedly snapped her eyes back in front of her, noticing Malfoy was smirking, though his gaze was elsewhere.

It wasn't until she'd reached the greenhouses, set her books down and began to rummage in her bag for a quill that she found it.

Loosely crumpled up into a ball was a scrap of parchment. It was a note, a very small one, and she didn't need to recognise the handwriting to know who it was from.

_Room next to classroom 11 at lunchtime._

Flicking idly through his copy of _A_ _Guide to Advanced Transfiguration,_ Draco mentally congratulated himself on a job well done. By now, little Ginevra Weasley would be staring at the note he'd slipped into her bag in the corridor, and would undoubtedly be agonising over whether to meet him at lunchtime or not. He laughed softly; Weasleys were so predictable.

Draco had actually planned to meet Weasley at breakfast, but he'd ended up sleeping in until about quarter to nine, and by then there seemed little point in sticking to the arrangement. He took his time getting up, as well; he wasn't about to go rushing around after a Weasley, no matter that this had all been his doing in the first place.

At the next desk, Theodore Nott copied McGonagall's notes from the board, and further along the row, Pansy's dark head was bowed over a scroll of parchment, her face crumpled in thought. Draco frowned; before the summer, he and Pansy had been great friends, having known each other since they were young. He had hoped that their friendship would stand up to his father's sudden, degrading imprisonment in Azkaban, but Pansy, it seemed, was just like everyone else – ready and willing to look down her nose at the fall of the mighty.

He scowled at his view of Pansy's head, but she was too busy with McGonagall's lecture to notice, which only deepened his scowl further. Not that he mourned losing Pansy's affection; in truth, it was something of a relief to be rid of her, but her attention had been just a little bit flattering. Not that he cared, of course.

Draco didn't think he'd ever been so pleased to hear the bell ring, when the sound echoed through the castle twenty minutes later. As soon as McGonagall dismissed them, the sixth-years – which were this year comprised of students from all four Houses – started stuffing their things into their bags and wandered out the classroom door, Draco among them.

He headed towards the Slytherin common room to get books for his next two lessons; Crabbe and Goyle were waiting for him in the armchairs near the ornate fireplace. They'd stood by Draco while the rest of Slytherin ignored him, but he knew it was only because they hadn't quite realised what was going on yet, and by the time they did, it would no longer matter. Draco was banking on his little plot with Weasley – and that other, much larger and much more distressing plot that he didn't like to think about much – to have been successfully put into action by then.

Draco murmured a greeting to Crabbe and Goyle, told them where he was going, and headed up the boys' staircase to his dormitory. His bed was furthest from the entrance, and his trunk sat at the foot of the four-poster decorated in green and silver hangings. Shoving aside robes and his Nimbus Two Thousand and One, Draco grabbed his Charms and Arithmancy textbooks, replaced them with those of Potions and Transfiguration, then let the lid of his trunk slam shut as he strode back down to the common room.

Crabbe and Goyle were slaving over Defence Against the Dark Arts homework; both of them were having to re-sit their O. in that subject, and two others – Charms and Herbology – having failed them the previous year. Draco privately thought there was no need for them to go through Defence again since it was such a pointless subject, especially for people whose future was already firmly cemented in becoming Death Eaters, though these days he kept this opinion strictly to himself.

In Charms, as he watched Flitwick topple out of sight behind his desk, Draco sat with his chin resting on his hand, thinking deeply. He was so absorbed that he forgot to swap scathing remarks with Potter and his loyal sidekicks on their way in, and they weren't the only ones surprised by this lack of hostility. Pansy glanced at him for the first time in weeks, frowning slightly, and Granger fixed him with her squinty-eyed stare, as though trying to figure out what wicked schemes he was planning today. He resisted the urge to wave at her sarcastically … He'd be getting back at her very soon, provided Weasley – the female one, that is – went along with his plans.

Meanwhile, Ginny was finding the brewing of a Befuddlement Draught just as confusing as its name suggested. She couldn't understand it; usually she was a decent potion-brewer, but today she just couldn't get the hang of it. And Snape was glaring around the dungeon in what could be considered a smile of sadistic malevolence, if Ginny'd had any inclination to look at him for longer than three seconds.

She knew why she couldn't concentrate, of course – Malfoy, and his nefariously tempting offer. Her common sense was screaming at her to forget the idea immediately, to ignore the bit of parchment telling her to meet him at lunch, or at least to let him know how much of a bastard he was. But there was this tiny little corner of her mind … _Come on, Gin_, it was saying in a soft, wheedling tone, _you don't really want to spend the next year mooning over Harry, do you? _

Er …

_Don't answer that, you'd only get it wrong._

Ginny would have smiled at her own indecision, but Snape had that look on his face – the one that suggested someone was in _serious _trouble, and Snape couldn't wait to make them aware of the fact – and she figured it would just be better to keep her head down and her mind on the potion.

She only had twenty minutes left of the lesson in which to decide whether she was going to meet Malfoy or not. It didn't seem like enough time, but to be honest, even if she'd been given the rest of the day, or even the week to think about it, Ginny would probably still be uncertain about the whole thing.

And anyway, she was still annoyed with him about that stunt he'd pulled this morning; agreeing to meet her and then just completely blowing her off. It didn't matter who you were, how self-important or obnoxious, you at least had the decency to show up for something that had been your own idea in the first place, although she supposed Malfoy probably didn't subscribe to this idea. Fresh indignation rose up in Ginny's throat and she attacked a branch of sneezewort with a venom that was very much unnecessary.

Ten minutes from the end of the lesson, Snape told them all that their potions should be the correct shade of rust-brown, and if they weren't, they'd better make them so very, very quickly. Thankfully, while Ginny's own concoction wasn't quite _rust-brown_, it was a sort of dried-blood colour, which she figured was good enough, so she tipped a healthy amount into a flask, corked it and stuck a label with her name on it on the front. Then she put the flask on a shelf in the supply cupboard, ready for the final stage of brewing on Wednesday.

Lunch was well underway by the time she cleared her Potions things away and headed off to the Great Hall. She took a seat beside Hermione at the Gryffindor table; Hermione glanced up as she sat down and gave her a faint smile.

She alone knew the problems Ginny'd had concerning one Harry Potter, and she alone had been the only one to actually, constructively help Ginny to overcome said problems. Last summer Hermione had told her, point-blank, to either forget about Harry and move onto someone else, as though it was that simple, or lighten up around him. Ginny had taken it into consideration and figured that the latter was really the only option she had, since forgetting about Harry was like trying to forget the sun, or the colour blue – in other words, it just wasn't going to happen.

For a very, very short period during her fifth-year, Ginny had thought it was working, that Harry was really starting to notice her. And then … well, then Cho Chang had come along, and everything had gone to hell in a hand-basket. Which is how Ginny had ended up here, mooning over a boy as unattainable as a windfall of Galleons was to everyone who bore the name Weasley.

"Ginny? Are you even listening? Ginny!"

With a start, Ginny realised Hermione was addressing her, and that she'd been staring vacantly at nothing for a good five minutes.

"Sorry, I was miles away," she said hastily. "What did you say, Hermione?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes but answered, "I asked you how Potions went. Befuddlement Draughts are a bit tricky, did you remember the scurvy-grass like I told you?"

Ginny assured her that she had indeed remembered to put in the scurvy-grass, and then they talked a bit more about the subjects they had in common – Hermione was always willing to lend her a hand, having studied most of the same topics the previous year – until a particularly obnoxious laugh caught Ginny's attention, and she glanced around for its source.

Surprise, surprise, Malfoy was holding court over at the Slytherin table, and he was laughing at something no doubt unpleasant, if the sheer magnitude of his smirk was anything to go by. For a second, Ginny wondered if he hadn't told the rest of the Slytherins about their deal, and her heart jumped into her throat; then she calmed down a bit, and figured that, if he _had_, the rest of them sitting around the Slytherin table would be staring or scowling over at her. Since they weren't, since even Malfoy's smirk had disappeared by now, Ginny supposed he hadn't said a word about their so-called arrangement.

By this time, Harry and Ron had both made an appearance, and Hermione, perhaps a bit annoyed that Ginny seemed very distracted today, turned to them and struck up a conversation. When Ginny tuned into it, they were discussing their latest Charms essay – Hermione herself had written at least six feet, and Ron was once again begging her to let him have a look at it – and then Harry and Ron moved onto Quidditch. Hermione sniffed disapprovingly and went back to her half-eaten lunch.

A thought had just occurred to Ginny; she didn't know why, or where it had come from, but it settled itself in her mind nonetheless: despite his failure to turn up earlier that day, despite the fact that outwardly, he didn't seem to care less – despite all that, she had the feeling that Malfoy was taking this whole deal situation quite seriously. If he hadn't, she felt sure, he would have told all and sundry about it, so everyone would know just how much of a gullible idiot Ginny Weasley really was. That ought to get a good laugh out of people.

And with this revelation, Ginny suddenly decided that she _was_ going to meet him in that little chamber in the Entrance Hall, and she was going to go now.

She wasn't sure if Malfoy had noticed her get up, after murmuring an excuse to Harry, Ron and Hermione, but if it was true what he said, if he had indeed been watching her all this time – and the very thought made Ginny shudder, repulsed – then he would have seen her leave the Great Hall, and would no doubt follow her. If he didn't … well, she'd tackle that one if and when she came to it.

In the antechamber, she took the seat she'd occupied earlier, and, once again, waited.

Draco, in actual fact, hadn't noticed her leaving, but when he next glanced up and noticed her empty seat, he thought he knew where she might have gone. Excusing himself from the group of fifth-year Slytherins who didn't seem to find his sudden ostracism from his own sixth-year friends terribly off-putting enough to stop talking to him, Draco left the Great Hall, cast a cursory glance around the Entrance Hall, and then sloped over to the antechamber next to classroom eleven.

She was there, waiting, half-impatiently, half-expectantly on a dusty old chair.

"Oh, finally," she said sarcastically. "I wasn't going to wait so long this time."

She was referring, Draco knew, to the fact that he hadn't turned up this morning, but he wasn't going to apologise for it, if that was what she was waiting for. Instead, he leaned against the closed door, folded his arms and said, "So, what's all this in aid of?"

Weasley scowled. "I got your stupid note," she said shortly. "What do you want?"

"Now, now, Ginevra, there's no need to take that tone, this is for your benefit just as much as mine." Draco grinned at the absolutely mutinous look on her face, and went on. "Anyway, since our, ah, morning meeting was ... called off –"

"No points for guessing whose fault _that_ was," Weasley muttered under her breath.

"- and I was busy at lunchtime," Draco went on, contriving to ignore her, "this was the best time to meet up and discuss our arrangement."

Weasley looked at him expectantly, obviously thinking he had something more to add. Draco just stared back at her blankly; God, taunting Weasleys was so damn _funny_.

"Yes, _and_?" Weasley said eventually, when it became clear that Draco wasn't going to add anything. "Is that all?"

Draco pretended to think about it; Weasley's face darkened with anger as the seconds ticked by. "Well," he said slowly, "I suppose we need to work out the details of this little charade, don't we?"

He could see her physically straining for patience as she closed her eyes and said, "Yes. I thought that's why you asked me to meet you here," in slow and careful tones, like she was trying to quell the urge to curse him. She probably was, now he thought about it.

"Firstly, of course, we need to work out why someone of my stature would demean himself by dating you," Draco said, grinning unrepentantly as Weasley's eyes flew open in outrage.

"Demean yourself!" she hissed. "You pompous, arrogant little bastard! I don't know what makes you so sure you're such a catch –"

"Could it be my charming personality?" Draco broke in rhetorically. "My unusually good looks? Perhaps it's my sparkling wit?"

"Oh, fuck off, Malfoy. You've got the personality of wet lettuce, you look like a walking bloody corpse, and if this is your idea of sparkling wit, then I suggest you _never_ go on the wizarding comedy circuit!"

The words burst out of Weasley's mouth in a venomous torrent. Even she looked shocked when they'd finished echoing around the room, but she crossed her arms defiantly and refused to stop glaring at him.

Draco was ... not speechless, exactly, because oh, there were several choice curses sitting on his tongue at the minute, all of them desperate to spill forth from his mouth. But he wasn't sure what to say in reply to her tirade, because had a feeling that, despite the anger, Weasley was being completely honest, and that was just ...

It was bizarre, is what it was. People in Slytherin were never this, this forthright, and they certainly didn't display their emotions for everyone to see, and Draco hadn't met anyone this ridiculously honest in ... well, ever.

It was _so_ _weird_.

"You really don't pull your punches, do you, Weasley?" he said finally, and he was knocked off balance enough that it could almost be considered a compliment.

Weasley just sniffed, and said indifferently, "Look, Malfoy, I haven't got all day, alright? So just ... just come up with a decent cover story and then we can get out of this stupid room and not have to talk to each other for the rest of the day."

Draco shrugged. "Well, it's not like I've thought about it a great deal," he said eventually. "As hard as it may be to believe, I do not spend my every waking hour thinking about you and this supposed ..." He sneered, then spat out, "_romance_."

"Good to know, but I _don't care_ what you think about, Malfoy. It's astonishing enough to know you actually _do_ think sometimes." Weasley sighed and unfolded her arms. "Alright. We'll just have to make it up as we go along, and hope nobody asks any pointed questions."

"So your proposal is to just – wing it? How very Gryffindor of you."

There was a nasty smile around Weasley's mouth as she said, "But that's why you love me, _remember?_"

And on that horrifying announcement, she strode to the door, pushed it open, and left.

_This is getting bloody ridiculous, _Ginny thought, as Malfoy dragged her into the once again empty classroom eleven the next morning. Not only was it ridiculous, it was also really fucking _annoying_, and not simply because Malfoy was the one doing the dragging.

"You know," she began, in a mock-thoughtful tone, "normal people usually get another person's attention by, oh I don't know, tapping them on the shoulder, or writing them a letter."

Malfoy, busy checking that no one had spotted them hurrying off to an abandoned classroom (just because they'd cooked up this charade didn't mean they wanted anyone to think ... _well_.), said distractedly, "What are you talking about, Weasley?"

Ginny paused, and then said, "Nothing, Malfoy. Never mind. Normal doesn't really apply in this case, anyway."

Giving her a weird look, Malfoy just shrugged. "Whatever," he said dismissively. "I was just thinking about our little arrangement and that we should get started as soon as possible."

"Okay," Ginny answered, "only I don't _want_ to get started as soon as possible. It's bad enough I have to pretend to date you, I'd really rather put the reveal to everyone else off until, oh, _never_."

Malfoy stared at her for so long she thought she might have unconsciously hexed him, then he frowned. Almost immediately after that, he fixed her with a glare.

"You know," he snapped, "you're being very uncooperative in this. I'm trying to _help_ you, I don't know why you can't –"

"Yeah, well, forgive me if I'm a little bit dubious," Ginny interrupted. "I mean, it's not as if you hate me, or everyone I know, is it? Oh, wait," she finished waspishly.

"Oh, you know what? Fuck it!" Malfoy threw up his hands and turned away. Ginny stared. She didn't think he'd actually sworn at her before.

He strode towards the door. "I get that you don't like me, okay?" he said, hand on the door handle. "I'm not particularly fond of you, either, but I hate Potter even more. I want to see him crash and burn, I want to see him fail," Malfoy went on, and when he turned to face her, there was a very ugly look on his face. "I'd like to see him dead, but the amount of times he's escaped death by inches rather leads me to believe that that's not likely."

She should be worried, Ginny knew. Malfoy was talking about Harry with a disturbing amount of vitriol, like he really meant what he was saying, and the last thing in the world Ginny wanted was for Harry to get hurt.

But.

But Harry was hurting her, every day, every time he looked at her and didn't realise what it was costing Ginny to keep her feelings to herself. Every time he put his arm around Cho Chang, kissed her, smiled at her, walked her to her classes. Every single time he hugged Ginny after Quidditch matches and said she was amazing because she was good at doing what any faithful pet dog could do ...

And that was it, wasn't it? That was why she was here, hiding out in some stupid classroom, arguing with Malfoy and wishing she could just walk out and forget that, in a moment of weakness, she'd agreed to something that was going to cause Harry any kind of pain. Because, deep in her heart, underneath the compassion and the desire to never do such a horrible thing to someone she loved so much, there was a tiny part of her that said, "He deserves this. He needs to feel how much it hurts. _So show him._"

And, Merlin damn it all, she was going to.

Malfoy had finished talking, looking strangely alive and fierce and breathless, and he was about to leave.

"Wait," Ginny said quietly, but in the silence, her voice was almost too loud. "Malfoy, I ... wait. Please."

For a second, she thought he was going to ignore her. She would have deserved it if he had, she thought. Then he took his hand away from the doorknob, and turned slowly to face her. His expression was blank, unnervingly so, and Ginny wondered, for the hundredth time, whether she was doing the right thing. She wasn't, and she knew it, but it didn't matter.

"Well?" Malfoy said eventually.

Swallowing against a sudden rush of nervousness, Ginny said, "I'm ... I'm not going to say I'm sorry, because I'm not, really. But ... well, I'm in this mess pretty deep already, and ..." She trailed off, looking down at the floor. Then, feeling a flash of determination, she lifted her head and met Malfoy's gaze head on.

"Let's do it," she said firmly.


End file.

Harry Potter, Romance