Impassionate

Summary: Ginny Weasley is intrigued when she chances a glimpse of Draco Malfoy mounting his broom. When he flies he is impassionate, but Ginny will soon learn that "impassionate" can mean different things.

| PART I |

It all began early on in the year, with a very typical disagreement between the Gryffindor and the Slytherin Quidditch teams. For the entire first month of school, both groups had unexplainably double-booked the field for their practices. Neither of the team captains could explain it, but Harry had confided in her that he believed the Slytherins were doing it on purpose. Whatever the reason, it had led to one too many fights and so many detentions that the professors were running out of punishments to give. Not to mention the fact that neither team, to everyone's consternation, had managed a single moment of worthwhile practice a whole four weeks into the Quidditch season, and the first games of the year for both teams were coming up.

The Hospital Wing had been crammed with bruised Quidditch players after the last spat between the two sides. Ginny herself had shared one of the small cots with Harry, Ron, and Seamus, all of them seated close together like a group of children who had done wrong and holding icepacks to their myriad bruised body parts. Madam Pomfrey had bustled about, flustered and unhappy, healing broken bones and concussions first. On the other side of the Wing, as far away from the Gryffindors as possible, the Slytherins had continued taunting and jeering, though they also whined a lot louder about injuries that were no worse than what the Gryffindors had sustained.

Snape and McGonagall had stridden into the room then, a flurry of black robes and exasperation. The entire ward was immediately hushed except for the sound of Madam Pomfrey muttering spells under her breath. She was the only one who did not look up, dutifully and somewhat obliviously continuing her work; everyone else present seemed wide-eyed, frozen with guilt and trepidation. There was nothing for anyone to say in defense of their actions. After the first, second, even after the third time, excuses had been offered, pleas had been given, and fingers had been pointed. Now, Slytherin and Gryffindor alike knew that they had finally gone too far.

Snape's mouth was pressed into a thin, severe line. McGonagall's deeply wrinkled face seemed stern and hard. Her voice was like iron when she spoke. "For the rest of the year, the Slytherin and the Gryffindor Quidditch teams will share the Quidditch pitch. If you all so much as brush past each other's brooms, Slytherin and Gryffindor will no longer have Quidditch teams. And that includes when you are off the field. Is that understood?"

Several jaws dropped in the shocked silence. Eyes bulged. It seemed like no one was breathing. Some of the Slytherins seemed to be looking to Snape, as though hoping he would intervene on their behalf and somehow veto this ridiculous and impossible sentence. He stared them all down equally, his arms crossed over his chest and his black eyes narrowed dangerously, as if daring them to ask him for help. There was a long pause, and then finally he drawled, "One hundred points from Gryffindor. One hundred points from Slytherin. That will be all."

The two professors strode out and all hell broke loose in the Hospital Wing—at least as close to hell as one could get without touching the opponent.

The next week, Ginny had trudged out onto the field with the rest of the Gryffindor Team, her scarf pulled up to her chin against the cold. Autumn was in full swing and the air had a dry chill to it that reddened her cheeks and made her shiver. Despite that, the day was clear, the sky blue and the sun bright. It was a beautiful day to get into the air and finally do some practice. She and her teammates gathered around Harry for their briefing.

It had taken both teams every minute of the past week to recover from the implications of McGonagall's punishment, and while most seemed to be coping with it, Ginny knew that Harry, as team captain, was still reeling. Nevertheless, he put on a brave front. "I spoke to Malfoy and we've agreed to split the pitch down the center. Unfortunately that means we only get to practice on half the pitch, but luckily it also lessens the chance of us encountering any…problems." There were some groans at this news, but Ginny nodded. That was the most practical solution.

Ginny glanced over to the other side of the arena where the Slytherins were gathered, gesturing and conversing loudly while pointedly ignoring the presence of the Gryffindors. They were just mounting their brooms when Ginny's eyes fell on their captain, kicking his leg over the newest model of the Firebolt. Her eyes widened as she watched him get into position, then kick off and into the air.

"Come on, Ginny!" Seamus called from above, and Ginny realized that most of her own team was already hovering a few meters above her.

"Sorry!" she shouted back, quickly straddling her own broom and soaring up to join them.

Yet Ginny inexplicably found her eyes floating back to where the Slytherins played a makeshift Quidditch match. Her brows were furrowed and her knuckles white on her broom as she searched for a glimpse of their captain. However, the Snitch had taken him beyond her sight and, when she nearly got hit in the face with a Bludger, she decided that the distraction was not worth a broken nose.

Later that same evening, Ginny found herself curled up in a chair at the library, her knees resting against the table and a book on the basics of Quidditch propped open on her lap. Abandoned before her was her Charms homework, half finished, with a quill still half-heartedly dripping ink onto the forgotten essay. Luna read quietly beside her, her own assignment similarly flouted. Hermione raised her head from her own work occasionally to glare at them both from across the table.

At long last, the bushy-haired brunette cleared her throat. When she received no reaction from her companions, she began, "I wish you two would actually do your homework, you know. Snorelags don't exist, Luna. And Ginny, I think you know enough about Quidditch to start your own school. Give it a break!"

Luna only huffed tiredly at the bossy girl's rant, never looking up from her book. Ginny frowned, some of her confusion settling on her face. "I love Quidditch, Herms," she said, "but I don't know enough about it. I saw something today that I can't explain." Hermione gave her a frustrated sigh and then dove back into her work. Ginny continued to peruse the section on how to properly mount a broom.

At the next practice, Ginny watched Malfoy climb onto his broom yet again and she sucked a breath in between her teeth, flabbergasted. When he stomped one foot firmly down onto the ground, propelling himself upward, her jaw dropped and remained open. She quickly lost him as both teams put their balls into play, but today she was determined to see him in the air. As she soared restlessly around the Gryffindor side of the pitch, struggling to find him in the chaos of the Slytherin practice game, a Bludger did hit her this time, squarely in the ribs.

The trek to the Hospital Wing that day was one of the most agonizing and mortifying journeys of Ginny's life. With an arm slung around both Ron and Dean's shoulders, Ginny walked gingerly, fighting the urge to curl up and clutch her undoubtedly fractured ribs. Meanwhile, Harry lectured her mercilessly on paying attention to her surroundings. The train of concerned Gryffindors that followed behind them couldn't help but snicker when he insinuated that Ginny had, in fact, flown directly into the Bludger and not the other way around. Despite this, with her face red and eyes filled with tears, Ginny said nothing—her mind was still back on what had caused this whole debacle in the first place.

In one of the lumpy Hospital Wing beds that night—the rib had in fact been broken, and so she had to spend the night as it regrew—Ginny dreamt of a faceless, blonde Quidditch player decked in a green and silver uniform. There was a sense of confidence in the way he stood, his upright broom held by one hand. Even the way he placed it horizontally before him, balancing it on some invisible, perfect line, seemed self-assured. When he swung a leg over it, it was as though the movement was effortless and yet somehow measured. And when he took the air, the way he flew, the stillness of his body atop his broom, the barely perceptible movements he used to control it, it was all—

"Impassionate," Ginny gasped, as she woke with a start. The word seemed to hang before her in the silence of the empty Hospital Wing.

She had to see him fly. She knew it even as she paced the floor of her empty Dormitory a few days later, barefoot and distraught. It would be half a week until the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams had their next practices. Ginny rubbed her ribs sheepishly, mentally deciding that observing Malfoy during practice, or even during a game, would be far too risky to try again. What she wanted was to view him unobstructed and without worry.

She bit her lip. She wanted to sit in the stands and have him fly around the pitch for her. It was absurd because she was a flier and her instinct was to be in the sky as well, but there was something about the way Malfoy handled himself that necessitated careful consideration. And, damnit, she knew she'd be ridiculed by her team for this uncanny obsession with Malfoy's flying style, but Slytherin was their only real competition, and the more you knew…

She clapped her hands onto her cheeks, decided. Hurrying over to her desk, she scribbled a short note down onto a scrap of parchment, and then slipped on her shoes. She was headed to the West Tower to find Pigwidgeon.

The next day, Ginny crouched in the Quidditch stands. Though she rubbed her hands together and puffed her breath out to warm her fingers, she was filled with excitement. It was cold and gloomy, with a sharp wind that whistled through the benches this high—but it would be worth it as long as Malfoy showed up. Her anonymous request had been met with a curt but neatly written reply delivered by an intimidating hunting owl. I'll be there. She shivered half from the chill and half from anticipation. She had tamped down her nervousness. She was well-concealed here.

Cautiously, she raised herself from her bent position to peer out over a bench. Her heart thudded to a stop when she saw him, a lone speck walking out onto the field. He wore his Slytherin Quidditch gear and held his broom in hand. Clamping her hand over her mouth to conceal her squeal of delight, Ginny hurriedly returned to squatting. She wanted to see him mount his broom, but leaning out over the bench like that hazarded discovery. She would be able to see him perfectly once he took to the sky, anyway.

And, thank Merlin; he wasted no time in doing that. It seemed like only moments later that he bolted upward, his robes billowing around him as he gained elevation. Ginny watched him, enraptured, not just by the flawless lines he made as he flew, both in terms of form and function, but by the expression on his face, which she could just make out from her hiding place. He was perfectly calm, focused, totally in control of his broom and himself. If he enjoyed flying or if he hated it, she did not know, because nothing showed on his face.

She let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. When she flew, she was a flurry of unnecessary movements, of flushed cheeks and wild hair. Although she had been flying brooms since she was a child, she still wobbled sometimes. She was sure that her love of flying could be read on her face. When she flew, it was all about fun and abandon and passion. Just like she had in her dream, she acknowledged that when Malfoy flew, it was impassionate and, frankly, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

More than a half hour passed. Though her legs cramped and went to sleep and the cold touched her all the way to her bones, she could not bring herself to look away. There was nothing showy about how he flew, but she was enchanted by it. She wanted to burn the image of him flying into the back of her mind, so that when she closed her eyes tonight she could relive it again.

Smiling faintly to herself as she watched him, she almost didn't realize he was making a beeline toward the tower where she hid. Eyes widening, she made to scramble for the exit, but it was too far and she was too late. She froze as he came to hover just above her hiding spot, as though hoping that if she didn't move, he wouldn't acknowledge her presence. She slowly directed her gaze upward and flinched when she saw he was leaning down on his broom to peer at her curiously.

In one smooth movement, he lowered himself, adjusting so that he could leap off neatly and onto a bench. He approached her with that same curious look on his face. "Did you really think I wouldn't know it was you, Weasley?" he guffawed and then, on a more malicious note, he added, "The cheap parchment, the uncultured handwriting, the inbred owl? It was either you or your unfortunate brother, and he hasn't been trying to watch me during practice."

Ginny gaped, horrified and offended that she had been seen through so easily. Her cheeks colored hotly, but all she could come up with for an indignant reply was, "I wasn't trying to watch you." She wanted to slap herself straight after the words left her mouth.

He cocked one pale eyebrow. "Right then, Weasley," he said, and she grimaced, "Would you perhaps care to explain why you owled begging to see me fly?"

"It wasn't begging!" Ginny retorted, her irritation and embarrassment mounting. She took a deep breath. "I'll be honest, Malfoy." She crossed her arms over her chest. "From one Quidditch player to another, I admire the way you fly."

He seemed taken aback for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "Good that you recognize your betters," he sneered.

Ginny rolled her eyes, but for some reason she was rooted to the ground before him. He towered over her, on the bench like he was, and it made her feel somewhat intimidated. Oddly enough, as if sensing her discomfort, he stepped off of it and onto level ground with her. Still, he was a good foot above her, but at least now the difference was less obscene. "You're not better than me, Malfoy. Your way is just different."

He cocked his head to one side, and Ginny felt as though she should be fanning her face despite the cold day. She cleared her throat awkwardly. Suddenly, he asked, "What do you like about it?"

Ginny blinked, shocked at the surprisingly civil question. She found herself answering carefully but truthfully, "You're perfectly still when you fly." Her words were slow, even to her own ears. "It's like you control the broom with your thoughts instead of your body." She looked up to him, startled when she saw the intense look he was giving her.

He seemed to catch himself when their eyes met, and his face cleared immediately. He let out a loud, unpleasant laugh. "Sounds like you have a crush, little weasel," he smirked, "Controlling my broom is not the only thing I can do with my body."

Ginny wanted to slap his smug face. She had given him the fruit of her observations, and of course he had gone and dirtied them. "Oh, just burn in hell, Malfoy. Forget it." His seemed to sour, but Ginny didn't care. He was only worth paying attention to if he was on his broom, and even that was pushing it. She turned to leave, intent on keeping as much of her pride as possible—though there was very little left to salvage at this point. She was halfway down the stairs of the tower before he said anything.

"Meet me here again in two days, Weasley," he called, "I'll fly for you some more." Despite her anger, her stomach did a little flip, and she decided she must be hungry.

Author's Note: Briefly, I am referring to two distinct definitions of "impassionate"; the first is a descriptor, to describe someone as impassionate, as Ginny does here. The second is a verb-to impassionate.

I was going to post this as a one-shot, but it was getting far too long. I've decided to separate it into two parts. Part II will be up by next week.

This was inspired by one of the last episodes of an anime called Chihayafuru 2. For those of you that watch it, I'm a hardcore Chihaya/Arata fan!

Review and let me know what you think! Pretty please.