The Ferret and the Weasel

“But you don’t even try, Draco!” she screamed, angry tears pouring down her face.

“You don’t understand! It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I can’t-”

“You could if you really wanted to,” she sniffed, picking up her bag and slinging it on onto her shoulder. “But that would mean you’d actually have to work at something for once in your life and Merlin forbid you ever do that!”

“Ginny!”

Fuck! Why couldn’t he just hate her like he was supposed to? Why had this blood-traitor brat wrapped him around her finger? This was mad, this was insane, things were dangerous enough for the both of them as it was. Why couldn’t she understand that they could be killed for this? If anyone knew…

But he knew something like this would never be enough for a girl like her; stolen moments in the Room of Requirement, longing looks in the corridor. She was brave, if not a bit reckless, and couldn’t understand the fear that welled inside him at the thought of this getting out. He would be murdered for sure, but the look in her eyes when she’d walked out the door was killing him too.

How could he live his life without her?

***

“Ginny, you know there’s nothing he can do,” Hermione whispered cajolingly, the din of the Great Hall swallowing their conversation.

“Why not?” Ginny cried and Hermione shushed her. “Why can’t we be together? He doesn’t even care, look at him!”

They snuck a look at Draco where he was laughing at something Blaise Zabini had said.

“He cares, but you know the position he’s in-” The arrival of hundreds of owls cut off Hermione’s soothing words. They looked up as a handsome barn owl dropped into Ginny’s cold porridge. Uncaring, she ripped off the note and began to read. The more she read, the more her hands shook:

I hate the way you talk

I hate your long red hair

I hate the way you ride your broom

Because you know it makes me stare

I hate that you’re so beautiful

I hate that you’re always right

I hate that I see your stupid freckled face

Every fucking night

I hate that you can make me laugh

Even when I know I shouldn’t

I hate that I can’t hold you

Even more that you think I wouldn’t

I hate that there is never a time

That you’re not on my mind

But mostly I hate that I can’t hate you

Not even close

Not even a little bit

Not even at all.

When she looked up he was standing next to her, holding out his hand.

“The last lines don’t rhyme,” she warbled as he pulled her to her feet.

“You get the fucking point,” he grinned, grabbing her up and kissing her as the hall erupted.