I
Ginny Weasley liked to climb trees.
It was the feeling of being up high, the ground stretching out beneath her in an endless wave of green and brown. She could sit for hours on a branch, resting her back against the thick trunk, dangling her legs, the leaves tickling her face. It was so quiet up there, so peaceful, a comfort she rarely found nowadays, since she'd been forced to return to Hogwarts for her sixth year. It gave her a place to think, to sort through those thoughts that she ran through late into the night, the thoughts that slipped through her fingers like silk, that kept her awake at night. It seemed sometimes that no matter how many times she questioned things, it left her with the frustrated feeling that she was going in circles.
It was only three weeks into the year and she was already restless. She'd fought an endless battle with her mother about her continued education at Hogwarts. She didn't want to come back. Her place was out there, next to her friend, her brother, and the man she loved... she needed to be out there defending them, fighting for them, with them, giving her support. But her mother didn't see it quite the same, giving Ginny the excuse that Ron was of age and there was nothing she could possibly do, whereas Ginny was only sixteen and she would be damned if she let her underage daughter run off on a dangerous quest that had something to do with bringing about the downfall of Lord Voldemort. No matter how much Ginny reasoned, cried, or screamed, Molly Weasley would hear none of it, and Ginny had found herself packed away on the Hogwarts Express.
There was nothing for her to do, locked away at school. She had learned quickly that war was nothing but waiting and worrying, with bloody battles planted sparsely between. She was constantly terrified that she would hear the news she dreaded. Every time McGonagall came into the common room her heart fell into her stomach, as she waited for the news that Harry had been captured, that he and Ron and Hermione had been killed, that hope was lost. It never came, though it never sated her terror or her worry.
Thinking in her dormitory was never easy. Lying there waiting for sleep, she would think about anything and everything, and the silence never helped. On such nights she would move silently through the castle and slip outside, climb the limbs of her favorite oak tree on the grounds of the school and listen to the wind whispering through the leaves.
And one night, as she sat up among the branches, she glanced down to find that she wasn't the only one who came to this tree when the silent nights were too much to handle.
II
Ginny didn't know why she started antagonizing Draco Malfoy. It was childish and immature and it all it ever accomplished was to feed his anger, and in turn he terrorized the other students. On several occasions she would see the younger children huddled together for safety and rushing through the corridors at breakneck speed, trying to avoid the prince of Slytherin. She supposed that her sudden fascination with torturing him had something to do with the fact that he had intruded upon her special place. She hated that he came there. He never really bothered her though, honestly, and he more than likely didn't even know that she was among the leaves of the tree he'd begun to frequent. She'd become quite taken with tossing small pieces of bark and twigs down onto him, watching with amusement as he stared up, searching for the source.
It was an early morning in the last days of October. Ginny woke up late and was rushing to make it to her first class before it started. She was, of course, not paying careful attention, and as she sped around a corner she collided with someone much stronger than her, and she fell to the floor quite ungracefully with a thud. The contents of her bag had miraculously stayed where they belonged, and she looked up slowly to see Draco Malfoy standing over her, sneering, his arms crossed over his chest. She stood up slowly, trying to resist the urge to rub her backside, and looked Malfoy in the eye definatly. He opened his mouth to say something to her.
"Don't ever speak to me, Malfoy. You're scum." She spat, shouldering her back and walking away briskly.
III
She was up in her tree again that night, perched on a branch, sitting close to the tree trunk when she heard the rustling of the leaves beneath her. Smirking, she pulled off bits of the peeling bark from the tree as she usually did, gathering them in her fist, laying down on her stomach to get the best angle and to avoid detection. She held her breath as Malfoy turned his back to the tree and sank to the ground, the backof his robes scraping against the rough surface. Ginny was just about to pelt a piece of wood at the slimy bastard, her arm pulled back for the throw, when she nearly fell from her perch out of pure shock. Narrowing her eyes, she leaned down a bit farther and listened carefully. It was almost impossible to believe.
Draco Malfoy was crying.
How in the hell was she supposed to deal with this? She'd always been very soft-hearted; sometimes when one of her closer friends was upset it was all she could do not to burst into tears herself. As she listened to Malfoy sobbing beneath her, her breath caught in her chest and a lump slowly formed in her throat that she tried desperately to swallow. Normally she wouldn't give a damn that Draco Malfoy, the monster of a human being, the Death Eater who had been given the task of killing Dumbledore. But he was crying hard, deep, wracking sobs that shook his shoulders and made him gasp for air. He really was in pain, and after a brief moment of indecision, Ginny acted.
She wrapped her hands around the thinnest part of the branch and let herself fall, swinging from the limb, her shoulders screaming from the strain of holding her entire body. She let go and landed in a slight crouch, no more that six feet away from Malfoy's hunched-over figure, eyeing him carefully, running through the possibilities in her mind. Was this some sort of trick? A trap? She crawled a foot or so closer and kept staring. He didn't move, or even seem to realize she was there. She moved closer, the leaves on the ground wet and slimy beneath her hands, stopping only inches away from him.
"Malfoy?" She whispered, hoping he would look up and say something, let out a cruel insult or even hex her so she could stop caring about him. He didn't acknowledge her in the slightest way, just remained as he was, his head against his knees and holding himself tightly. She didn't understand her next impulse. Common sense should have told her that he obviously wanted to be left alone, but it didn't. It seemed to have completely deserted her, packed up for vacation and left, and it terrified her. She closed the remaining space between them and placed her hand on his cheek, hot and wet with tears.
"Draco?" She said, slightly more audible this time, and his eyes snapped open, staring into nothing as his arm snaked up and he laid his palm flat against the back of her hand, holding in there, the coolness of her skin soothing against his tear-stained cheek. "Why are you crying?"
"Why do you care, Weasel?" He sneered, his voice cracking, seeming to finally realize who he was and who she was and that he souldn't have touched her. She felt a hot flush rise up her neck and into her cheeks and began to stand, suddenly desperate to get back to the safety of her four poster bed in Gryffindor tower, to hide under the covers and wait for her embarassment to kill her. Draco started suddenly and caught her hand again, refusing to look at her, simply tugging her gently, urging her to sit down. "It's not important." He told her as she settled next to him, cross-legged and irritable.
"If it upset you that much, it must have been important." Ginny said, twirling a long piece of grass between her thumb and forefinger. He scoffed but said nothing.
IV
Every night after, they met at the base of Ginny's favorite tree. They both knew they shouldn't be there. The whole thing was sick and wrong and comepletely forbidden and they could only imagine what would happen if anyone knew. But, every night they went out, sat against the base of the tree in silence. Draco still wouldn't speak to her. As soon as she saw him, everytime, she asked the same thing.
"Why?" And every time he'd shake his head sadly and she'd resign herself to the fact that he didn't want to tell her, settle down beside him and sit there in silence. This was a game of patience, one she couldn't afford to lose. She'd found herself caring about Draco Malfoy, and she couldn't stop.
A month passed, a month full of late nights beneath the old oak tree, nights full of silence and the smallest trace of tension. Ginny came later than usual, having nearly run into Filch on her way out, and walked up right to Draco, stood next to him as he lay on the ground, arms beneath his head, staring up through the leaves.
"Why?" She asked, staring out at the distant shape of the lake, knowing very well that all he would do was shake his head, say nothing. She sank to the ground next to him and was just about to lie down beside him when he spoke.
"Why do you bother?" He asked her, turning his head to look at her. She gazed down at him, at how a few small strands of his hair had fallen in front of his eyes, how the moonlight caught in those eyes and they seemed to glow silver.
"You're a person, too, Malfoy. Someone has to care about you." She regretted her words immediately. They sounded cold and sharp to her ears, they hadn't come out how she'd wanted at all. Unable to find the right words to correct her statement, she settled herself in the cool grass and looked up through the branches of the tree.
"Don't call me that." He growled.
Ginny turned her head to look at him, shocked that he had such an objection to being called Malfoy, shocked that they'd actually exchanged words that night. She saw a flash of silver and black, one hand flat against the earth next to her head as the other turned her face upward, and he caught her lips with his. Her breath caught in her chest as the hand on her face moved upwards, tangled in her hair, held her still. Every fiber of her being told her to run, to push him away and leave, never come back, but she found herself granting him entrance when he ran his tongue along her bottom lip, kissing him back desperately. He nipped her lower lip and she moaned softly, beginning to lose herself in the pain and pleasure of it, when suddenly Draco sat up with a curse and pushed himself to stand.
"This can't happen." He spat, stalking off towards the castle, his hands curled into fists. Ginny stayed there, on the ground, trying to regain her breath, and let one shaky hand move up to touch her mouth. She didn't know much about Draco Malfoy, but she knew now that his lips weren't as cold as the words that came from them.
V
Their secret meetings came to a halt after that. Ginny kept going out to her tree as usual, determined not to let the creeping feeling in her stomach prevent her from going about her routine. But she never climbed up its branches anymore, and it wasn't Harry she thought of as she sat there in the night, staring into the air. At times it felt like she was betraying him. But she couldn't tear herself away from Draco Malfoy, couldn't find the strength and will to push him from her thoughts. Remembering the brief kiss between them made her face flush and her limbs shake, only made it that much harder to forget him. His eyes would meet hers when they passed in the halls, when she walked past his house table on her way to a meal, and those moments seemed to last eternities until he would rip his gaze from hers with a scowl.
The first day of December came, and as though on cue, three feet of snow was dumped onto the grounds of Hogwarts. The lake had frozen in the cold and the entire place, even the castle, seemed so much colder than it had the year before. That night Ginny found herself in the same place, at the same time, leaning against her tree. She couldn't sit, the earth beneath her having turned into mud from the moisture the melting snow had created. She watched the light from the castle windows cast a sparkling glow onto the pristine snow, thinking as little as she could about Draco Malfoy until the effort of keeping him out of her mind started to give her a headache. She was just about to head back up to the castle when she saw him from the corner of her eye.
He pushed her up against the tree, trapping her body beneath his, letting one hand rest on the back of her neck, running her hair through his thin fingers. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss just below her ear. She turned her head to give him more places to kiss, wishing he would for some sick reason that she couldn't quite place. He did, kissing a slow trail down her throat, soft brushes of his lips that made her knees weak. He stopped when he found the pulse in her neck and bit. She whimpered and clutched at his shoulders, digging her fingernails into his robes, her skin was on fire, her blood running like hot coals through her veins. He dug his teeth in further, sucked gently, and she moaned, arching her body into his and trying to pull him closer. Suddenly he found her lips and kissed her soundly, running his toungue over every inch of her mouth, his hands at her waist.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy, and rested his head in the hollow between her shoulder and the milky white skin of her neck, where an angry red mark shaped like two crescent moons was forming, the blood spreading beneath her skin, turning it purple and blue. He breathed in the smell of her and sighed.
"What are you doing to me, Ginny Weasley?"
A/N: Sequel? I don't know. This is the first story I've actually written in a long time. My plot bunnies have a taste for my muse.