*
"Someday we'll know
Why Samson loved Delilah
One day I'll go
Dancing on the moon
Someday you'll know
That I was the one for you"
'Someday We'll Know' sung by New Radicals
*
The rain fell from the clouds and pelted the trees, crystal pears of rain slammed against the pavement. The wind whipped the flower petals, leaving some detached and in the wreckage.
It was an entirely normal day for the staff and students at Hogwarts - well, most of them that is. It would have been normal for them too, had it not been interaction between a Malfoy and a Weasley.
Now, now, don't bore me with "a name is just a name" rot. It isn't so; a name is how one identifies oneself. And that in itself is significant.
So, the Weasley and the Malfoy were patrolling the grounds this hazy day.
The girl, her auburn hair pulled back into a messy ponytail (the stray strands falling into her eyes) and her scarlet cloak almost dragging on the muddy ground. She was bored, and often took strolls in the rain. Alone. She liked the rain and although her brother called her daft, "-Virginia you'll catch a cold! Come back in here!-" she couldn't be stopped. It was her ritual. Her safe haven.
The boy, his whitish blond hair was falling wistfully in his face (something his Father would have detested) his velvet black cloak didn't show traces of chocolate-coloured mud. He was thoroughly disgusted, with everything. He often got in "fits" of annoyance with the whole wide world. All of it. And in these fits he just had to get away. From everything. So, he'd take a walk, even if this meant getting his precious hair wet. Even if this meant facing the rain, which he loathed with a burning passion. It was his ritual. His safe haven.
Except, the two, from entirely different walks of life and caste systems, were to meet on this fine day. She didn't want to see him (especially when she was in a 'peaceful' mood, he did not exactly equal 'peace' to say the least) and he didn't want to see her (one more annoying Weasley.)
But sometimes, fate doesn't take into careful consideration what you want and what you don't want. Sometimes fate just IS. And you can't bother with technicalities. And you can't bother with who likes whom and who does not upon meeting.
It didn't matter; it didn't matter why they decided to walk about the Hogwarts' grounds. It didn't matter, that they both had another thing coming. And it most certainly didn't matter that she hated him, and equally he hated her.
Fixating her eyes on the wooden bench as near as the Forbidden Forest as was possible (but not ' in ' the Forbidden Forest) the girl pulled the hood of her cloak on tighter. The rain was stinging her eyelashes. Moving closer to it, she saw another figure. A *blond* figure, coming towards her. Rolling her eyes (and not being able to see straight) she sat down upon the wet bench and crossed her legs daintily.
His smirk had tripled by the time she could actually make out his entire face. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Once he saw her, his smirk widened he approached her his cloak billowing behind him.
She looked at him as he stood before her. "What do you want? You know I just wanted to get away from every-"
Promptly he cut her off, "Why, may I ask, Weasley are you occupying the bench that I always sit at?"
"Your bench?" she asked.
He nodded slightly, rolling his cold gray eyes.
"I didn't know it was yours," she stated earnestly, "oh forgive me great Malfoy." She kissed her palm and held it out to him, "please please forgive me!"
He obviously noted the sarcasm. "Scoot over," he demanded, "it's bad enough to share a bench with a Mudblood lover."
Ginny shook her head in total disgust, "Please."
"Please what? Give you some money? No doubt you need it," he snorted.
"No," she said her anger rising, "Listen, I know this is really hard for you to understand-emotion that is, but I'm in such a bad mood right now and your just making it worse."
He gave a -would be- sympathetic smile. His pale pink lips looking crackled by the wind. "Oh yeah, I'm sure I'm just incredibly bloody stupid and I don't understand anything or anyone."
"Something like that," she retorted flipping her tangled, curly, frizzy hair over her shoulder.
They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes as Ginny nervously bit her already very short nails.
"Go tell it on a mountain," he said scuffing his feet on the mud.
She chose to ignore the rude command and said, "-yeah, this is real relaxing sitting on a bench with-" she shot him a dirty look "you."
"Terrible me," he said pulling his cloak tighter around him.
Taking a small parcel out of the inside of her cloak, she offered him a piece of chocolate.
"Sure," he said taking a generous piece of the warm milk chocolate. "Thanks." He muttered.
"Your welcome," she said.
"So, what classes are you taking?" she asked, taking a chance at civilized conversations.
"Herbology year seven, Advanced Potions, Transfiguration, Advanced Flying, Care of Magical Creatures, and erm that's it."
"That's it?" she inquired turning to face him "but that's only five. Every student has six classes."
"andmugglestudies," he said underneath his breath.
"What was that?"
"Muggle studies," he finished looking dully at the chocolate melting in his hands.
"You, taking muggle studies? No bloody way."
"You know, contrary to popular belief Weasley I do have some sort of heart," he whispered, almost into her ear.
"Tell it to the courts, Malfoy," she replied stiffly.
"How's that git-brother of yours doing?"
"Fine. How's that git-Father of yours doing?"
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
She turned her eyes away from him, and he busied himself with looking at an olive tree branch.
"So-"
"So-"
"I bet you think you know everything."
"I bet you I do!" he replied his back towards her, his arm leaning gingerly on the arm of the bench.
"Spell Mississippi." It was one of the one things that she always had trouble spelling (Hermione had told her about the states' because of her old muggle geography school.)
He took a pause, glared right into her eyes: "M - I - S - S - I - S -S - I - P - P - I." Careful to enunciate each letter he leaned back into the wood- framed bench. A smirk playing across his lips. "Am I correct?"
She didn't know! Had he spelled it right? Or had he spelled it incorrectly? Turning nervously in her seat, "You didn't spell it correctly!" she proclaimed.
"Then how do you spell it?"
She fidgeted uncomfortably, "Why do I have to tell you?"
"Oh get off it, you don't know do you?"
Her glare pierced through his, "Of course I do, don't be stupid."
"Aw," he said feigning sympathy, "Poor, in more ways than one-" she glared "- little Weasley doesn't even know how to spell properly. Didn't your Mudblood-loving parents teach you how to spell Mississippi?"
"Listen to me you ferret," it was his turn to glare, "don't speak like that. Didn't your Mummy and Daddy teach you any manners?"
"Get off your moral high horse," he exclaimed, "anyway, I'll teach you."
She rolled her eyes.
"Repeat after me," he said. "M."
She snorted, "M."
"I." He said as though he were a teacher.
"I," she said becoming semi-interested.
"S."
"S."
"S."
"S."
"I."
"I."
"S."
"S."
"S."
"S."
"I."
"I."
"P."
"P."
"P."
"P."
"I."
"I."
"Voila!" he exclaimed shaking his head, water fell onto her head.
"Stop splashing me you git!"
"Now," he said turning his head to face her, "tell me how to spell Mississippi."
"But you already know," she insisted.
"Weasley, don't make this tough."
"Fine. Mississippi."
"Correct! You deserve a, a..."
"A kiss?" she grinned devilishly, "sorry the chocolate must be getting to me. Do forgive me-"
But before she could finish he said, his eyes sparkling, "Precisely." And he pressed his lips to hers.
Her eyes must have jumped OUT of their sockets, and her arms must have been flailing around to the other end of CHINA, but she didn't stop kissing him. She didn't stop the contact.
And there they were. Let me describe the picture.
This GIRL, not woman, not young lady, this girl, on a bench the rain pouring onto her face and splashing into her chocolate colored eyes. Her cloak is dragging on the ground, getting mud onto her black pants. The color of her cheeks are a dark, flushed, red, as from being whipped by the wind so many times. Her cherry colored lips are pressed to this young man's. And the funny thing was, he probably didn't even like her, let alone love her. But for that moment, he did, and the facts could just go throw themselves off the other end of the earth.
And this kid, this boy, the smirkiest little kid ever known to man, sitting on "his" bench, his eyes locked with hers. One of his hands, the one that was melted with chocolate, is holding on to her pale, wet, clammy one, and he doesn't even bother caring that her muddy shoe is on top of his perfectly nice, expensive black shoe. Dirtying it. Dirtying it in such a way that it will probably be IMPOSSIBLE ever to get out. Even if the house elves try. And his cheeks are still ghostly pale, despite the wind, and his hair is getting all spiky due to the rain, and he looks utterly terrible-
And yet, it's beautiful.
In this entirely sickening way.
But he doesn't even BOTHER separating his lips from hers. Because it isn't worth the time of trying, and it never was either.
And it was nothing special, no extraordinary kiss. Except it was, because it involved a Malfoy and a Weasley. Both being far too stubborn to break the kiss, and far too stubborn to keep it going.
And then, as the girl was of dire need for air, their lips slowly broke apart.
"You know, I think I forgot how to spell Mississippi-," she said.
"Hold on, I'll teach you again. We have all day." He whispered, directly into her ear.
*
Fin-
"Someday we'll know
Why Samson loved Delilah
One day I'll go
Dancing on the moon
Someday you'll know
That I was the one for you"
'Someday We'll Know' sung by New Radicals
*
The rain fell from the clouds and pelted the trees, crystal pears of rain slammed against the pavement. The wind whipped the flower petals, leaving some detached and in the wreckage.
It was an entirely normal day for the staff and students at Hogwarts - well, most of them that is. It would have been normal for them too, had it not been interaction between a Malfoy and a Weasley.
Now, now, don't bore me with "a name is just a name" rot. It isn't so; a name is how one identifies oneself. And that in itself is significant.
So, the Weasley and the Malfoy were patrolling the grounds this hazy day.
The girl, her auburn hair pulled back into a messy ponytail (the stray strands falling into her eyes) and her scarlet cloak almost dragging on the muddy ground. She was bored, and often took strolls in the rain. Alone. She liked the rain and although her brother called her daft, "-Virginia you'll catch a cold! Come back in here!-" she couldn't be stopped. It was her ritual. Her safe haven.
The boy, his whitish blond hair was falling wistfully in his face (something his Father would have detested) his velvet black cloak didn't show traces of chocolate-coloured mud. He was thoroughly disgusted, with everything. He often got in "fits" of annoyance with the whole wide world. All of it. And in these fits he just had to get away. From everything. So, he'd take a walk, even if this meant getting his precious hair wet. Even if this meant facing the rain, which he loathed with a burning passion. It was his ritual. His safe haven.
Except, the two, from entirely different walks of life and caste systems, were to meet on this fine day. She didn't want to see him (especially when she was in a 'peaceful' mood, he did not exactly equal 'peace' to say the least) and he didn't want to see her (one more annoying Weasley.)
But sometimes, fate doesn't take into careful consideration what you want and what you don't want. Sometimes fate just IS. And you can't bother with technicalities. And you can't bother with who likes whom and who does not upon meeting.
It didn't matter; it didn't matter why they decided to walk about the Hogwarts' grounds. It didn't matter, that they both had another thing coming. And it most certainly didn't matter that she hated him, and equally he hated her.
Fixating her eyes on the wooden bench as near as the Forbidden Forest as was possible (but not ' in ' the Forbidden Forest) the girl pulled the hood of her cloak on tighter. The rain was stinging her eyelashes. Moving closer to it, she saw another figure. A *blond* figure, coming towards her. Rolling her eyes (and not being able to see straight) she sat down upon the wet bench and crossed her legs daintily.
His smirk had tripled by the time she could actually make out his entire face. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Once he saw her, his smirk widened he approached her his cloak billowing behind him.
She looked at him as he stood before her. "What do you want? You know I just wanted to get away from every-"
Promptly he cut her off, "Why, may I ask, Weasley are you occupying the bench that I always sit at?"
"Your bench?" she asked.
He nodded slightly, rolling his cold gray eyes.
"I didn't know it was yours," she stated earnestly, "oh forgive me great Malfoy." She kissed her palm and held it out to him, "please please forgive me!"
He obviously noted the sarcasm. "Scoot over," he demanded, "it's bad enough to share a bench with a Mudblood lover."
Ginny shook her head in total disgust, "Please."
"Please what? Give you some money? No doubt you need it," he snorted.
"No," she said her anger rising, "Listen, I know this is really hard for you to understand-emotion that is, but I'm in such a bad mood right now and your just making it worse."
He gave a -would be- sympathetic smile. His pale pink lips looking crackled by the wind. "Oh yeah, I'm sure I'm just incredibly bloody stupid and I don't understand anything or anyone."
"Something like that," she retorted flipping her tangled, curly, frizzy hair over her shoulder.
They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes as Ginny nervously bit her already very short nails.
"Go tell it on a mountain," he said scuffing his feet on the mud.
She chose to ignore the rude command and said, "-yeah, this is real relaxing sitting on a bench with-" she shot him a dirty look "you."
"Terrible me," he said pulling his cloak tighter around him.
Taking a small parcel out of the inside of her cloak, she offered him a piece of chocolate.
"Sure," he said taking a generous piece of the warm milk chocolate. "Thanks." He muttered.
"Your welcome," she said.
"So, what classes are you taking?" she asked, taking a chance at civilized conversations.
"Herbology year seven, Advanced Potions, Transfiguration, Advanced Flying, Care of Magical Creatures, and erm that's it."
"That's it?" she inquired turning to face him "but that's only five. Every student has six classes."
"andmugglestudies," he said underneath his breath.
"What was that?"
"Muggle studies," he finished looking dully at the chocolate melting in his hands.
"You, taking muggle studies? No bloody way."
"You know, contrary to popular belief Weasley I do have some sort of heart," he whispered, almost into her ear.
"Tell it to the courts, Malfoy," she replied stiffly.
"How's that git-brother of yours doing?"
"Fine. How's that git-Father of yours doing?"
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
She turned her eyes away from him, and he busied himself with looking at an olive tree branch.
"So-"
"So-"
"I bet you think you know everything."
"I bet you I do!" he replied his back towards her, his arm leaning gingerly on the arm of the bench.
"Spell Mississippi." It was one of the one things that she always had trouble spelling (Hermione had told her about the states' because of her old muggle geography school.)
He took a pause, glared right into her eyes: "M - I - S - S - I - S -S - I - P - P - I." Careful to enunciate each letter he leaned back into the wood- framed bench. A smirk playing across his lips. "Am I correct?"
She didn't know! Had he spelled it right? Or had he spelled it incorrectly? Turning nervously in her seat, "You didn't spell it correctly!" she proclaimed.
"Then how do you spell it?"
She fidgeted uncomfortably, "Why do I have to tell you?"
"Oh get off it, you don't know do you?"
Her glare pierced through his, "Of course I do, don't be stupid."
"Aw," he said feigning sympathy, "Poor, in more ways than one-" she glared "- little Weasley doesn't even know how to spell properly. Didn't your Mudblood-loving parents teach you how to spell Mississippi?"
"Listen to me you ferret," it was his turn to glare, "don't speak like that. Didn't your Mummy and Daddy teach you any manners?"
"Get off your moral high horse," he exclaimed, "anyway, I'll teach you."
She rolled her eyes.
"Repeat after me," he said. "M."
She snorted, "M."
"I." He said as though he were a teacher.
"I," she said becoming semi-interested.
"S."
"S."
"S."
"S."
"I."
"I."
"S."
"S."
"S."
"S."
"I."
"I."
"P."
"P."
"P."
"P."
"I."
"I."
"Voila!" he exclaimed shaking his head, water fell onto her head.
"Stop splashing me you git!"
"Now," he said turning his head to face her, "tell me how to spell Mississippi."
"But you already know," she insisted.
"Weasley, don't make this tough."
"Fine. Mississippi."
"Correct! You deserve a, a..."
"A kiss?" she grinned devilishly, "sorry the chocolate must be getting to me. Do forgive me-"
But before she could finish he said, his eyes sparkling, "Precisely." And he pressed his lips to hers.
Her eyes must have jumped OUT of their sockets, and her arms must have been flailing around to the other end of CHINA, but she didn't stop kissing him. She didn't stop the contact.
And there they were. Let me describe the picture.
This GIRL, not woman, not young lady, this girl, on a bench the rain pouring onto her face and splashing into her chocolate colored eyes. Her cloak is dragging on the ground, getting mud onto her black pants. The color of her cheeks are a dark, flushed, red, as from being whipped by the wind so many times. Her cherry colored lips are pressed to this young man's. And the funny thing was, he probably didn't even like her, let alone love her. But for that moment, he did, and the facts could just go throw themselves off the other end of the earth.
And this kid, this boy, the smirkiest little kid ever known to man, sitting on "his" bench, his eyes locked with hers. One of his hands, the one that was melted with chocolate, is holding on to her pale, wet, clammy one, and he doesn't even bother caring that her muddy shoe is on top of his perfectly nice, expensive black shoe. Dirtying it. Dirtying it in such a way that it will probably be IMPOSSIBLE ever to get out. Even if the house elves try. And his cheeks are still ghostly pale, despite the wind, and his hair is getting all spiky due to the rain, and he looks utterly terrible-
And yet, it's beautiful.
In this entirely sickening way.
But he doesn't even BOTHER separating his lips from hers. Because it isn't worth the time of trying, and it never was either.
And it was nothing special, no extraordinary kiss. Except it was, because it involved a Malfoy and a Weasley. Both being far too stubborn to break the kiss, and far too stubborn to keep it going.
And then, as the girl was of dire need for air, their lips slowly broke apart.
"You know, I think I forgot how to spell Mississippi-," she said.
"Hold on, I'll teach you again. We have all day." He whispered, directly into her ear.
*
Fin-