Word Count: 509

Little drabble about Draco noticing Ginny in CoS.

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He wondered if when she looked in the mirror, she saw what he saw.

Wild red hair framing a paled face, long back circles marring her cheeks viciously. Dead cinnamon eyes that skirted here and there with fear, little pink lips always pursed together, holding back a terrible secret.

He would lay in bed awake, among green hangings, thinking about that secret.

He would close his eyes, and he would dream about it.

He would let his silver eyes rest on the small figure, and wish with all his power, all his will, that he could take a peek inside the silky red mane and into her deepest thoughts.

He couldn’t fathom why. He was afraid to fathom why, because just watching her delicate breaths and large brown eyes across the Great Hall was wrong.

Forbidden.

Unacceptable.

But his gaze deceived him, knowing nothing of what was right or wrong, acceptable or not. His gaze had only settled on her once, and wouldn’t stop visiting her afterwards.

He’d like to tell himself it’d only started when she became a small, meek thing that jumped at every word, eyes shiny with constant tears. But that was a lie, he knew deep down. He’d notice her when she’d bent over her small, brown diary, snatching glances at Potter, when she’d happily practice her charms before classes.

He’d wanted to tell her to relax her little wrist, because it annoyed him when she never noticed the mistake. To no end, it bothered him. It bothered him when the Dream Team was impervious to her sad, left-out looks, when she’d turn back to that god-forsaken diary, defeated. It bothered him she never had friends around her, and that her dull brothers never did anything but agitate her.

Everything she did in the beginning of the year bothered, annoyed, enraged him.

Because he noticed everything small, insignificant thing she did.

He noticed when she began getting sick, tired, when she’d almost fall asleep over her plate.

He noticed she only got worse, day by day, hour by hour, the light and life of her ridiculously happy manner wasting away, leaving a hollow shell.

He noticed when it started, right before that first frozen body was found, when the bloody writing on the wall dried.

Her hands would shake now, when she wrote in that little book. She wouldn’t longingly look at the other Gryffindors now.

Now she turned inward, sleeplessly fatigued, to a maliciously altered soul.

He had no right to dabble in things that were not his concern. His demeanor spoke of cruelty, of twisted contentment- the Chamber was opened.

What did it matter that little Ginny Weasley suffered from it?

Was the cause of it?

She was foolish and stupid.

She was dying. He could see it, as she brought her hot breakfast to her lips, as she picked up her books, took fateful steps through the halls, wrote weakly inside that diary.

He wanted to bring a mirror to her face, wanted to show her what he saw, force her to realize what was happening, force her to stop it from killing her.

A reason why, was something he could still not find.

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Crystal

*pokes Crys* No point in hiding it, we can all see it: you're a great author. This ficlet only further proves my point that you should write more often. Or just more. Make any sense?

I'd posts an emoticon to describe my feelings now, but I can't find one that matches the depressing mood that this *points at drabble* creates. So, good work.

Ri

Wow Crys.

I didn't read that last night because I was too tired to give it my undivided attention, but now that I have, I must say I love it.

I love how perfectly you described Ginny's situation, and how Draco sounds so confused about why he cares so much. And surprisingly he doesn't sound OOC because he still kind of sounds like a prick, just not about Ginny.



Great job.

Kristina