Tuesday, July 22, 2003
Disclaimer: The character Ginny belongs to J.K. Rowling, so does Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and Dean Thomas, who are all mentioned in this fic. Plot belong to me and only me.
Shipping: There is none. He can never have her.
Green looks the best on her. It matches her red hair. Sometimes I wonder why she doesn't have green eyes instead. It's the mother's fault, obviously. Brown eyes doesn't suite her very well. I see her hanging around with Dean Thomas, and sneaking looks at Potter when she thinks nobody is looking. But she's wrong. I am looking. I've always been looking.
There was only one incident with us, actually. We ran into each other and insulted each other. And all that time all I could think about was kissing her senseless. Why I can't get myself to talk civil to her, I don't know. That feeling in my chest erupts whenever she's near me. Her hair is long, and up to her shoulders now, her smile timid, and her figure tall, like her brother. She's got the apple-shaped face, the cute freckled spread out on her nose, that glimmers whenever she twitches it. It's the way she moves. Whenever I follow her, her hips sway a bit, her robes flying behind her, her hands shyly folded in her back. Nobody ever sees her legs much because her socks cover half of them, and her robes the other half. But I have.
I've seen her in a green skirt and matching shirt, taking it off slowly as she dips herself into the lake. I wonder how she can stand the cold - it's freezing in there. But I've tried it before. And it feels normal to me. But she's so frail, so delicate - I can see how she plunges, she's a nice swimmer, and when she gets out again, her eyes are closed, and the water is dripping down the cheeks - but sometimes I can't tell if it's water or tears. Her hair is dripping wet, flattened on her head, and yet she has the sheer look of concentration on her face. The look of steady silence. She breathes heavily, as if in a world no one but her knows, but I know her world...I can feel it. Then, she opens her eyes, blinking, the brown heaveyset eyelashes flowing. As she dresses once more, I follow her.
I always used to wonder if she knew - if she knew how I felt about her, and if it wasn't for my father, things would be different.
But she's scarlet and I am jade.
Jade would look great on her.
She obviously hears footsteps behind her. She turns around swiftly, wisps of her beautiful auburn hair sprawling over her face.
"Are you following me?" she whispers. I can't read the look on her face, and I cannot get my mouth to move. She's standing right before me, and I feel as if I am shaking. I am caught. I am caught.
"Of course not," I sneer, passing by her, brushing past her, enjoying the tingling sensation against my arm as I do. I am caught, but then I am freed.
I am looking. I've always been.
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