(no subject)
When Ginny stepped outside the Great Hall, Draco was already waiting for her. He awkwardly patted a spot next to him on the stair he was sitting on, and Ginny reluctantly sat down.
"I..." he started uncertainly, "I fucked up."
"Too right you did," Ginny snapped. She sat with her face forward, not looking at him. "I feel like I've fucked up too, though. Somehow."
"Don't be ridiculus," Draco said, shaking his head. "It was me. And Harry." He paused a bit. "But mostly, though, it was me. "
"I feel like, if I'd been better, or prettier, or more interesting, or better at Quidditch, or smarter, or... so many things, that Harry would have loved me enough to not feel confused."
Draco turned abruptly to her, his face indignant.
"That's totally fucking--"
"Absurd, I know," Ginny sighed, "but I can't help but think it anyway. "
She let her head fall heavily against his shoulder. There were too many things to say, but her voice had begun to catch in her throat.
"This time a year ago, I'd be sick to see myself sitting here with you like this. If someone had told me I'd be forgiving you for kissing my boyfriend because you're my mate and I love you to death, I'd think they were ruddy mad. But here I am."
"You're forgiving me?" Draco asked. "Because I don't really deserve--"
"Shut up. You're ruining my nostalgic moment. Say something rude to me. It'll make me feel better, I promise," said Ginny.
"Fine. Harlot."
"Thanks. That makes things a little better."