He made her feel... trapped. As if she'd never get away from him again. Ginny wondered what he'd do if she struggled, if she attempted to escape. She decided that she didn't want to find out. And--- damn him-- he was right. She was getting warm; the warmth of his body seeped into hers, and as she slowly relaxed and drifted towards sleep she had to admit that it felt, well, not unpleasant. Her last thought before sleep claimed her utterly was that it was so ironic, so bitterly amusing, in a way. She was in Draco Malfoy's arms, pressed up against him, in bed with him really, if you could count two cloaks and a frozen dirt floor as a bed. It was a place where a lot of Hogwarts girls would have given anything to be.

Her thoughts kept running on the subject, and they slowly spilled over into her unconscious mind, turning into dream.

She'd overheard her roommates in Gryffindor Tower giggling and whispering at night after all the lights were out for years now. Did you go with such-and-so at the last Hogsmeade trip? Well, what did you do? What did he try to do? What did you let him do? Any snogging? Did you let him get his hands under your robes at all? Ooh, I'll bet you did! Well, would you ever-- you know-- honestly, no I haven't! I'm not a slut! And then the whispers would turn nasty sometimes, vicious, gossiping about other girls, evaluating their behavior, sitting in judgment on them. I heard that she'll do anything. I heard that she'll shag anyone. I head that she's like the town bicycle-- everyone's had a ride on her. Oh, you don't know that. But I heard-- Well, with who then? Seamus. Dean. Justin. Ernie. Fred or George-- well, maybe it was Fred and George, I'm not quite sure-- (Ginny had found it necessary to clear her throat quite loudly at that point in the conversation, and a quick, embarrassed silence had followed.)

But sometimes, too, on one of the many nights when she couldn't sleep and had wandered through the tower like an unquiet ghost, her feet scarcely making a sound on the stone flags of the floor, she overheard more secretive conversations. Girls tucked into the big red velvet armchairs before the low-flickering fire in the common room, or huddled together on the tufted sofa. The whispers were quieter then, nearly mouth to ear, only the slight movement of lips visible in the low light. But Ginny had learned to move as silently as Hermione's cat Crookshanks, when she wished. In these whispered conversations in the depths of the night, forbidden things were discussed. Secret things. Things that would never see the light of day.

He took Sadina von Tussel into the dungeons, and then they-- mumble, mumble, mumble.

I heard that Xanthia Morgan said those little hooks stuck into the wall-- whisper, whisper.

They put a Silencing charm around the tablecloth, the one that hangs all the way to the floor, and then during Sunday brunch they slipped underneath and--

But then the voices would always drop too low to catch, or taper into silence. Ginny constantly swore that she was going to stop following the girls who stole away to talk in the common room in the latest part of the night, who huddled so tensely together and exchanged gossip like children trying to terrify each other with ghost stories. They never revealed whatever the final secrets were, if they even knew themselves. Something always pulled her back, though, and kept her hungry for more. Perhaps it was the name that came up most often in these long, low conversations, over and over and over again.

I heard it was--

She said it was--

I'm sure it was--

Draco Malfoy.

Yes, it was Malfoy.

It was Malfoy.

Malfoy.

Malfoy.

Whatever dreams may have come from the confusing half-scraps of everything she heard during those long nights of whispers, Ginny kept them to herself. But it may well be that she had them. One night, all the fifth-year girls had gathered in her room-- for one of her popular roommates, of course, not for Ginny-- and played a dubious game which involved much giggling, and the naming of potential partners for one's first sexual experience. Ginny had rolled her eyes and attempted to escape into her Charms homework, silently blessing Hermione for teaching her that particular trick. But they'd dragged her out to sit in the middle of the floor, laughing shriekily, and wouldn't let her go back to bed until in utter exasperation she named Harry Potter. She knew it was what they all wanted to hear, anyway. She'd lain back in her bed, staring up at the drawn curtains, thinking about casting a Silencing charm on them but feeling too dull to get up and do it. Wondering, suddenly, if she'd told the truth or not. In her conscious mind, she had a sort of vision of sliding into a white-sheeted bed with Harry in it while wearing a draped white nightgown. Nothing much seemed to be happening after that. What she felt for Harry seemed too pure, too shining, to be sullied by such things.

He was good.

She was not.

She had awful, ugly thoughts, frantic desires, needs, wants, emotions grabbing out at the world with hungry hands.

He did not.

She had betrayed her friends. Sent Hermione to the hospital in the very first year she was ever at Hogwarts. Terrorized the school. And then it had been necessary to risk lives even further in order to save her when she lay bound, betrayed, and dying on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets. To risk Harry's life. It stood as a black monstrous sin in her mind, and any good thing she did forever after would be weighed and found wanting because of it.

But then there was Harry, and seeing him was like glimpsing a white tower from the deck of a faraway ship; a vision of some cold and shining beauty infinitely beyond the mess she had already made of her life. Deep, deep within her was a determination to save herself for him, perhaps to save herself by saving him; to save him as he'd tried to save her, if ever she could. But she doubted it. She herself felt ruined beyond repair at fifteen. She had done since she was twelve. Sometimes she wondered if the feeling could have been any worse if the worst had happened in the Chamber of Secrets, after all.

Molly Weasley would sit at the kitchen table, her arms crossed and her head thrust forward toward one of the endless procession of friends that came for tea and sympathy. The horse-faced witches with their red faces and watery gleaming eyes, filled with pity. And, beneath that, gratitude that it hadn't happened to their daughters. And with speculation. Sooner or later, the conversation had a way of always turning to the same topic, the same question. "Was she.. you know... all right?" they'd hiss in the tone of voice used to discuss a terminal patient's condition as he lay drugged in the next bed.

"Yes, oh goodness gracious yes," her mother would always say, hurriedly. "She never could have recovered if anything had... well... happened."

"Thank Merlin for that," the other woman would murmur, and both of them would nod, sipping unnecessarily at their tea, the topic suddenly changing if Arthur Weasley came home just then, or one of her brothers bounded down the stairs. That particular part of the conversation was never enacted when men and boys were present.

Ginny dropped her head onto her knees where she sat scrunched on the stairs whenever she heard that, and she always did hear it. She haunted her own house like an eavesdropping ghost in those days, slipping from room to room more silently than any spirit. She could not seem to overcome this fascination with what was being said about her behind her back, but learning it always made her feel faint and a little sick, vaguely dirty, as if all the water in the world could never cleanse her again. Look at me, Mother, she'd silently cry. I haven't recovered now. We pretend everything is all right but it isn't. I'm screaming inside, I'm dying inside. I'm barely dragging myself through each and every day. But she'd been hiding and listening behind doors. She had no right to say these things to her mother, her mother who had such a quiet strength and innate goodness. Ginny knew that both of these things, she had possessed once. But in her, they were now shattered beyond repair.

Shattered...

Shattered...

The memories broke into a thousand pieces and bounced off the walls of her mind, disintegrating into confused dreams of snakes, red eyes, monkeylike statues, low, unpleasant whispers, Tom Riddle's face, his trailing spiderlike white hands, Grindelwald, guilt, sin, rescue, renunciation, and the touch of Draco Malfoy. "Damn you for making me do this to her," Harry Potter whispered in her ear. "Why me? Why it is always me?" And she woke, his agonized question echoing through her, shaking, her teeth clenched, struggling to remember, praying to forget.

He should not have skipped dinner, Draco decided, as he made his way to the kitchens from the dungeons. Curfew had begun ten minutes ago, but he was hungry, and needed nourishment, or he would never get any sleep that night. His trip to the kitchens was actually quite uneventful – he managed to stay out of the ways of Filch, Mrs. Norris, and whichever Prefect was patrolling the lower levels of the castle that night (another Prefect would be in charge of the upper floors, he knew). After satisfying his appetite, Draco left the kitchens, heading back to his dorm, only to come across the Prefect on duty. The fates had to be toying with him, he was sure, as he caught sight of the small red head a bit down the corridor. He stopped, and leaned against the wall, waiting for her to reach him, and chanting She’s only a Weasley! repeatedly in his head.

“Draco,” she said quietly, once she stood before him – he noticed she was avoiding looking at him. “What are you doing out of the Slytherin dungeons now?” He only shrugged, waiting for her to look up at him after the silent response. And she did. “I could take points, you know?” she smiled slightly, though he could tell she was nervous.

“You could,” he replied simply, coolly. He tried not to bang his head against the wall as her smile faltered at his tone, and she looked away again. But this was what needed to happen – what had transpired in his room earlier could not be repeated.

“You should just get back to the dungeons,” she suggested, moving to walk around him, probably to continue down the path of the hallway. He caught her scent as she passed, and – unthinkingly – he turned swiftly, grabbing her arm gently and pulling her around. He ignored her look of surprise as he pressed her back against the wall, leaning against her small form.

He shouldn’t be doing this...

His eyes darkened as they focused on her tongue, watching it slide partially out of her mouth as she licked her lips nervously.

This was wrong...

He leaned his head down, resting his forehead against her own, locking his gaze with hers.

She was a Weasley; and he was a Malfoy, damnit...

He tilted his head, and felt her lashes brush against his cheek as her eyes fluttered shut in time with his own.

Gods, help him, because he could not stop...

He finally let his lips claim what they had craved for so long: her own lips.



Ginny thought the sheer pleasure would overwhelm her. Draco's soft lips moved gently, but insistently, over hers, and her hesitation was non- existent in responding to the touch of his hot mouth. Her own lips welcomed his – almost without her consent – as she abandoned herself to the moment. There was an alarm sounding in the back of her mind, warning her of the danger he could pose – both emotionally and physically, if he followed his father's Death Eater path – but it was so distant, drowned out by the sensations Draco's touch caused in her. As he lightly tugged her bottom lip between his teeth, sucking sweetly at the pink flesh, she let her body arch against his – away from the cool stone wall her back had been pressed against – and her hands came up to rest on his chest. He seemed to take that as an invitation, and slipped his tongue out to meet her swollen flesh. She gasped slightly at the contact, and he quickly seized the opportunity to slip his tongue between her parted lips, and into her own sweet, moist mouth. She heard him groan as her hands moved up to clutch his shoulders, while he deepened their kiss, and she sighed into his mouth in response. His hands, it seemed, could no longer remain inactive. His left hand came to rest softly on her hip, as the other traced lightly over her extended arm, up past her shoulder, and fisted itself in her thick, luxurious red locks.

Finally, the need for oxygen overpowered them, and they pulled apart, both breathing heavily, welcoming the air to their lungs. Draco buried his face in Ginny's silky hair, and moved the hand that had rested on her hip, to wrap his arm around her small waist. Ginny allowed him to draw her closer, all the while trying to gather her thoughts about what had just happened. He had kissed her... Draco Malfoy had kissed her.

And she had kissed him back.

And liked it...

Her short analysis of the situation was cut off by the feel of his scorching mouth, nipping, sucking, and biting its way along her throat. Instinctively, Ginny let her head arch the side, exposing the smooth skin of her neck so that he could taste more of her. She could not suppress the moan that left her lips as he used the arm that had been wrapped around her waist to pull her up slightly, and settle his thigh between hers, before pushing his body even closer to hers, all the while working his mouth against the flesh running between the lobe of her ear and her collar bone. It felt like every part of her body was touching some part of his, and it was as though her skin was on fire. In her elevated position, Ginny easily slid her hands up from Draco's shoulders, and into his own loose, soft blond mane. His attention was still focused on the creaminess of her neck, but Ginny wanted his lips back on hers. Feeling extremely bold, she used the hands that were locked in his hair to guide him back to her waiting mouth.

This time she initiated the kiss. It was much more passionate than the last had been, as any reservations either had held seemed to have deserted them – along with all thoughts of anything other than the person they were with. Ginny could feel her heart pounding within her; it created a lovely rhythm with the beat of his own hammering heart, which she could feel as one of her hands slid down from his velvety locks to rub against his toned back. They held each other close, lost in their searing kiss, gladly drowning in one another...

Until the screeching meow of Mrs. Norris warned of Filch's imminent arrival, causing them to pull apart quickly. After shaking her head slightly to clear her mind of the passion-induced haze, Ginny warily watched to see if Draco would look at her; or if he would regret this 'exchange' as he seemed to have the last one. He did not look at her; instead he swore softly, grabbed her hand, and pulled her along – presumably in the opposite direction of Mrs. Norris. Ginny stayed quiet, and let him lead her through various corridors, although she was the Prefect on duty, and had permission to be out in the halls. She needed to understand what was going on between them. She needed to speak with him... and now seemed to be as good a time as any. Draco finally pulled them into a classroom that Ginny had never visited before. As he shut the door behind them, and leaned against it – obviously listening for signs of Filch, or professors who could punish them – she looked around the room. It had most certainly not been used in quite some time, if the layer of dust was any indication; otherwise, it looked very much like the Transfiguration classroom. After her cursory examination of the old room, Ginny let her eyes fall back onto Draco, who was now looking at her with a guarded expression.

"Draco," she began nervously – she did not know what she should say, but she knew that something had happened between them, and they needed to talk about it. Draco, it seemed, however, did not feel that the situation warranted discussion, for he cut her off.

"It should be safe to go now," he stated quietly. "I should get back to the dungeons before anyone else can come across us, and your Prefect rounds are almost over for the night," he finished, vaguely flashing his high- priced wizards' watch.

Ginny was silent for a moment, considering their current predicament: they needed to talk, but she supposed he was right – now really was not a safe time to do so. They would have to meet up later; that is, if he did not brush the whole incident off as nothing. With everything that she had felt when he had kissed her, she prayed that that would not happen. She looked at him now, and nodded slightly to show her agreement to his suggestion. She tried to speak, to ask if he would seek her out at another time, so they could explore whatever it was that they had shared mere minutes before, but her voice seemed to have abandoned her. She did not know if it was fear of rejection, or her own returning sensibilities reminding her that he was Draco Malfoy, that caused her to remain quiet. Whatever the reason, she was left to watch as he smoothly exited the room, without glancing back at her even once.

It was only when Draco sat on the bench, her next to him, her lily tinted scent filling his nose that he plucked up the courage to speak.  “Ginny,” he said quietly, reveling in the ability to say her name aloud and not just in his head like he had the last five minutes.

Her eyes locked with his, her face was solemn, and her eyes expectant.  “Yes,” she whispered.

“What I said back there,” he continued, a soft breeze distracting him slightly as it blew her crimson hair over her eyes.  His hand itched to touch her hair, gather it behind her ear and hope he caught a bit of her skin.  “What I said back there,” he repeated, “I don’t want you just as a friend.  And...and you know how I am with emotions and showing my feelings; it’s hard.  But Ginny, you make me want to change, and the only way I want to change is with you.  And I hope it doesn’t sound too forward, and I hope it doesn’t seem too brutish of me, but I would really like to fall in love with you.”

Her face remained blank, and for a fleeting moment, Draco thought he’d said the wrong thing.  And when a tear, a single, crystalline tear, rolled down her cheek, he became thoroughly convinced he’d said the wrong thing.  Her lips trembled, and Draco regretted every word he said.

“Ginny, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly.  “I’m so sorry.  I’ll take it back, all of it.  Just don’t cry, please, I’ll take it back.”

Another tear slid down her cheek, and she whispered in a broken voice, “You would?”

Her eyes were pleading, her face a puzzle, and Draco didn’t know how to solve it. He had fallen in love with a hugely complex person.  Draco steeled himself and looked her straight in the eye.  He brought his hand to her cheek, capturing the wisps of ruby hair flying about her face, and tucked it behind her ear securely, running his fingers through the ends of her hair and grabbing a light hold on her shoulders.  He looked her straight in her bronze-colored eyes and saw hope.  Ravenous butterflies were soaring in his belly, and they were moving at light speed at what she said next.

“Please, Draco, tell me,” she whispered, her full lips caressing the words softly.

“No,” he answered.  “Not for anything would I ever take it back.”

Her eyes shone brightly, and Draco couldn’t help himself.  He leaned closer, his nose automatically invaded by the scent of lilies combined with her own original smell.  He could practically taste her tears.  And slowly, slower than Draco had ever moved in his life, he brought his lips to hers.

White hot contact jarred his senses, and he fought for control over himself.  He’d never felt this, not ever.  He doubted if he ever would again, unless it was with her.  Unless it was with his sweet Ginny.  Her lips moved against his in a velvety, horizontal motion, and he felt her soft hands on his chest.  What did it in for him was when her soft, sweet tongue brushed his lips lightly, questioningly.

Well, if she insisted...

His tongue shot in her mouth, his arms tightening around her instinctively.  She practically liquefied in his arms, a soft murmuring of content all he could hear over his own thudding heartbeat.  She tasted like nothing he’d ever experienced.  She was chill and clear, warm and inviting.  He allowed himself the guilty pleasure of tangling his hands in her hair and reveling in its full, silky smoothness.

She sighed a light, melodic sigh, and Draco had to stop.  It was getting too hot for him right then.  He almost laughed.  Hot in the middle of winter with a fire spirit kissing him.  Of course he was hot.  But he was hot in more than one way.

Her eyes were closed when he pulled away, her sweet breath hit his face caressingly as she exhaled quietly.  The air fogged around her breath, and Draco couldn’t help a brief smile.  He’d kissed a fire spirit.  It was hot.

Her eyes opened, her unearthly bronze eyes, and he stopped, immediately sobered.  “I have a confession,” she said in a whisper.  A small smile hit her lips, the kind where only the corner of her mouth turned up.  “I rather hoped I would get kissed today.”

Draco couldn’t help himself.  He pulled her to him, almost too roughly, and kissed her again, the heady feeling of power flowing through him as she returned the kiss eagerly.  He felt dizzy like he’d never experienced when he pulled away again, looking into her dazzling gold-streaked eyes.

He wasn’t ever going to let her up.  He was never going to give her up.

Too excited to stay quiet, she nagged her father to take her and the twins to Diagon Alley early that summer, right after they'd gotten home, to celebrate their return. He, to their displeasure, invited Ron along, and they all set out, her mother looking on disapprovingly. It was only the ninth or tenth time that she'd ever been away from the Burrow and the land surrounding it, and she desperately wanted a chance to sneak into Knockturn Alley with the twins again. They didn't have enough time, though, and on their way to meet up with their father and Ron at an ice cream shop, they shot the Alley yearning glances.

Then she saw them and her world flipped upside down.

There were two young boys, her age, standing freely where she so wanted to be, the shade cast by the afternoon sun trailing over them like an affectionate caress. The night within her began howling with primal longing that ate at her, demanded that she move forward, that she clutch at destiny's very throat and shake it into submission, and she whimpered from the intensity of it all, her heart picking up pace as that familiar trickle of fear washed through her. The boys' hair, gods, their hair screamed out to her, the colors even more vibrant than in her dreams, like the thick paint on an palette before a brush is running through it and spreading it on the canvas.

But no mere paint, muggle or mage alike, could match those colors, could perfect those startling shades. No paint on the planet could capture the dark, shifting glow of the sapphire-bright strands running through all of that ebony, and not even substituting paint for pure liquid mercury could do the other's justice. She saw two images as she soaked in everything about them that she could, one more solid than the other, as if there was a them, and then a ghost them hovering right outside of their skin. The 'real' ones were the ones that she was utterly taken by, that glorious hair falling past their shoulders, the dangerous darkness in their eyes highlighting that spot of fear.

The misty images, the ones wavering around them like skin that didn't fit quite right, had shorter hair, the black sheared off enough to curl slightly, and the silver slicked back without a strand out of place to flutter in the breeze. And those eyes…those eyes reminded her of her own when she glanced in the mirror and she was around other people, that natural, fake expression of childish ignorance, and it seemed so much more wrong on them, since she could see the brilliant, dark knowledge shining out from their true eyes. Her head started swimming and she thought that she might pass out, her knees weak and her breathing erratic.

And the night still howled and howled.

"Ginny?" The twins asked, and she could only murmur a reply slowly, so slowly, because she felt as if she were in a dream after all, colors and flashes of pale flesh racing through her mind in a continuous circle, like a wheel turning madly, one that she couldn't stop, didn't want to stop, even as it terrified her.

"Black and silver…blue and mercury."

Everything made so much sense and yet none at all, and it wasn't until the two boys were whispering into each other's hair, pressed together as snugly as puzzle pieces, that inconceivably blue eyes lifted and met hers, and those lips froze. A second later, silver followed their path, and she was like the deer that she came across at night, the limber, graceful creatures that would stop everything so completely when they saw her, as if they knew, somehow, that they were prey to the darkness inside her. And she knew, right then and there, that she was prey to those boys' darkness, prey to anything they wanted her to be prey to, as long as it was for them and only them.

The twins drug her away, their eyes wide as they muttered something about being late, their gazes still locked onto the two that she couldn't rip her own away from. She knew who they were, anyone would upon seeing that hair and those eyes, no matter if they saw the true image or the glamour, and she knew, more than she knew anything else, that to one of her bloodline, they were forbidden and had been ever since the Weasleys had split from the dark centuries ago. They would cost her everything if she gave in to them, her name and her family and her life as she knew it, but she didn't care about those things anyway, except for the twins.

Let it all burn and fade. Let a new age arise from the ashes of the old.

no NC-17?  Well then I'll just tell you the scene-

In Darkknight's series (I can't remember which part) There is a scene where Crabbe walks in on them, but doesn't know Ginny is there.  Draco tells him he's sick, but the truth is Ginny's...umm...doing some stuff to him.  This scene cracks me up, its definitely one of my favorites

~714

Many of my favorite scenes have already been posted, but I came across this witty and devilishly sexy one-shot. It is very short, so I just added the entire bit.

It is by insoka and is entitled The Morning After. It is from ffnet, and can be found at: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2613073/1/

Enjoy!!!!    

Ginny froze.

Midsentence, she just stopped. Her unblinking eyes were fixed on a point just beyond Ron’s head, and she didn’t move. She didn’t even breathe.

Draco Malfoy had just entered the Great Hall. Draco Malfoy in Muggle clothing. He was wearing jeans and a black fitted tee that only served to accentuate his lean frame. Like his clothing, the dark purple bruise on is neck contrasted sharply with his pale skin and the white-blond hair that was left loose, for once.

But, aside from this, aside from the clothing, the hickey, the hair…

There was something else. Something that had the entirety of the Great Hall frozen in its seat – stunned.

Draco Malfoy was smiling. Not a smirk, not a sneer, not a malicious look promising pain, suffering, and fun for him. An easy-going grin that lit up his entire face, making his mercurial eyes sparkle. All eyes watched as he casually swung his legs over the bench of Slytherin table and sat down to breakfast.

It was Pansy Parkinson who finally broke the silence when she leaned toward the boy sitting next to her and tentatively asked, “Draco?”

He didn’t respond.

This, of course, only served to heighten the whispers rapidly spreading through the Great Hall.

“He’s possessed.”

“He’s cracked.”

“He’s smiling.”

“He’s hot.”

“Did you see his neck!”

“He was attacked.”

“Who did it?”

“I wish I had.”

Completely ignoring the barely contained rumors and accusations flying around her, Ginny watched Draco, as she often did. He didn’t turn to anyone; he didn’t talk to anyone; he just ate, and he never stopped smiling. For all intents and purposes, he was completely alone in his own little world – smiling.

“He’s planning something.”

“He’s insane.”

He was insane. What the hell did he think he was doing? Ginny couldn’t believe it. So much for secrecy.

Silence reigned once more as Draco stood up. One would have expected him to leave, but the fact of the matter was, no one knew what to expect anymore. Not one to disappoint, Draco strolled over to Gryfinndor. He sat down on the bench next to, of all people, Ginny Weasley. Facing the opposite direction and leaning back against the table, Draco stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. Eyes twinkling with barely suppressed mirth, Draco turned to face the red-head.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” she breathed, her voice a mixture of caution and bemusement. Her eyes darted to the side to see Harry and Hermione grab her brother and hold him firmly in place.

Turning, Draco faced her fully, looking into her eyes. Leaning in, he confided, “So, I have this theory. I think I’ve been an insufferable git all these years just because I’ve really, really, needed to get laid.”

The corner of Ginny’s mouth kicked up, and it was all she could do to keep from bursting out in laughter.

“When you were eleven?”

Draco looked skyward and slightly bit his lip. ######, he was being distracting.

“Well…” he drawled.

“One might argue that I’d never really been happy before, and you-make-me-happy, BUT,” he met her eyes once more and asserted, “I really think I just needed to get laid.”

“So,” he said, standing abruptly, “Wanna go to Hogsmeade?”

She couldn’t help smiling as she took the hand being proffered.

“Certainly.”

She couldn’t resist. As she stood, she leaned over and placed her lips upon the dark blemish on his neck, sucking lightly. Pulling back, she grinned wickedly. Draco smirked at her, and together they exited the Great Hall – smiling.

Glad to be of service, DarkenedQuasar.

*fidgets a bit nervously* Errr... this next one isn't, um, exactly D/G... but again I feel it meets the requirements for the topic since I absolutely adore the wonderful D/G-ness that's implied. I figured I might get away with it since H/Hr is a PK ship, and nobody would be able to deny Draco and Ginny's adorable spawn.

Mod note: I admit that this scene is very cute, but basically this thread is about D/G scenes that make us gush and drool and do other undignifying things. This means that Draco and Ginny should actually be the important people in the scene. I won't delete this, but please refrain from posting excerpts like that in the future. Crys and Tina, if you think I'm wrong, say so. That's just my opinion; ~Szaranea

No, you're right, Ri. Thanks. We'll let this one stay because its related, and plus it is from a DG fic. --Faith/Crystal



EDIT: Just in case you couldn't tell, Liam is Draco (whom he calls "Da") and Ginny's son, as is Gareth. Liam is very much like Draco while Gareth is more like Ginny. I have to read these stories again, because I'm not 100% certain who Noah was... I'm guessing Harry and Hermione's kid.

Daria-

Good morning. I know that my breath is probably rancid, but there’s no one here, other than mum and dad, to smell it. However, I found the prospect of writing in you far more entertaining than personal hygiene. Now, don’t you feel special....YOU SHOULD!!!

I have to tell someone about the rest of last night. Not that there’s a lot left, but you know. I can’t tell anyone else. They would get ‘angry’ because of the infamous Weasley temper. (Which reminds me, Malfoy hasn’t been properly introduced to that. Unless you count that incident in his fifth year in which I hexed him to oblivion.) The rest of my family doesn’t even know that I work for Malfoy. I think Ron and Harry and Hermione and Luna are on speaking terms with him now, though. I heard Ron call him a ‘bastard’ recently. He did say it good naturedly though. Look at me! I’m a smart one! I read in between the lines! Spiffy cool!

So I told you that we bantered on the way there. That’s not entirely true. Through my massive hangover I have recently discovered that I irritated. I WAS BRILLIANT LAST NIGHT!

Flash from the PAST:

“Are we there, yet?”

“Nope.”

“What about now?”

“Nope.”

“Now!” I hounded. He sighed really loudly because I heard it and everything. He stopped walking and turned around. I wasn’t so quick to stop and crashed into him. I would have kept walking just out of pure spite, but he was blocking me. THAT BASTARD! He must’ve had spiteful thoughts in my direction as well. I think I was standing north.

“How about this, Ginevra,” he stated. I love how he says my name. It’s like he drawls it, but it’s greatly amusing to say. Because my name is fun to say. Ginevra. Ginevra. Ginevra. Ginevra....I’m done now. I also think Ginny is too common for him to say. My name doesn’t even exist. I checked the muggle baby dictionary and everything. Ginny is in there it means: From the name Virginia. Which is incredibly wrong. Virginia means virginal, while that is true enough, it won’t be forever. People call me Virginia all the time, but I simply correct them. Malfoy never asked for my name. HOW DID HE KNOW!! He’s the only person who calls me Ginevra. Everyone else calls me Ginny, Gin, or Gin-Gin. Forge (Fred and George are too long so I refer to them as a unit now) calls me Virginia just to spite me. Then I just call them dillweeds and that’s the end of that argument. Anyways, as Malfoy was saying. “When I open up a door to a house, we’re there.”

“That works!” I exclaimed brightly. I never thought of it like that. Being drunk and all. He’s not totally loose when drunk. If he was we would have had sex last night. I wasn’t completely rational last night.

I staggered behind him. My shoes were evil. I swear to all deities that they wanted to devour my feet. I got a good look at his backside. It was rather nice. I always like compliments on my arse. That was the reasoning for my next comment. “Have you ever been a model?”

He stopped again. I crashed into the backside I mentioned just moments before. I swore to myself right then that next time he decided to do that I would hop upon his back. “Excuse me, I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“I mean you have a world class arse. You must know.” He muttered under his breath when I said this. It sounded like ‘only you.’ I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. I think he knew that I heard him mumble.

“Only you would say that,” he repeated. As if I hadn’t heard him the first time! He didn’t look angry though. I couldn’t place the look on his face, honestly. “You don’t see just everyone walking around saying stuff like that. I don’t tell you that your breasts are nice, do I? I admire that about you.”

I placed my hands on my chest. “You think they’re nice?” I smiled. No one has ever said that to me before. I’ve always been self-conscious about them. They’re stupid and uncomfortable....sometimes. I find it funny when boys look at them and no where else.

He started walking again, but then stopped. I checked the mental note and hopped on his back. “Don’t let it go to your head or anything,” he stated. I smirked. He didn’t make a fuss about me being on his back. He simply looked at my shoes and carried me.

Then we got to the house. I would describe my reaction to it, but I believe I did it yesterday. All that I will say today was that it was quaint a place where I would want to live. I told Malfoy, “I thought you lived in like an old manor or something.”

“Not until I take a bride,” he smirked. “Let’s just say that I don’t plan on living there for quite some time.”

“Don’t you want to get married, Malfoy?” I smirked. I was making fun of him and he knew it. ###### good thing that he was in a better mood then than he had been earlier yesterday evening.

“I’m twenty-one. What do you think?” He opened the door and I walked inside. He beckoned for me to sit down beside him. I obliged.

“I think you’re seriously considering it due to your mother.”

“What about you? Do you want to get married at the ripe old age of twenty-one?”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” I shrugged. “As long as I love him enough. Age doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, but him and me and forever.”

“Forever,” he muttered. “It’s a very long time.”

“It’s an eternity, but when you love someone you should crave the next day because it means another day with them.”

“You ever been in love?” he murmured. I shook my head with much fervor. I may not have ever been in love, but I have seen enough movies and read enough trashy romance novels to know one or two things about it.

“Some things you just know. I’ve been fantasizing about Mr. Right forever and in my lusty teenage years I fantasized about just someone who was good. The guys that I wanted to spend forever with didn’t seem that good in bed.”

Malfoy coughed. I think it sounded suspiciously like Potter, but what do I know. I decided to glare at him anyways and he smiled innocently. I am soooo positive that he did say Harry. Well, Daria I am looking over what I wrote so far and have decided that I have a brilliant memory. I can remember everything crystally, even if I was a tad drunk. You can’t see it yet, but just you wait a few minutes and its guaranteed entertainment. I’m personally mortified as I think back. Gods! I don’t want to face Malfoy today!

“Are you alright there, Malfoy?” I asked sweetly. He smirked again widely. I wanted to smack it off his face, but refrained. He is my employer. Which reminds me. Let’s fastforward a few minutes. All we did talk about is his being good in bed, again. Nine point five! ######!

"Malfoy? Can I still irritate you in the café? You won’t fire me or anything, will you?”

“Ginevra,” he smirked. “I’d be honoured if you would continue your irritating behaviour in the café. Mornings just won’t be the same without you.” Ten galleons says that once he sobers up he’ll regret saying that. Do you know what I just noticed? I haven’t called Malfoy something permanently in this Diary. I’ve bounced back and forth. First it was Draco Malfoy, then Malfoy, then Draco, now Malfoy again. It’s weird. I think it reflects my feelings. Have I called him Draco to his face yet? He calls me by my first name. Probably because saying ‘Weasley’ reminds him of Ron and he doesn’t want to have dinner with Ron. Wait a second! Why would he want to have dinner with me? Sheer boredom!? I’m sooo confuserated (it’s one of my words. Sod off!) I shan’t dwell upon such matters when I could be thinking of much happier things (like ways to irritate Draco today!) Cackles evilly. Being evil is so much fun.

“I’m not used to this hosting thing,” he said. I’m getting back on target now. “I forgot to ask. Do you want anything to drink?”

“A Malfoy?” I gasped in horror. “Not used to hosting.”

He snorted. “Yeah, that’s my mum. I hated all those evil parties I had to sit through. Correction. Have. There’s one on New Years. Do you want to come?”

“I need a dress.”

“Buy one,” he shrugged. I think he temporarily forgot who he was talking to. He was awfully drunk.

“What are you wearing?”

“Whatever I grab.”

“What?!” I asked. That was not an answer that I was expecting. I was expecting like something that I couldn’t pronounce if I tried.

“Pick a number.”

“Huh?”

“Pick a number. One though seventeen.”

“Thirteen point two.”

“Smart-arse. Thirteen point two rounds down to thirteen which means....the black one.”

“Do you have bread?”

“...Yes...” I think he was worried about my sanity again. I love it when he gets worried about my sanity he gives me the funniest look!!

“What of jam?”

“...I have that, too....any particular reason?” he asked finally. I know that it was killing him not to know why I was asking for bread and jam and all that other fun stuff.

“Can I make toast?” I hope I looked at him like I had envisioned in my mind. It was the cutest look. He stood up. I did, too. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to make you toast,” he clarified. I began to shake my head furiously. So fast, in fact, I was worried for a second there that it would fly off. He caught my head in his hands and held it still so I could look in his eyes. I think he was scared that it would fly off, too. “No?”

“I want to make it,” I pouted. “You’ll burn it.”

“I’m fully capable of making a bit of toa-” he started, I once again had to put my hand on his mouth to shut him up.

“No, I want to make it,” I clarified. I REALLY wanted to make toast. Why couldn’t he just see that? The dolt. “Do you want some?”

“....Sure,” he said after a brief pause. I looked around at all of the options I had from doors. I decided to go with the swinging one. I was right! How often does that happen? I only chose it because I wanted to see if it would swing back and hit me in the face like in the movies. You know what? I don’t think I saw a TV in that whole house. Man! Malfoy belongs in the Dark Ages! (at his house at least, his office is very high-tech. I was shocked.) Who doesn’t have a TV! I have one!....Actually, it’s my parents, but is that relevant? No.

However, Malfoy did have a Wizarding Wireless and I switched it on. The Weird Sisters were playing and I decided to turn it up as high as it would go. I danced around his kitchen searching for bread. He was incredibly organized. Who has a bloody bread box! Honestly! So when I found it I preformed the charm to toast the bread. It takes a whole thirty seconds and when it had been five seconds I got bored. I decided that I needed to have some fun. I summoned the jam and butter and made them, along with the toast, fly around the room. They were going around me in a circle and I was spinning around and around and around and around and around.....you get the picture. I was incredibly dizzy by the time the toast was done. I buttered it and put the jam on it and put them on two plates when I turned around Malfoy was watching me, laughing. I don’t understand what was so funny.

“You know, in twenty-one years I have never met anyone who even compares to you,” he stated. Was it a compliment or an insult? I know not. It doesn’t matter. I smirked widely at him and floated his slice of toast over to him. Was that a proper sentence? Who bloody cares? Can it be a slice of toast? Or is slice confirmed bread?

“You’re pretty unique yourself, Malfoy. When one first meets you, you’re a bit uptight and tightly wound and anal.....” I trailed off. I didn’t know what I was bantering on about. “What was I saying?”

“How uptight, tightly wound, and anal I am,” he stated, pulling himself up on the countertop. I hopped up beside him, crossed my legs, and began to eat my toast.

“Oh! Right! Anyways, you’re not really like that. Not really. You’re quite the opposite, if I do say so myself. I don’t have a fun time hanging out with a lot of people, but I enjoy time in your company.”

“Well,” he shrugged. “It could be the company or it could be the alcohol consumption.”

I smirked. We chatted a bit more, but nothing noteworthy. My hand is getting tired and I want to go to the café before work. However, I will say that Mum and Dad noticed my absence and I got in trouble....just a tad. I better get dressed. Until later

“Could you move the bed from up against the wall?”

“Sure,” he shrugged and did so. Ron entered the room.

“You’ve put him to use, have you?” Ron asked.

“Yep, your best friend is lugging furniture around for me. Do you have a problem with that?” asked Jenny raising an eyebrow.

“But, shhhh,” whispered Draco. “It’s an illicit affair. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Our families would cast us aside and forget us and our forbidden love,” Jenny stated looking down at the ground. Ron shook himself.

“I’m not emotionally ready to handle this,” Ron stated and left. Draco and Jenny both laughed. It was better than the last reaction they had gotten from him when they did that in the kitchen at their home.

“You can always rely on Jon,” she smiled. They started to paint. After they had finished the room sometime later, Draco leaned up against the wall to observe his handiwork.

“It looks pretty good,” he said admiring the previously painted wall. Jenny started giggling madly. “What?”

“That wall is wet,” she laughed. Draco looked at his backside and sure enough it was yellow.

“You find this funny?” he asked, she snorted in reply. He got paint on his brush and painted her cheek.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” she yelled and whipped out her paintbrush. She ran it up his arm. He painted her nose and she painted his cheek also. He dipped his brush in the paint again and she ran around the room trying to get away from him. “Devon, no!”

“Say please.” he smirked.

“Please!” she pleaded.

“Please what?” he asked and ran the brush over her forehead.

“Come on, you idiot!” she shouted as she painted over his jawline, laughing. “You realize that this is not washable paint.”

“Yep!” he smirked and ran the brush over her eyebrow. “But what are you worrying about? You look good in yellow.”

“You’re sweet,” she cooed. “You don’t look too bad in yellow yourself.”

“I know,” Draco smirked. “But maybe we should try to get it off if we’re going to go to school sometime in the next month.”

“I thought I looked good in yellow,” she sat down on the bed and he sat down next to her. She looked up her arm and sighed. “Look at me I’m covered in paint.”

“Well, so am I,” he smiled.

“We could probably make it a trend,” she smirked. “We go to school like this and everyone starts coming to school yellow.”

“That would be horrible,” they both sat with the visions of the whole school painted yellow. Draco shook himself. “We should wash it off.”

“Yeah,” Jenny agreed and they walked into the bathroom. She sat on the counter. They both began to wash themselves. “It’s not coming off,” she stated through gritted teeth.

“Stop! You’re making yourself go red. Don’t scrub yourself so hard. You have to do it gently.” He took the washcloth from her and gently ran the rag over her face.

“Is it working?” she asked, slowly touching his hand.

“Yeah,” he said, using magic to get it off. Draco didn’t know what made him do it, if it was the moment, or the fact that she looked beautiful even covered in paint, but he leant forward and captured her lips with his. He just felt her cooler lips open up under his. Her hand came up and she ran her fingers through his hair and slid down off the counter. He began to run his hands up and down her back. They separated and Draco touched her forehead to his.

“Malfoy? Are you in there! You dad is here mumbling something about your crazy grandfather,” came Ron’s voice.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” Draco answered. “I’ll see you later.”

“Alright,” she said a little dazed, but regained composure. “This time you initiated a kiss, next time I get to.”

“Deal,” he agreed, and he kissed her again before heading out the door.

“That’s two,” she stated.

“Don’t you think I won’t hold you to it either,” he smiled and left.

I've been to France," Nicole stated simply. "Mommy took us there many times. It's not very far away."

Yeah, but when one evil bastard is making sure you're left clueless, France can be light years away from England, he thought bitterly, the vein in his neck throbbing dangerously.

"I never meant to stay away so long, and I don't know what I can say that'll convince you of that," he said quietly, looking earnestly down at his daughter. "But if I had known, I promise you, I wouldn't have let a day go by without trying to see you."

Nicole was quiet for a few minutes, silently contemplating the earnest adult standing before her. She looked back at her mother, her face thoughtful.

"I heard Uncle Ron talk about a Draco turning into a ferret, Mommy. It's him, isn't he," Nicole asked innocently, unaware of the air of danger emanating from her father, his expected reaction when reminded of that embarrassing episode of his youth.

Ginny bit her lip, hard, to keep from smiling. She knew how much Draco must have hated being reminded about that bit of transfiguration he had been subjected to, but it was just too good a moment to pass up.

"Yes, honey, that's him."

Draco glared at Ginny; he had tried to put that particular memory as far back into his subconscious as he possibly could. The last thing he needed was a reminder of it courtesy of a little girl a third his size, and the redheaded witch who had just turned his life upside down inside of an hour.

"Can I see it then?"

The request sounded innocent enough, but when Draco saw the sly look his daughter was giving him under lowered lashes, and the slight upward movement of one side of her mouth, he didn't even think about moderating his language.

"Hell, no! When I'm dead and buried, maybe; then again, maybe not! But I will not hear of any talk about turning anyone into a ferret when I'm around. Least of all me!"

"Draco! Mind your tongue, young man!" Narcissa rose from her seat majestically and stood beside Ginny, glaring at her son.

"She smirked at me!" Draco complained, gesturing at Nicole. "If she can do that then she can do a lot of other things."


++Sweet Bondage++ by MercyAller1977

If the rumors were true, Malfoy had a sex drive as high -- if not higher -- than Amelia's. Curiosity assailed Ginny as she wondered what it might be like to be with someone like that. Would he be able to show her something new? Or would he cement what she already knew, that sex simply didn't feature highly in Ginny's list of priorities? Or perhaps she would learn that men like Draco Malfoy might like to have a lot of sex, but were selfish, inconsiderate lovers who continued to acquire sexual partners due to their wealth or status. At the very least, Ginny would never have to wonder 'what if?' -- she would know.

"What guarantees do I have that this would be worth my while?" she ventured boldly.

One ash-blond eyebrow threatened to climb into his hairline. "The same guarantees I have, I suppose."

"It's not the same and you know it," Ginny said, wondering where on earth she was getting all this gumption. "You're a man. You'll like it no matter what we do."

"It would hardly be satisfying if you were to lie there like a block of wood. How am I to ensure that you will be as diligent in your performance as I can assure you I will be in mine?"

Of course, now Ginny felt honor bound to defend herself. "I'll live up to my end of things, don't you worry about that!"

"I don't suppose I could challenge such a spirited defense," he said, eyes gleaming. "If you say you'll give as good as you get, then I'm inclined to believe you. However, perhaps it would be beneficial for us both to have additional assurances. Therefore, perhaps -- a demonstration?"

"What sort of demonstration?" she asked, throat suddenly dry.

"Just a small one," he answered huskily, and Ginny was unable to avert her eyes from the intensity of his blue-gray gaze. "I wouldn't want you to think I was trying to cheat you. If you are unimpressed with the demonstration, you may, of course, cease the proceedings at once, with my apologies."

"And if the demonstration is ... satisfactory?" Ginny's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Then," he said, his eyes darkening, "you're mine."

#

Draco drew Terminus Est from its scabbard and held it lightly for a moment, balancing its weight. The roses carved into the blade seemed to glimmer. He spoke to Ginny without taking his eyes from Harry: "You've never seen me fight before, have you?" he asked. His tone was even and conversational, but his gaze never left the figures moving below.
Ginny shook her head. "No - never."
Draco exhaled. "Well, brace yourself," he said. "You're going to want to sleep with me even more after this."
Ginny sputtered. "I would never - "
-Draco Veritas (Cassandra Claire)

“How's my babysitter?” Ginny grinned.

“How's the baby carrier?” Harry bantered back, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“How's the man flirting with my wife?”

“Dad!” The twins chorused as the owner of the voice came into view.

Harry turned and saw Draco Malfoy gather both of his children in his arms, lifted them, and spun them in a circle to their delight. Harry never failed to feel that pang of envy and longing every time he saw this picture. He looked at Ginny and they shared a sad smile.

Ginny had already regarded him as her brother, and it hurt when she saw him look that way. She knew he was thinking of the girl who was a sister to her, and how life would have been for him if she didn't disappear one morning, twelve years ago.

“Harry…”

Draco dragged his twins with him and walked towards Harry. With that trademarked sneer, he held his hand to him in greeting.

“Welcome back, Potter!” -Crestfallen (coven)

"You're so lucky, Ginny," said some girl I wasn't sure even went to Hogwarts.

While the girls were fawning over Malfoy's stupid card and the guys around me were fuming, I caught a glimpse of what Malfoy had written on the inside. It said, very simply:

I love you.

Oh, bloody effing hell.
-Why I'm Glad Ginny is Dating Draco Malfoy (Sarea Okelani)

“Weasley!” Draco called, jogging to catch up.

Ginny didn’t even turn round, but said in surprise, “What, coach?”

“Nothing really,” Draco admitted, falling into step beside her. “Just had to get away from Blaise and his weird sixth sense.”

“Sixth sense?” Ginny threw him a sideways glance. “I would say Zabini’s claim on the first five is slippery at best.”

This startled a chuckle out of Draco, which he covered ineffectually with a cough. “He’s quite sharp, but sometimes he can be unbearably smug.”

“Gosh, where have I seen that before?” Ginny asked innocently.

Draco scowled. “At the rate you’re going, when you get back on the team you’re not ever going to able to play because you’ll spend be spending the rest of your Quidditch days doing laps.”

“Oh, coach, did you think I was talking about you?” she said sweetly, skipping up the steps.

“Your subtlety is like a cannon, Weasley – loud and to the point,” Draco retorted. He paused. “So – any word from your parents?”

“Not a peep,” Ginny said with what sounded to Draco like studied calm. “But I wasn’t really expecting anything. It wasn’t that long ago that I sent them the letter, was it?”

“No, I suppose not.” Draco bit his lip. “Only, the match with Ravenclaw is not at all far away, you know.”

“Oh, really?” Ginny’s voice was rather colder. “Forgive me, coach, but consider how much worse this is for me than for you. You still have enough Chasers to play – ”

“They aren’t you, Weasley!” he snapped before he realized what he was saying.

“What?” Ginny actually stopped walking. So did Draco, but he couldn’t look at her.

“You heard me,” he muttered.

At 12:00 pm on a breezy Sunday afternoon Draco Malfoy was killed by the Avada Kedavra curse.

I wandered if he ever loved me. I wandered if the reason he stopped and stared at me that day was because he was struck by our love. I wandered if he enjoyed killing Ron, enjoyed the feeling of stripping away a person I loved most from me. I wandered that if I hadn’t killed him, I might have gone up and snogged the sense out of him. I wandered if I could still love the monster he had become.

And somewhere, deep inside me, under the layers of denial and hate, I would picture his face, the perfection that was him, the essence that was him that rocked my body still. And I would know.

Sometimes, when it’s late at night and the lights are out, I let my mind wander.

Back to that breezy afternoon.

Back to the day my brother died.

Back to the day I killed him.

And I realize I still love him anyway

Draco's jaw dropped, "Eh?"

The Weasley girl, it seemed, was standing there in rather doubtful attire, and staring at him in a way he was definitely sure her brother would not approve of.

She raised her right hand towards him, and he took a step backwards. Certainly she didn't expect him to kiss it? What the bloody hell was wrong with her?

"Sod off, Weasley," he finally managed, and brushed past her.

Ginny turned around, confused and hurt, as Ron rushed at her.
"Are you off your rocker?" he yelled disbelievingly, grabbing her arm, "Get back here and sit down."

"What insolence!" roared Ginny, white with rage, "Do not lay another finger on me, you ill-mannered scoundrel, or I shall see to it that you regret the very day you were born!"
She stormed out, followed hurriedly by Hermione and Ally.

Draco paced around his room. So Pansy had been messing around with the Weasley girl's head. Trust her to stick her nose into something that wasn't her business.

He furrowed his brow in confusion. Surprisingly, he didn't feel as happy or relieved as he should normally have been. He was free now. He would have all his evenings to himself, and he could stay firmly in the middle of his circle of Slytherins.

He thought of her again, smiling up at him. He thought of her ridiculous outfits. He thought of how her hair fell across her face. He thought of all those times he had forgotten he was supposed to dislike her.

He stopped pacing and sat down heavily. He realized that she might not want to speak to him again, that this was probably the end.

And he suddenly realized that he would miss her.

She faltered for a minute and looked up at him.
“Why did you kiss me?” she asked quietly.

Draco flinched.
There was a long pause.
“Because I wanted to,” he said finally. “Because you looked remarkably pretty. Because I guessed that it would be our last day together… Take your pick.”

Ginny flushed.

“All you seem to think,” continued Draco, “is that it was so extremely good of me to play Sir James to your Elspeth.”
He grinned at her.
“Let me tell you something. If I hadn’t wanted to do it, I wouldn’t have.”

Ginny shuffled her toe in the dust.
“I think I’d better go.”

“How about a walk?” asked Draco abruptly.

“A walk?”

“Yeah,” said Draco. “We haven’t done that in a while, and it ought to be fun.”

“Fun?”

“What are you?” asked Draco peevishly. “Some kind of bloody echo?”

They lay facing one another in silence, waiting, waiting for somebody to answer the unasked question: What the hell are we doing? She leaned forward on her elbow and began to speak, but she stopped herself, kissing him with all the passion she couldn't confess verbally instead. His hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her flush against him and tilting her head up.

"I know, I know, I know," he whispered. "I feel the same as you."

“Oof!” Draco couldn’t believe he made such an inelegant sound as he tripped and fell.



“Hey! Get off of —”



Oh, apparently he had tripped over someone daft enough to be lying down on the path. (Never mind, he had actually walked off the path towards the lake and so it was really not unreasonable for someone to be lying down there to soak in the sun.)



The girl had stopped shouting and he turned to see what had made her stop so abruptly. Oh, yes, she was staring at his arse. Well, that happened.



Draco stood up and dusted himself off, not bothering to help her. He peered into the shallow waters of the lake and frowned at his less than impeccable appearance.



“Thanks for helping me up!” The girl shouted behind him.



“No need to thank me for supporting woman suffrage and all. A bloke does what he can.” Ugh, there was a smudge of dirt on his face. He raised a hand to wipe it off. No, maybe he should keep it there and come up with an interesting story for Sophia. Like he was fighting a wild boar or something. Or maybe something with three heads. “What has three heads?”



“Huh?”



“Oh, you’re still there,” Draco said disinterestedly as he took a glance at her over his shoulder. Wild red hair all over the place. And freckles everywhere. What the hell was she doing in the sun anyway? Was she trying to get freckles on her freckles or some ###### like that?

Damn, she looked really familiar. He turned to fully face her and eyed her up and down. Yes, he knew her but he couldn’t really place her. She was too short for him to have dated. And of course, she was rather plain too. And the way she dressed. The skirt was too long, making her look even shorter than she probably was. The button down shirt — very unsexy. He surmised that she was one of the younger professors here. Probably had tea with Longbottom and talked about the shape of plant leaves or something equally boring. Nothing at all like even the most unconventional of princesses that he had come across in his two year stint as a fairytale hunter.



“What are you looking at, you ###### ponce?” she shouted, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring daggers at him. “And what are you wearing? You look like a giant Brussels sprout."



"I DO not," he responded emphatically, imitating her pose. "I may be wearing Brussels sprout green" - and for which he had no shame; he looked good in practically any shade of green - "but I certainly strike no resemblance to a vegetable."



"Well, then, you look like a ###### fairy.”



And Draco smiled. The hunt was over.

Ginny clambered onto him again, this time fumbling to unbuckle his belt, her fingers slipping on the carefully engraved silver, over the winding snake of the Slytherin crest.

Draco, unaffected, looked down to observe what she was trying to do. "What exactly is it you're trying to do now?" He wondered.

"Shag you," she said hurriedly, finally getting the belt buckle to cooperate, and watched as the pieces slid apart. "If… if I do, I can just—just forget about Dean. And, besides, it'll get Ron bleeding angry, at the same time." Now she plucked open the button to his trousers, and Draco watched, unflinchingly.

"What did I say about your not being able to just have your way with me?" He said, a warning tone in his words.

"Shut up," she said, trying to get his zipper down, and failing, as her fingers, sweaty with nerves, fumbled. The zipper instead became caught for a moment on the track, and she pulled her hands away for a moment and heaved a sigh.

"You have to pull it outward a bits, and then down," said Draco, "they're vintage."

Bewildered, Ginny looked at him strangely. Then she followed the directions, and looked down at his pants, open.

She could see his silk boxers through the open fly, green and resting elegantly against his pale skin.

Draco, uninterested, looked around him, and spotting a book, propped it open on his chest and began to read.

Ginny was still looking at his open pants, contemplating their situation.

"What are you doing, checking for fleas?" said Draco, suddenly, tilting the book sideways so he could give her a sharp glare. "Get on with it already," he urged.

"Look, it's not as if you're being very cooperative," she snarled, "just laying there—reading a book for God's sake."

"You're lucky I'm lying still," he said, "it's far beyond what a Weasley deserves. And honestly, what are you waiting for?"

"I was—" she paused. "Well, I was sort of expecting Dean to tell Ron what he'd seen, and if I'd wait long enough in such a … suspicious position, Ron would've barged in on us and pulled you off me—"

"If you haven't noticed," said Draco, behind his book again, "you're the one on top of me."

Ginny continued, as though she had not heard him. "It would have been exciting, distracting, that sort of thing."

With this, she lifted herself up a bit so that she could pull down his pants.

She now stared at his boxers, embarrassed. "You're—"

"You've only been sitting on top of me and telling me you're going to shag me for half an eon now," said Draco, annoyed, putting his book to the side. "It's only natural to prepare."

Ginny turned red and reached for his pants, fully intending to give them back to him and leave.

But Draco pulled her arms tightly against him, and brought her down flush atop him, and kissed her soundly on the mouth.

Ginny, entirely unprepared for the move, despite her talk, gasped against his lips and pulled away abruptly.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"Baking muffins," said Draco sarcastically, with an impatient roll of the eyes. He pulled her face down against his again, and resumed their snog.

"You are not, you're kissing me!" She exclaimed, prying her face out of his grasp.

"Excuse me, Miss Obvious," said Draco, rolling them over so quickly that Ginny almost didn't notice that he was on top of her now. But it was rather hard not to notice. "I'm merely following through on your suggestions."

Now that he straddled her, Draco looked much more dangerous and intimidating than ever before. With a menacing sort of smile, he leaned back down and claimed her lips once again, and this time, Ginny allowed herself to melt into it.

When he pulled away for a short breath of air, she sputtered, "You're repulsive."

Draco murmured in agreement, and now buried his face in her neck, kissing.

Waving for her friends with dates to go on, Ginny began weaving through the dancing couples to get a glass of punch. She stopped when arms encircled her waist from behind, a warm, hard body pressed firmly against her back.

A mouth lowered very near her ear and whispered, "Dance with me."

She laughed, squirming a little from the tickle of the mystery boy's breath on her neck. The whisper had been so low that she couldn't tell who the person was, exactly, but she assumed it was Seamus—he was just the type to mess around like this.

Laying her hands over his, she sighed in mock resignation and said, "Oh, I suppose if you insist."

The grip around her waist loosened just a little, and she turned around. Her smile immediately died on her lips when she found herself looking not into Seamus's dancing eyes, but Draco's mercury pools.

"Malfoy?"

He smirked, one eyebrow cocked in challenge, and stepped back, taking her hands and gently pulling her to the floor.

"What are you doing!" she demanded, eyes searching desperately for an escape.

"Dancing," he answered mildly, coming to a halt and tugging her closer. One of his arms went around her waist, his hand resting low on her back, and the other hand clasped hers. "You did agree," he reminded her.

"I-I thought you were Seamus!" she stuttered. What in the hell was going on with the universe?

He shrugged, leading her into a graceful if simple waltz. "Nevertheless."

"That's not fair!"

He chuckled. "You're speaking to a Slytherin, love."

Ginny was speechless for long moments, hardly able to believe this was really happening. They weren't pressed together, exactly, but they were most definitely touching, and his hand on her back seemed to burn...she couldn't decide if it was a bad sort of heat or not, though.

Finally, she managed to ask, "But...why?"

He didn't hesitate, answering with all the uncaring arrogance he was known for. "I wanted to."

She shook her head slightly, trying to clear it. "But, you hate me!"

His hand on her back pushed her just a tiny bit closer. "Never said that, did I now?"

"You always torture me though! Calling me ugly, or stupid, or crazy, or—"

He took his hand out of hers long enough to place a finger against her lips, silencing her. "Can I help it that you're so sexy when you're angry?" he murmured.

Ginny's eyes grew to twice their size, her lungs suddenly empty of air.

He slid his finger to her cheek, then down her neck, eyes following the path, and she shivered despite herself.

"That gorgeous flush you get," he continued, "the way your eyes turn so bright, how you start breathing all heavy..." he trailed off, removing his finger from her throat and taking her hand again, resuming their dance.

Ginny noticed that he pulled her closer yet, but she couldn't bring herself to protest. His cologne teased at her again, daring her to get closer to him, to breathe him in deeply and get her fill, and the fingers on her back were making small circles. Ginny felt like the world had turned inside out and upside down all at once. Worst of all, though, was that she found she was thoroughly enjoying every confusing second of it.

So stunned she could do little more than focus on the sensations he created in her, she didn't realize the song, and with it the ball, ended until he slowed them to a stop.

He lowered his face then to talk quietly in her ear, both of his hands drifting to her waist. "You still have your end of the deal to uphold, Weasley. I'll meet you tomorrow after lunch for tutoring."

Then, with no warning whatsoever, he moved his mouth over those last few inches and covered hers. Her heart threatened to shatter her ribs, and her midsection twisted in on itself—it would have been unpleasant if only it didn't feel so incredibly, indescribably right.

His tongue lightly traced the seam of her lips, making her temperature rise a few degrees, but just when she opened her mouth to him, he pulled back, self-satisfied smirk fully in place.

"Tomorrow after lunch," he repeated, and just as suddenly as he had appeared to sweep her onto the dance floor, he turned and sauntered off.

Ginny smiled softly, absently touching her fingers to her lips, and decided that maybe Draco Malfoy wasn't such a bad sort after all. And as she walked back to her dormitory, she fancied she could still smell spices and freshly cut grass.